none a jacobite exile: being the adventures of a young englishman in the service of charles the twelfth of sweden by g. a. henty. contents preface. chapter : a spy in the household. chapter : denounced. chapter : a rescue. chapter : in sweden. chapter : narva. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : exchanged. chapter : the passage of the dwina. chapter : in warsaw. chapter : in evil plight. chapter : with brigands. chapter : treed by wolves. chapter : a rescued party. chapter : the battle of clissow. chapter : an old acquaintance. chapter : in england again. chapter : the north coach. chapter : a confession. preface. my dear lads, had i attempted to write you an account of the whole of the adventurous career of charles the twelfth of sweden, it would, in itself, have filled a bulky volume, to the exclusion of all other matter; and a youth, who fought at narva, would have been a middle-aged man at the death of that warlike monarch, before the walls of frederickshall. i have, therefore, been obliged to confine myself to the first three years of his reign, in which he crushed the army of russia at narva, and laid the then powerful republic of poland prostrate at his feet. in this way, only, could i obtain space for the private adventures and doings of charlie carstairs, the hero of the story. the details of the wars of charles the twelfth were taken from the military history, written at his command by his chamberlain, adlerfeld; from a similar narrative by a scotch gentleman in his service; and from voltaire's history. the latter is responsible for the statement that the trade of poland was almost entirely in the hands of scotch, french, and jewish merchants, the poles themselves being sharply divided into the two categories of nobles and peasants. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. chapter : a spy in the household. on the borders of lancashire and westmoreland, two centuries since, stood lynnwood, a picturesque mansion, still retaining something of the character of a fortified house. it was ever a matter of regret to its owner, sir marmaduke carstairs, that his grandfather had so modified its construction, by levelling one side of the quadrangle, and inserting large mullion windows in that portion inhabited by the family, that it was in no condition to stand a siege, in the time of the civil war. sir marmaduke was, at that time, only a child, but he still remembered how the roundhead soldiers had lorded it there, when his father was away fighting with the army of the king; how they had seated themselves at the board, and had ordered his mother about as if she had been a scullion, jeering her with cruel words as to what would have been the fate of her husband, if they had caught him there, until, though but eight years old, he had smitten one of the troopers, as he sat, with all his force. what had happened after that, he did not recollect, for it was not until a week after the roundheads had ridden away that he found himself in his bed, with his mother sitting beside him, and his head bandaged with cloths dipped in water. he always maintained that, had the house been fortified, it could have held out until help arrived, although, in later years, his father assured him that it was well it was not in a position to offer a defence. "we were away down south, marmaduke, and the roundheads were masters of this district, at the time. they would have battered the place around your mother's ears, and, likely as not, have burnt it to the ground. as it was, i came back here to find it whole and safe, except that the crop-eared scoundrels had, from pure wantonness, destroyed the pictures and hacked most of the furniture to pieces. i took no part in the later risings, seeing that they were hopeless, and therefore preserved my property, when many others were ruined. "no, marmaduke, it is just as well that the house was not fortified. i believe in fighting, when there is some chance, even a slight one, of success, but i regard it as an act of folly, to throw away a life when no good can come of it." still, sir marmaduke never ceased to regret that lynnwood was not one of the houses that had been defended, to the last, against the enemies of the king. at the restoration he went, for the first time in his life, to london, to pay his respects to charles the second. he was well received, and although he tired, in a very short time, of the gaieties of the court, he returned to lynnwood with his feelings of loyalty to the stuarts as strong as ever. he rejoiced heartily when the news came of the defeat of monmouth at sedgemoor, and was filled with rage and indignation when james weakly fled, and left his throne to be occupied by dutch william. from that time, he became a strong jacobite, and emptied his glass nightly "to the king over the water." in the north the jacobites were numerous, and at their gatherings treason was freely talked, while arms were prepared, and hidden away for the time when the lawful king should return to claim his own. sir marmaduke was deeply concerned in the plot of , when preparations had been made for a great jacobite rising throughout the country. nothing came of it, for the duke of berwick, who was to have led it, failed in getting the two parties who were concerned to come to an agreement. the jacobites were ready to rise, directly a french army landed. the french king, on the other hand, would not send an army until the jacobites had risen, and the matter therefore fell through, to sir marmaduke's indignation and grief. but he had no words strong enough to express his anger and disgust when he found that, side by side with the general scheme for a rising, a plot had been formed by sir george barclay, a scottish refugee, to assassinate the king, on his return from hunting in richmond forest. "it is enough to drive one to become a whig," he exclaimed. "i am ready to fight dutch william, for he occupies the place of my rightful sovereign, but i have no private feud with him, and, if i had, i would run any man through who ventured to propose to me a plot to assassinate him. such scoundrels as barclay would bring disgrace on the best cause in the world. had i heard as much as a whisper of it, i would have buckled on my sword, and ridden to london to warn the dutchman of his danger. however, as it seems that barclay had but some forty men with him, most of them foreign desperadoes, the dutchman must see that english gentlemen, however ready to fight against him fairly, would have no hand in so dastardly a plot as this. "look you, charlie, keep always in mind that you bear the name of our martyred king, and be ready ever to draw your sword in the cause of the stuarts, whether it be ten years hence, or forty, that their banner is hoisted again; but keep yourself free from all plots, except those that deal with fair and open warfare. have no faith whatever in politicians, who are ever ready to use the country gentry as an instrument for gaining their own ends. deal with your neighbours, but mistrust strangers, from whomsoever they may say they come." which advice charlie, at that time thirteen years old, gravely promised to follow. he had naturally inherited his father's sentiments, and believed the jacobite cause to be a sacred one. he had fought and vanquished alured dormay, his second cousin, and two years his senior, for speaking of king james' son as the pretender, and was ready, at any time, to do battle with any boy of his own age, in the same cause. alured's father, john dormay, had ridden over to lynnwood, to complain of the violence of which his son had been the victim, but he obtained no redress from sir marmaduke. "the boy is a chip of the old block, cousin, and he did right. i myself struck a blow at the king's enemies, when i was but eight years old, and got my skull well-nigh cracked for my pains. it is well that the lads were not four years older, for then, instead of taking to fisticuffs, their swords would have been out, and as my boy has, for the last four years, been exercised daily in the use of his weapon, it might happen that, instead of alured coming home with a black eye, and, as you say, a missing tooth, he might have been carried home with a sword thrust through his body. "it was, to my mind, entirely the fault of your son. i should have blamed charlie, had he called the king at westminster dutch william, for, although each man has a right to his own opinions, he has no right to offend those of others--besides, at present it is as well to keep a quiet tongue as to a matter that words cannot set right. in the same way, your son had no right to offend others by calling james stuart the pretender. "certainly, of the twelve boys who go over to learn what the rector of apsley can teach them, more than half are sons of gentlemen whose opinions are similar to my own. "it would be much better, john dormay, if, instead of complaining of my boy, you were to look somewhat to your own. i marked, the last time he came over here, that he was growing loutish in his manners, and that he bore himself with less respect to his elders than is seemly in a lad of that age. he needs curbing, and would carry himself all the better if, like charlie, he had an hour a day at sword exercise. i speak for the boy's good. it is true that you yourself, being a bitter whig, mix but little with your neighbours, who are for the most part the other way of thinking; but this may not go on for ever, and you would, i suppose, like alured, when he grows up, to mix with others of his rank in the county; and it would be well, therefore, that he should have the accomplishments and manners of young men of his own age." john dormay did not reply hastily--it was his policy to keep on good terms with his wife's cousin, for the knight was a man of far higher consideration, in the county, than himself. his smile, however, was not a pleasant one, as he rose and said: "my mission has hardly terminated as i expected, sir marmaduke. i came to complain, and i go away advised somewhat sharply." "tut, tut, man!" the knight said. "i speak only for the lad's good, and i am sure that you cannot but feel the truth of what i have said. what does alured want to make enemies for? it may be that it was only my son who openly resented his ill-timed remarks, but you may be sure that others were equally displeased, and maybe their resentment will last much longer than that which was quenched in a fair stand-up fight. certainly, there need be no malice between the boys. alured's defeat may even do him good, for he cannot but feel that it is somewhat disgraceful to be beaten by one nearly a head shorter than he." "there is, no doubt, something in what you say, sir marmaduke," john dormay said blandly, "and i will make it my business that, should the boys meet again as antagonists, alured shall be able to give a better account of himself." "he is a disagreeable fellow," sir marmaduke said to himself, as he watched john dormay ride slowly away through the park, "and, if it were not that he is husband to my cousin celia, i would have nought to do with him. she is my only kinswoman, and, were aught to happen to charlie, that lout, her son, would be the heir of lynnwood. i should never rest quiet in my grave, were a whig master here. "i would much rather that he had spoken wrathfully, when i straightly gave him my opinion of the boy, who is growing up an ill-conditioned cub. it would have been more honest. i hate to see a man smile, when i know that he would fain swear. i like my cousin celia, and i like her little daughter ciceley, who takes after her, and not after john dormay; but i would that the fellow lived on the other side of england. he is out of his place here, and, though men do not speak against him in my presence, knowing that he is a sort of kinsman, i have never heard one say a good word for him. "it is not only because he is a whig. there are other whig gentry in the neighbourhood, against whom i bear no ill will, and can meet at a social board in friendship. it would be hard if politics were to stand between neighbours. it is dormay's manner that is against him. if he were anyone but celia's husband, i would say that he is a smooth-faced knave, though i altogether lack proof of my words, beyond that he has added half a dozen farms to his estate, and, in each case, there were complaints that, although there was nothing contrary to the law, it was by sharp practice that he obtained possession, lending money freely in order to build houses and fences and drains, and then, directly a pinch came, demanding the return of his advance. "such ways may pass in a london usurer, but they don't do for us country folk; and each farm that he has taken has closed the doors of a dozen good houses to john dormay. i fear that celia has a bad time with him, though she is not one to complain. i let charlie go over to rockley, much oftener than i otherwise should do, for her sake and ciceley's, though i would rather, a hundred times, that they should come here. not that the visits are pleasant, when they do come, for i can see that celia is always in fear, lest i should ask her questions about her life at home; which is the last thing that i should think of doing, for no good ever comes of interference between man and wife, and, whatever i learned, i could not quarrel with john dormay without being altogether separated from celia and the girl. "i am heartily glad that charlie has given alured a sound thrashing. the boy is too modest. he only said a few words, last evening, about the affair, and i thought that only a blow or two had been exchanged. it was as much as i could do, not to rub my hands and chuckle, when his father told me all about it. however, i must speak gravely to charlie. if he takes it up, every time a whig speaks scornfully of the king, he will be always in hot water, and, were he a few years older, would become a marked man. we have got to bide our time, and, except among friends, it is best to keep a quiet tongue until that time comes." to sir marmaduke's disappointment, three more years went on without the position changing in any way. messengers went and came between france and the english jacobites, but no movement was made. the failure of the assassination plot had strengthened william's hold on the country, for englishmen love fair play and hate assassination, so that many who had, hitherto, been opponents of william of orange, now ranged themselves on his side, declaring they could no longer support a cause that used assassination as one of its weapons. more zealous jacobites, although they regretted the assassination plot, and were as vehement of their denunciations of its authors as were the whigs, remained staunch in their fidelity to "the king over the water," maintaining stoutly that his majesty knew nothing whatever of this foul plot, and that his cause was in no way affected by the misconduct of a few men, who happened to be among its adherents. at lynnwood things went on as usual. charlie continued his studies, in a somewhat desultory way, having but small affection for books; kept up his fencing lesson diligently and learned to dance; quarrelled occasionally with his cousin alured, spent a good deal of his time on horseback, and rode over, not unfrequently, to rockley, choosing, as far as possible, the days and hours when he knew that alured and his father were likely to be away. he went over partly for his own pleasure, but more in compliance with his father's wishes. "my cousin seldom comes over, herself," the latter said. "i know, right well, that it is from no slackness of her own, but that her husband likes not her intimacy here. it is well, then, that you should go over and see them, for it is only when you bring her that i see ciceley. i would she were your sister, lad, for she is a bright little maid, and would make the old house lively." therefore, once a week or so, charlie rode over early to rockley, which was some five miles distant, and brought back ciceley, cantering on her pony by his side, escorting her home again before nightfall. ciceley's mother wondered, sometimes, that her husband, who in most matters set his will in opposition to hers, never offered any objection to the girl's visits to lynnwood. she thought that, perhaps, he was pleased that there should be an intimacy between some member, at least, of his family, and sir marmaduke's. there were so few houses at which he or his were welcome, it was pleasant to him to be able to refer to the close friendship of his daughter with their cousins at lynnwood. beyond this, celia, who often, as she sat alone, turned the matter over in her mind, could see no reason he could have for permitting the intimacy. that he would permit it without some reason was, as her experience had taught her, out of the question. ciceley never troubled her head about the matter. her visits to lynnwood were very pleasant to her. she was two years younger than charlie carstairs; and although, when he had once brought her to the house, he considered that his duties were over until the hour arrived for her return, he was sometimes ready to play with her, escort her round the garden, or climb the trees for fruit or birds' eggs for her. such little courtesies she never received from alured, who was four years her senior, and who never interested himself in the slightest degree in her. he was now past eighteen, and was beginning to regard himself as a man, and had, to ciceley's satisfaction, gone a few weeks before, to london, to stay with an uncle who had a place at court, and was said to be much in the confidence of some of the whig lords. sir marmaduke was, about this time, more convinced than ever that, ere long, the heir of the stuarts would come over from france, with men, arms, and money, and would rally round him the jacobites of england and scotland. charlie saw but little of him, for he was frequently absent, from early morning until late at night, riding to visit friends in westmoreland and yorkshire, sometimes being away two or three days at a time. of an evening, there were meetings at lynnwood, and at these strangers, who arrived after nightfall, were often present. charlie was not admitted to any of these gatherings. "you will know all about it in time, lad," his father said. "you are too young to bother your head with politics, and you would lose patience in a very short time. i do myself, occasionally. many who are the foremost in talk, when there is no prospect of doing anything, draw back when the time approaches for action, and it is sickening to listen to the timorous objections and paltry arguments that are brought forward. here am i, a man of sixty, ready to risk life and fortune in the good cause, and there are many, not half my age, who speak with as much caution as if they were graybeards. still, lad, i have no doubt that the matter will straighten itself out, and come right in the end. it is always the most trying time, for timorous hearts, before the first shot of a battle is fired. once the engagement commences, there is no time for fear. the battle has to be fought out, and the best way to safety is to win a victory. i have not the least doubt that, as soon as it is known that the king has landed, there will be no more shilly-shallying or hesitation. every loyal man will mount his horse, and call out his tenants, and, in a few days, england will be in a blaze from end to end." charlie troubled himself but little with what was going on. his father had promised him that, when the time did come, he should ride by his side, and with that promise he was content to wait, knowing that, at present, his strength would be of but little avail, and that every week added somewhat to his weight and sinew. one day he was in the garden with ciceley. the weather was hot, and the girl was sitting, in a swing, under a shady tree, occasionally starting herself by a push with her foot on the ground, and then swaying gently backward and forward, until the swing was again at rest. charlie was seated on the ground, near her, pulling the ears of his favourite dog, and occasionally talking to her, when a servant came out, with a message that his father wanted to speak to him. "i expect i shall be back in a few minutes, ciceley, so don't you wander away till i come. it is too hot today to be hunting for you, all over the garden, as i did when you hid yourself last week." it was indeed but a short time until he returned. "my father only wanted to tell me that he is just starting for bristowe's, and, as it is over twenty miles away, he may not return until tomorrow." "i don't like that man's face who brought the message to you, charlie." "don't you?" the boy said carelessly. "i have not noticed him much. he has not been many months with us. "what are you thinking of?" he asked, a minute later, seeing that his cousin looked troubled. "i don't know that i ought to tell you, charlie. you know my father does not think the same way as yours about things." "i should rather think he doesn't," charlie laughed. "there is no secret about that, ciceley; but they don't quarrel over it. last time your father and mother came over here, i dined with them for the first time, and i noticed there was not a single word said about politics. they chatted over the crops, and the chances of a war in europe, and of the quarrel between holstein and denmark, and whether the young king of sweden would aid the duke, who seems to be threatened by saxony as well as by denmark. i did not know anything about it, and thought it was rather stupid; but my father and yours both seemed of one mind, and were as good friends as if they were in equal agreement on all other points. but what has that to do with nicholson, for that is the man's name who came out just now?" "it does not seem to have much to do with it," she said doubtfully, "and yet, perhaps it does. you know my mother is not quite of the same opinion as my father, although she never says so to him; but, when we are alone together, sometimes she shakes her head and says she fears that trouble is coming, and it makes her very unhappy. one day i was in the garden, and they were talking loudly in the dining room--at least, he was talking loudly. well, he said--but i don't know whether i ought to tell you, charlie." "certainly you ought not, ciceley. if you heard what you were not meant to hear, you ought never to say a word about it to anyone." "but it concerns you and sir marmaduke." "i cannot help that," he said stoutly. "people often say things of each other, in private, especially if they are out of temper, that they don't quite mean, and it would make terrible mischief if such things were repeated. whatever your father said, i do not want to hear it, and it would be very wrong of you to repeat it." "i am not going to repeat it, charlie. i only want to say that i do not think my father and yours are very friendly together, which is natural, when my father is all for king william, and your father for king james. he makes no secret of that, you know." charlie nodded. "that is right enough, ciceley, but still, i don't understand in the least what it has to do with the servant." "it has to do with it," she said pettishly, starting the swing afresh, and then relapsing into silence until it again came to a standstill. "i think you ought to know," she said suddenly. "you see, charlie, sir marmaduke is very kind to me, and i love him dearly, and so i do you, and i think you ought to know, although it may be nothing at all." "well, fire away then, ciceley. there is one thing you may be quite sure of, whatever you tell me, it is like telling a brother, and i shall never repeat it to anyone." "well, it is this. that man comes over sometimes to see my father. i have seen him pass my window, three or four times, and go in by the garden door into father's study. i did not know who he was, but it did seem funny his entering by that door, as if he did not want to be seen by anyone in the house. i did not think anything more about it, till i saw him just now, then i knew him directly. if i had seen him before, i should have told you at once, but i don't think i have." "i daresay not, ciceley. he does not wait at table, but is under the steward, and helps clean the silver. he waits when we have several friends to dinner. at other times he does not often come into the room. "what you tell me is certainly curious. what can he have to say to your father?" "i don't know, charlie. i don't know anything about it. i do think you ought to know." "yes, i think it is a good thing that i should know," charlie agreed thoughtfully. "i daresay it is all right, but, at any rate, i am glad you told me." "you won't tell your father?" she asked eagerly. "because, if you were to speak of it--" "i shall not tell him. you need not be afraid that what you have told me will come out. it is curious, and that is all, and i will look after the fellow a bit. don't think anything more about it. it is just the sort of thing it is well to know, but i expect there is no harm in it, one way or the other. of course, he must have known your father before he came to us, and may have business of some sort with him. he may have a brother, or some other relation, who wants to take one of your father's farms. indeed, there are a hundred things he might want to see him about. but still, i am glad you have told me." in his own mind, charlie thought much more seriously of it than he pretended. he knew that, at present, his father was engaged heart and soul in a projected jacobite rising. he knew that john dormay was a bitter whig. he believed that he had a grudge against his father, and the general opinion of him was that he was wholly unscrupulous. that he should, then, be in secret communication with a servant at lynnwood, struck him as a very serious matter, indeed. charlie was not yet sixteen, but his close companionship with his father had rendered him older than most lads of his age. he was as warm a jacobite as his father, but the manner in which william, with his dutch troops, had crushed the great jacobite rebellion in ireland, seemed to him a lesson that the prospects of success, in england, were much less certain than his father believed them to be. john dormay, as an adherent of william, would be interested in thwarting the proposed movement, with the satisfaction of, at the same time, bringing sir marmaduke into disgrace. charlie could hardly believe that his cousin would be guilty of setting a spy to watch his father, but it was certainly possible, and as he thought the matter over, as he rode back after escorting ciceley to her home, he resolved to keep a sharp watch over the doings of this man nicholson. "it would never do to tell my father what ciceley said. he would bundle the fellow out, neck and crop, and perhaps break some of his bones, and then it would be traced to her. she has not a happy home, as it is, and it would be far worse if her father knew that it was she who had put us on our guard. i must find out something myself, and then we can turn him out, without there being the least suspicion that ciceley is mixed up in it." the next evening several jacobite gentlemen rode in, and, as usual, had a long talk with sir marmaduke after supper. "if this fellow is a spy," charlie said to himself, "he will be wanting to hear what is said, and to do so he must either hide himself in the room, or listen at the door, or at one of the windows. it is not likely that he will get into the room, for to do that he must have hidden himself before supper began. i don't think he would dare to listen at the door, for anyone passing through the hall would catch him at it. it must be at one of the windows." the room was at an angle of the house. three windows looked out on to the lawn in front; that at the side into a large shrubbery, where the bushes grew up close to it; and charlie decided that here, if anywhere, the man would take up his post. as soon, then, as he knew that the servants were clearing away the supper, he took a heavy cudgel and went out. he walked straight away from the house, and then, when he knew that his figure could no longer be seen in the twilight, he made a circuit, and, entering the shrubbery, crept along close to the wall of the muse, until within two or three yards of the window. having made sure that at present, at any rate, no one was near, he moved out a step or two to look at the window. his suspicions were at once confirmed. the inside curtains were drawn, but the casement was open two or three inches. charlie again took up his post, behind a bush, and waited. in five minutes he heard a twig snap, and then a figure came along, noiselessly, and placed itself at the window. charlie gave him but a moment to listen, then he sprang forward, and, with his whole strength, brought his cudgel down upon the man's head. he fell like a stone. charlie threw open the window, and, as he did so, the curtain was torn back by his father, the sound of the blow and the fall having reached the ears of those within. sir marmaduke had drawn his sword, and was about to leap through the window, when charlie exclaimed: "it is i, father. i have caught a fellow listening at the window, and have just knocked him down." "well done, my boy! "bring lights, please, gentlemen. let us see what villain we have got here." but, as he spoke, charlie's head suddenly disappeared, and a sharp exclamation broke from him, as he felt his ankles grasped and his feet pulled from under him. he came down with such a crash that, for a moment, he was unable to rise. he heard a rustling in the bushes, and then his father leapt down beside him. "where are you, my boy? has the scoundrel hurt you?" "he has given me a shake," charlie said as he sat up; "and, what is worse, i am afraid he has got away." "follow me, gentlemen, and scatter through the gardens," sir marmaduke roared. "the villain has escaped!" for a few minutes, there was a hot pursuit through the shrubbery and gardens, but nothing was discovered. charlie had been so shaken that he was unable to join the pursuit, but, having got on to his feet, remained leaning against the wall until his father came back. "he has got away, charlie. have you any idea who he was?" "it was nicholson, father. at least, i am almost certain that it was him. it was too dark to see his face. i could see the outline of his head against the window, and he had on a cap with a cock's feather which i had noticed the man wore." "but how came you here, charlie?" "i will tell you that afterwards, father. don't ask me now." for, at this moment, some of the others were coming up. several of them had torches, and, as they approached, sir marmaduke saw something lying on the ground under the window. he picked it up. "here is the fellow's cap," he said. "you must have hit him a shrewd blow, charlie, for here is a clean cut through the cloth, and a patch of fresh blood on the white lining. how did he get you down, lad?" "he fell so suddenly, when i hit him, that i thought i had either killed or stunned him; but of course i had not, for it was but a moment after, when i was speaking to you, that i felt my ankles seized, and i went down with a crash. i heard him make off through the bushes; but i was, for the moment, almost dazed, and could do nothing to stop him." "was the window open when he came?" "yes, sir, two or three inches." "then it was evidently a planned thing. "well, gentlemen, we may as well go indoors. the fellow is well out of our reach now, and we may be pretty sure he will never again show his face here. fortunately he heard nothing, for the serving men had but just left the room, and we had not yet begun to talk." "that is true enough, sir marmaduke," one of the others said. "the question is: how long has this been going on?" sir marmaduke looked at charlie. "i know nothing about it, sir. till now, i have not had the slightest suspicion of this man. it occurred to me, this afternoon, that it might be possible for anyone to hear what was said inside the room, by listening at the windows; and that this shrubbery would form a very good shelter for an eavesdropper. so i thought, this evening i would take up my place here, to assure myself that there was no traitor in the household. i had been here but five minutes when the fellow stole quietly up, and placed his ear at the opening of the casement, and you may be sure that i gave him no time to listen to what was being said." "well, we had better go in," sir marmaduke said. "there is no fear of our being overheard this evening. "charlie, do you take old banks aside, and tell him what has happened, and then go with him to the room where that fellow slept, and make a thorough search of any clothes he may have left behind, and of the room itself. should you find any papers or documents, you will, of course, bring them down to me." but the closest search, by charlie and the old butler, produced no results. not a scrap of paper of any kind was found, and banks said that he knew the man could neither read nor write. the party below soon broke up, considerable uneasiness being felt, by all, at the incident of the evening. when the last of them had left, charlie was sent for. "now, then, charlie, let me hear how all this came about. i know that all you said about what took place at the window is perfectly true; but, even had you not said so, i should have felt there was something else. what was it brought you to that window? your story was straight-forward enough, but it was certainly singular your happening to be there, and i fancy some of our friends thought that you had gone round to listen, yourself. one hinted as much; but i said that was absurd, for you were completely in my confidence, and that, whatever peril and danger there might be in the enterprise, you would share them with me." "it is not pleasant that they should have thought so, father, but that is better than that the truth should be known. this is how it happened;" and he repeated what ciceley had told him in the garden. "so the worthy master john dormay has set a spy upon me," sir marmaduke said, bitterly. "i knew the man was a knave--that is public property--but i did not think that he was capable of this. well, i am glad that, at any rate, no suspicion can fall upon ciceley in the matter; but it is serious, lad, very serious. we do not know how long this fellow has been prying and listening, or how much he may have learnt. i don't think it can be much. we talked it over, and my friends all agreed with me that they do not remember those curtains having been drawn before. to begin with, the evenings are shortening fast, and, at our meeting last week, we finished our supper by daylight; and, had the curtains been drawn, it would have been noticed, for we had need of light before we finished. two of the gentlemen, who were sitting facing the window, declared that they remembered distinctly that it was open. mr. jervoise says that he thought to himself that, if it was his place, he would have the trees cut away there, for they shut out the light. "therefore, although it is uncomfortable to think that there has been a spy in the house, for some months, we have every reason to hope that our councils have not been overheard. were it otherwise, i should lose no time in making for the coast, and taking ship to france, to wait quietly there until the king comes over." "you have no documents, father, that the man could have found?" "none, charlie. we have doubtless made lists of those who could be relied upon, and of the number of men they could bring with them, but these have always been burned before we separated. such letters as i have had from france, i have always destroyed as soon as i have read them. perilous stuff of that sort should never be left about. no; they may ransack the place from top to bottom, and nothing will be found that could not be read aloud, without harm, in the marketplace of lancaster. "so now, to bed, charlie. it is long past your usual hour." chapter : denounced. "charlie," sir marmaduke said on the following morning, at breakfast, "it is quite possible that that villain who acted as spy, and that other villain who employed him--i need not mention names--may swear an information against me, and i may be arrested, on the charge of being concerned in a plot. i am not much afraid of it, if they do. the most they could say is that i was prepared to take up arms, if his majesty crossed from france; but, as there are thousands and thousands of men ready to do the same, they may fine me, perhaps, but i should say that is all. however, what i want to say to you is, keep out of the way, if they come. i shall make light of the affair, while you, being pretty hot tempered, might say things that would irritate them, while they could be of no assistance to me. therefore, i would rather that you were kept out of it, altogether. i shall want you here. in my absence, there must be somebody to look after things. "mind that rascal john dormay does not put his foot inside the house, while i am away. that fellow is playing some deep game, though i don't quite know what it is. i suppose he wants to win the goodwill of the authorities, by showing his activity and zeal; and, of course, he will imagine that no one has any idea that he has been in communication with this spy. we have got a hold over him, and, when i come back, i will have it out with him. he is not popular now, and, if it were known that he had been working against me, his wife's kinsman, behind my back, my friends about here would make the country too hot to hold him." "yes, father; but please do not let him guess that we have learnt it from ciceley. you see, that is the only way we know about it." "yes, you are right there. i will be careful that he shall not know the little maid has anything to do with it. but we will think of that, afterwards; maybe nothing will come of it, after all. but, if anything does, mind, my orders are that you keep away from the house, while they are in it. when you come back, banks will tell you what has happened. "you had better take your horse, and go for a ride now. not over there, charlie. i know, if you happened to meet that fellow, he would read in your face that you knew the part he had been playing, and, should nothing come of the business, i don't want him to know that, at present. the fellow can henceforth do us no harm, for we shall be on our guard against eavesdroppers; and, for the sake of cousin celia and the child, i do not want an open breach. i do not see the man often, myself, and i will take good care i don't put myself in the way of meeting him, for the present, at any rate. don't ride over there today." "very well, father. i will ride over and see harry jervoise. i promised him that i would come over one day this week." it was a ten-mile ride, and, as he entered the courtyard of mr. jervoise's fine old mansion, he leapt off his horse, and threw the reins over a post. a servant came out. "the master wishes to speak to you, master carstairs." "no ill news, i hope, charlie?" mr. jervoise asked anxiously, as the lad was shown into the room, where his host was standing beside the carved chimney piece. "no, sir, there is nothing new. my father thought that i had better be away today, in case any trouble should arise out of what took place yesterday, so i rode over to see harry. i promised to do so, one day this week." "that is right. does sir marmaduke think, then, that he will be arrested?" "i don't know that he expects it, sir, but he says that it is possible." "i do not see that they have anything to go upon, charlie. as we agreed last night, that spy never had any opportunity of overhearing us before, and, certainly, he can have heard nothing yesterday. the fellow can only say what many people know, or could know, if they liked; that half a dozen of sir marmaduke's friends rode over to take supper with him. they can make nothing out of that." "no, sir; and my father said that, at the worst, it could be but the matter of a fine." "quite so, lad; but i don't even see how it could amount to that. you will find harry somewhere about the house. he has said nothing to me about going out." harry jervoise was just the same age as charlie, and was his greatest friend. they were both enthusiastic in the cause of the stuarts, equally vehement in their expressions of contempt for the dutch king, equally anxious for the coming of him whom they regarded as their lawful monarch. they spent the morning together, as usual; went first to the stables and patted and talked to their horses; then they played at bowls on the lawn; after which, they had a bout of sword play; and, having thus let off some of their animal spirits, sat down and talked of the glorious times to come, when the king was to have his own again. late in the afternoon, charlie mounted his horse and rode for home. when within half a mile of the house, a man stepped out into the road in front of him. "hullo, banks, what is it? no bad news, i hope?" and he leapt from his horse, alarmed at the pallor of the old butler's face. "yes, master charles, i have some very bad news, and have been waiting for the last two hours here, so as to stop you going to the house." "why shouldn't i go to the house?" "because there are a dozen soldiers, and three or four constables there." "and my father?" "they have taken him away." "this is bad news, banks; but i know that he thought that it might be so. but it will not be very serious; it is only a question of a fine," he said. the butler shook his head, sadly. "it is worse than that, master charles. it is worse than you think." "well, tell me all about it, banks," charlie said, feeling much alarmed at the old man's manner. "well, sir, at three this afternoon, two magistrates, john cockshaw and william peters--" ("both bitter whigs," charlie put in.) "--rode up to the door. they had with them six constables, and twenty troopers." "there were enough of them, then," charlie said. "did they think my father was going to arm you all, and defend the place?" "i don't know, sir, but that is the number that came. the magistrates, and the constables, and four of the soldiers came into the house. sir marmaduke met them in the hall. "'to what do i owe the honour of this visit?' he said, quite cold and haughty. "'we have come, sir marmaduke carstairs, to arrest you, on the charge of being concerned in a treasonable plot against the king's life.' "sir marmaduke laughed out loud. "'i have no design on the life of william of orange, or of any other man,' he said. 'i do not pretend to love him; in that matter there are thousands in this realm with me; but, as for a design against his life, i should say, gentlemen, there are few who know me, even among men like yourselves, whose politics are opposed to mine, who would for a moment credit such a foul insinuation.' "'we have nothing to do with that matter, sir marmaduke,' john cockshaw said. 'we are acting upon a sworn information to that effect.' "sir marmaduke was angry, now. "'i can guess the name of the dog who signed it,' he said, 'and, kinsman though he is by marriage, i will force the lie down his throat.' "then he cooled down again. "'well, gentlemen, you have to do your duty. what do you desire next?' "'our duty is, next, to search the house, for any treasonable documents that may be concealed here.' "'search away, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, seating himself in one of the settles. 'the house is open to you. my butler, james banks, will go round with you, and will open for you any cupboard or chest that may be locked.' "the magistrates nodded to the four soldiers. two of them took their post near the chair, one at the outside door, and one at the other end of the room. sir marmaduke said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders, and then began to play with the ears of the little spaniel, fido, that had jumped up on his knees. "'we will first go into the study,' john cockshaw said; and i led them there. "they went straight to the cabinet with the pull-down desk, where sir marmaduke writes when he does write, which is not often. it was locked, and i went to sir marmaduke for the key. "'you will find it in that french vase on the mantel,' he said. 'i don't open the desk once in three months, and should lose the key, if i carried it with me.' "i went to the mantel, turned the vase over, and the key dropped out. "'sir marmaduke has nothing to hide, gentlemen,' i said, 'so, you see, he keeps the key here.' "i went to the cabinet, and put the key in. as i did so i said: "'look, gentlemen, someone has opened, or tried to open, this desk. here is a mark, as if a knife had been thrust in to shoot the bolt.' "they looked where i pointed, and william peters said to cockshaw, 'it is as the man says. someone has been trying to force the lock--one of the varlets, probably, who thought the knight might keep his money here.' "'it can be of no importance, one way or the other,' cockshaw said roughly. "'probably not, mr. cockshaw, but, at the same time i will make a note of it.' "i turned the key, and pulled down the door that makes a desk. they seemed to know all about it, for, without looking at the papers in the pigeonholes, they pulled open the lower drawer, and took two foreign-looking letters out from it. i will do them the justice to say that they both looked sorry, as they opened them, and looked at the writing. "'it is too true,' peters said. 'here is enough to hang a dozen men.' "they tumbled all the other papers into a sack, that one of the constables had brought with him. then they searched all the other furniture, but they evidently did not expect to find anything. then they went back into the hall. "'well, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, 'have you found anything of a terrible kind?' "'we have found, i regret to say,' john cockshaw said, 'the letters of which we were in search, in your private cabinet--letters that prove, beyond all doubt, that you are concerned in a plot similar to that discovered three years ago, to assassinate his majesty the king.' "sir marmaduke sprang to his feet. "'you have found letters of that kind in my cabinet?' he said, in a dazed sort of way. "the magistrate bowed, but did not speak. "'then, sir,' sir marmaduke exclaimed, 'you have found letters that i have never seen. you have found letters that must have been placed there by some scoundrel, who plotted my ruin. i assert to you, on the honour of a gentleman, that no such letters have ever met my eye, and that, if such a proposition had been made to me, i care not by whom, i would have struck to the ground the man who offered me such an insult.' "'we are sorry, sir marmaduke carstairs,' mr. peters said, 'most sorry, both of us, that it should have fallen to our duty to take so painful a proceeding against a neighbour; but, you see, the matter is beyond us. we have received a sworn information that you are engaged in such a plot. we are told that you are in the habit of locking up papers of importance in a certain cabinet, and there we find papers of a most damnatory kind. we most sincerely trust that you may be able to prove your innocence in the matter, but we have nothing to do but to take you with us, as a prisoner, to lancaster.' "sir marmaduke unbuckled his sword, and laid it by. he was quieter than i thought he could be, in such a strait, for he has always been by nature, as you know, choleric. "'i am ready, gentlemen,' he said. "peters whispered in cockshaw's ear. "'ah yes,' the other said, 'i had well-nigh forgotten,' and he turned to me. 'where is master charles carstairs?' "'he is not in the house,' i said. 'he rode away this morning, and did not tell me where he was going.' "'when do you expect him back?' "'i do not expect him at all,' i said. 'when master charles rides out to visit his friends, he sometimes stays away for a day or two.' "'is it supposed,' sir marmaduke asked coldly, 'that my son is also mixed up in this precious scheme?' "'it is sworn that he was privy to it,' john cockshaw said, 'and is, therefore, included in the orders for arrest.' "sir marmaduke did not speak, but he shut his lips tight, and his hand went to where the hilt of his sword would have been. two of the constables went out and questioned the grooms, and found that you had, as i said, ridden off. when they came back, there was some talk between the magistrates, and then, as i said, four constables and some soldiers were left in the house. sir marmaduke's horse was brought round, and he rode away, with the magistrates and the other soldiers." "i am quite sure, banks, that my father could have known nothing of those letters, or of any plot against william's life. i have heard him speak so often of the assassination plot, and how disgraceful it was, and how, apart from its wickedness, it had damaged the cause, that i am certain he would not have listened to a word about another such business." "i am sure of that, too," the old butler said; "but that is not the question, master charles. there are the papers. we know that sir marmaduke did not put them there, and that he did not know that they were there. but how is it to be proved, sir? everyone knows that sir marmaduke is a jacobite, and is regarded as the head of the party in this part of the country. he has enemies, and one of them, no doubt, has played this evil trick upon him, and the putting of your name in shows what the motive is." "but it is ridiculous, banks. who could believe that such a matter as this would be confided to a lad of my age?" "they might not believe it in their hearts, but people often believe what suits their interest. this accusation touches sir marmaduke's life; and his estate, even if his life were spared, would be confiscated. in such a case, it might be granted to anyone, and possibly even to the son of him they would call the traitor. but the accusation that the son was concerned, or was, at any rate, privy to the crime intended by the father, would set all against him, and public opinion would approve of the estates passing away from him altogether. "but now, sir, what do you think you had best do?" "of course i shall go on, banks, and let them take me to join my father in lancaster jail. do you think i would run away?" "no, sir, i don't think you would run away. i am sure you would not run away from fear, but i would not let them lay hands on me, until i had thought the matter well over. you might be able to do more good to sir marmaduke were you free, than you could do if you were caged up with him. he has enemies, we know, who are doing their best to ruin him, and, as you see, they are anxious that you, too, should be shut up within four walls." "you are right, banks. at any rate, i will ride back and consult mr. jervoise. besides, he ought to be warned, for he, too, may be arrested on the same charge. how did you get away without being noticed?" "i said that i felt ill--and i was not speaking falsely--at sir marmaduke's arrest, and would lie down. they are keeping a sharp lookout at the stables, and have a soldier at each door, to see that no one leaves the house, but i went out by that old passage that comes out among the ruins of the monastery." "i know, banks. my father showed it to me, three years ago." "i shall go back that way again, sir, and no one will know that i have left the house. you know the trick of the sliding panel, master charles?" "yes, i know it, and if i should want to come into the house again, i will come that way, banks." "here is a purse," the butler said. "you may want money, sir. should you want more, there is a store hidden away, in the hiding place under the floor of the priest's chamber, at the other end of the passage. do you know that?" "i know the priest's chamber of course, because you go through that to get to the long passage, but i don't know of any special hiding place there." "doubtless, sir marmaduke did not think it necessary to show it you then, sir, but he would have done it later on, so i do not consider that i am breaking my oath of secrecy in telling you. you know the little narrow loophole in the corner?" "yes, of course. there is no other that gives light to the room. it is hidden from view outside by the ivy." "well, sir, you count four bricks below that, and you press hard on the next, that is the fifth, then you will hear a click, then you press hard with your heel at the corner, in the angle of the flag below, and you will find the other corner rise. then you get hold of it and lift it up, and below there is a stone chamber, two feet long and about eighteen inches wide and deep. it was made to conceal papers in the old days, and i believe food was always kept there, in case the chamber had to be used in haste. "sir marmaduke uses it as a store place for his money. he has laid by a good deal every year, knowing that money would be wanted when troops had to be raised. i was with him about three weeks ago, when he put in there half the rents that had been paid in. so, if you want money for any purpose, you will know where to find it." "thank you, banks. it may be very useful to have such a store, now." "where shall i send to you, sir, if i have any news that it is urgent you should know of?" "send to mr. jervoise, banks. if i am not there, he will know where i am to be found." "i will send will ticehurst, master charles. he is a stout lad, and a shrewd one, and i know there is nothing that he would not do for you. but you had best stop no longer. should they find out that i am not in the house, they will guess that i have come to warn you, and may send out a party to search." charlie at once mounted, and rode back to mr. jervoise's. "i expected you back," that gentleman said, as he entered. "bad news travels apace, and, an hour since, a man brought in the news that sir marmaduke had been seen riding, evidently a prisoner, surrounded by soldiers, on the road towards lancaster. so that villain we chased last night must have learnt something. i suppose they will be here tomorrow, but i do not see what serious charge they can have against us. we have neither collected arms, nor taken any steps towards a rising. we have talked over what we might do, if there were a landing made from france, but, as there may be no landing, that is a very vague charge." "unfortunately, that is not the charge against my father. it is a much more serious business." and charlie repeated the substance of what banks had told him, interrupted occasionally by indignant ejaculations from mr. jervoise. "it is an infamous plot," he said, when the lad had concluded his story. "infamous! there was never a word said of such a scheme, and no one who knows your father would believe it for an instant." "yes, sir, but the judges, who do not know him, may believe it. no doubt those who put those papers there, will bring forward evidence to back it up." "i am afraid that will be the case. it is serious for us all," mr. jervoise said thoughtfully. "that man will be prepared to swear that he heard the plot discussed by us all. they seized your father, today, as being the principal and most important of those concerned in it, but we may all find ourselves in the same case tomorrow. i must think it over. "it is well that your man warned you. you had best not stay here tonight, for the house may be surrounded at daybreak. harry shall go over, with you, to one of my tenants, and you can both sleep there. it will not be necessary for you to leave for another two or three hours. you had better go to him now; supper will be served in half an hour. i will talk with you again, afterwards." harry was waiting outside the door, having also heard the news of sir marmaduke's arrest. "it is villainous!" he exclaimed, when he heard the whole story. "no doubt you are right, and that john dormay is at the bottom of it all. the villain ought to be slain." "he deserves it, harry; and, if i thought it would do good, i would gladly fight him, but i fear that it would do harm. such a scoundrel must needs be a coward, and he might call for aid, and i might be dragged off to lancaster. moreover, he is ciceley's father, and my cousin celia's husband, and, were i to kill him, it would separate me altogether from them. however, i shall in all things be guided by your father. he will know what best ought to be done. "it is likely that he, too, may be arrested. this is evidently a deep plot, and your father thinks that, although the papers alone may not be sufficient to convict my father, the spy we had in our house will be ready to swear that he heard your father, and mine, and the others, making arrangements for the murder of william of orange; and their own word to the contrary would count but little against such evidence, backed by those papers." they talked together for half an hour, and were then summoned to supper. nothing was said, upon the subject, until the servitors had retired, and the meal was cleared away. mr. jervoise was, like sir marmaduke, a widower. "i have been thinking it all over," he said, when they were alone. "i have determined to ride, at once, to consult some of my friends, and to warn them of what has taken place. that is clearly my duty. i shall not return until i learn whether warrants are out for my apprehension. of course, the evidence is not so strong against me as it is against sir marmaduke; still, the spy's evidence would tell as much against me as against him. "you will go up, harry, with your friend, to pincot's farm. it lies so far in the hills that it would probably be one of the last to be searched, and, if a very sharp lookout is kept there, a body of men riding up the valley would be seen over a mile away, and there would be plenty of time to take to the hills. there charlie had better remain, until he hears from me. "you can return here, harry, in the morning, for there is no probability whatever of your being included in any warrant of arrest. it could only relate to us, who were in the habit of meeting at sir marmaduke's. you will ride over to the farm each day, and tell charlie any news you may have learnt, or take any message i may send you for him. "we must do nothing hastily. the first thing to learn, if possible, is whether any of us are included in the charge of being concerned in a plot against william's life. in the next place, who are the witnesses, and what evidence they intend to give. no doubt the most important is the man who was placed as a spy at sir marmaduke's." "as i know his face, sir," charlie said eagerly, "could i not find him, and either force him to acknowledge that it is all false, or else kill him? i should be in my right in doing that, surely, since he is trying to swear away my father's life by false evidence." "i should say nothing against that, lad. if ever a fellow deserved killing he does; that is, next to his rascally employer. but his death would harm rather than benefit us. it would be assumed, of course, that we had removed him to prevent his giving evidence against us. no doubt his depositions have been taken down, and they would then be assumed to be true, and we should be worse off than if he could be confronted with us, face to face, in the court. we must let the matter rest, at present." "would it be possible to get my father out of prison, sir? i am sure i can get a dozen men, from among the tenants and grooms, who would gladly risk their lives for him." "lancaster jail is a very strong place," mr. jervoise said, "and i fear there is no possibility of rescuing him from it. of course, at present we cannot say where the trial will take place. a commission may be sent down, to hold a special assizes at lancaster, or the trial may take place in london. at any rate, nothing whatever can be done, until we know more. i have means of learning what takes place at lancaster, for we have friends there, as well as at most other places. when i hear from them the exact nature of the charge, the evidence that will be given, and the names of those accused of being mixed up in this pretended plot, i shall be better able to say what is to be done. "now, i must mount and ride without further delay. i have to visit all our friends who met at lynnwood, and it will take me until tomorrow morning to see and confer with them." a few minutes after mr. jervoise had ridden off, his son and charlie also mounted. a man went with them, with a supply of torches, for, although harry knew the road--which was little better than a sheep track--well enough during the day, his father thought he might find it difficult, if not impossible, to follow it on a dark night. they congratulated themselves upon the precaution taken, before they had gone very far, for there was no moon, the sky was overcast, and a drizzling rain had begun to come down. they could hardly see their horses' heads, and had proceeded but a short distance, when it became necessary for their guide to light a torch. it took them, therefore, over two hours to reach the mountain farm. they were expected, otherwise the household would have been asleep. mr. jervoise had, as soon as he determined upon their going there, sent off a man on horseback, who, riding fast, had arrived before night set in. there was, therefore, a great turf fire glowing on the hearth when they arrived, and a hearty welcome awaiting them from the farmer, his wife, and daughters. harry had, by his father's advice, brought two changes of clothes in a valise, but they were so completely soaked to the skin that they decided they would, after drinking a horn of hot-spiced ale that had been prepared for them, go at once to bed, where, in spite of the stirring events of the day, both went off to sleep, as soon as their heads touched the pillows. the sun was shining brightly, when they woke. the mists had cleared off, although they still hung round the head of ingleborough, six miles away, and on some of the other hilltops. the change of weather had an inspiriting effect, and they went down to breakfast in a brighter and more hopeful frame of mind. as soon as the meal was over, harry started for home. "i hope it won't be long before i can see you again, harry," charlie said, as he stood by the horse. "i hope not, indeed; but there is no saying. my father's orders are that i am to stay at home, if people come and take possession, and send a man off to you with the news privately, but that, if no one comes, i may myself bring you over any news there is; so i may be back here this afternoon." "i shall be looking out for you, harry. remember, it will be horribly dull for me up here, wondering and fretting as to what is going on." "i know, charlie; and you shall hear, as soon as i get the smallest scrap of news. if i were you, i would go for a good walk among the hills. it will be much better for you than moping here. at any rate, you are not likely to get any news for some hours to come." charlie took the advice, and started among the hills, not returning until the midday meal was ready. before he had finished his dinner there was a tap at the door, and then a young fellow, whom he knew to be employed in mr. jervoise's stables, looked in. charlie sprang to his feet. "what's the news?" he asked. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a magistrate, and four constables, and ten soldier men came today, at nine o'clock. he had returned but a half-hour when they rode up. they had an order for the arrest of mr. jervoise, and have been searching the house, high and low, for papers. no one is allowed to leave the place, but master harry came out to the stables and gave me his orders, and i did not find much difficulty in slipping out without their noticing me. mr. harry said that he had no news of mr. jervoise, nor any other news, save what i have told you. he bade me return at once as, later on, he may want to send me again. i was to be most careful that no one should see me when i got back, and, if i was caught, i was on no account to say where i had been to." the farmer insisted upon the young fellow sitting down at the table, and taking some food, before he started to go back. he required no pressing, but, as soon as his hunger was satisfied, he started again at a brisk run, which he kept up as long as charlie's eye could follow him down the valley. although the boy by no means wished mr. jervoise to be involved in his father's trouble, charlie could not help feeling a certain amount of pleasure at the news. he thought it certain that, if his father escaped, he would have to leave the country, and that he would, in that case, take him as companion in his flight. if mr. jervoise and harry also left the country, it would be vastly more pleasant for both his father and himself. where they would go to, or what they would do, he had no idea, but it seemed to him that exile among strangers would be bearable, if he had his friend with him. it would not last many years, for surely the often talked-of landing could not be very much longer delayed; then they would return, share in the triumph of the stuart cause, and resume their life at lynnwood, and reckon with those who had brought this foul charge against them. that the jacobite cause could fail to triumph was a contingency to which charlie did not give even a thought. he had been taught that it was a just and holy cause. all his school friends, as well as the gentlemen who visited his father, were firm adherents of it, and he believed that the same sentiments must everywhere prevail. there was, then, nothing but the troops of william to reckon with, and these could hardly oppose a rising of the english people, backed by aid from france. it was not until after dark that the messenger returned. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a gipsy boy he had never seen before has brought him a little note from his father. he will not return at present, but, if mr. harry can manage to slip away unnoticed in the afternoon, tomorrow, he is to come here. he is not to come direct, but to make a circuit, lest he should be watched and followed, and it may be that the master will meet him here." charlie was very glad to hear this. harry could, of course, give him little news of what was going on outside the house, but mr. jervoise might be able to tell him something about his father, especially as he had said he had means of learning what went on in lancaster jail. he was longing to be doing something. it seemed intolerable to him that he should be wandering aimlessly among the hills, while his father was lying in lancaster, with a charge affecting his life hanging over him. what he could do he knew not, but anything would be better than doing nothing. mr. jervoise had seemed to think that it was out of the question to attempt a rescue from lancaster; but surely, if he could get together forty or fifty determined fellows, a sudden assault upon the place might be successful. then he set to work reckoning up the grooms, the younger tenants, and the sons of the older ones, and jotted down the names of twenty-seven who he thought might join in the attempt. "if harry could get twenty-three from his people, that would make it up to the number," he said. "of course, i don't know what the difficulties to be encountered may be. i have ridden there with my father, and i know that the castle is a strong one, but i did not notice it very particularly. the first thing to do will be to go and examine it closely. no doubt ladders will be required, but we could make rope ladders, and take them into the town in a cart, hidden under faggots, or something of that sort. "i do hope mr. jervoise will come tomorrow. it is horrible waiting here in suspense." the next morning, the hours seemed endless. half a dozen times he went restlessly in and out, walking a little distance up the hill rising from the valley, and returning again, with the vain idea that mr. jervoise might have arrived. still more slowly did the time appear to go, after dinner. he was getting into a fever of impatience and anxiety, when, about five o'clock, he saw a figure coming down the hillside from the right. it was too far away to recognize with certainty, but, by the rapid pace at which he descended the hill, he had little doubt that it was harry, and he at once started, at the top of his speed, to meet him. the doubt was soon changed into a certainty. when, a few hundred yards up the hill, he met his friend, both were almost breathless. harry was the first to gasp out: "has my father arrived?" "not yet." harry threw himself down on the short grass, with an exclamation of thankfulness. "i have run nearly every foot of the way," he said, as soon as he got his breath a little. "i had awful difficulty in getting out. one of the constables kept in the same room with me, and followed me wherever i went. they evidently thought i might hear from my father, or try to send him a message. at last, i got desperate, and ran upstairs to that room next mine, and closed and locked the door after me. you know the ivy grows high up the wall there, and directly i got in, i threw open the casement and climbed down by it. it gave way two or three times, and i thought i was gone, but i stuck to it, and managed each time to get a fresh hold. the moment i was down, i ran along by the foot of the wall until i got round behind, made a dash into that clump of fir trees, crawled along in a ditch till i thought i was safe, and then made a run for it. i was so afraid of being followed that i have been at least three miles round, but i don't mind, now that my father hasn't arrived. i was in such a fright that he might come and go before i got here." chapter : a rescue. the two lads walked slowly down the hill together. harry had heard no more than charlie had done, of what was going on. the messenger from his father was a young fellow, of seventeen or eighteen, with a gipsy face and appearance. how he had managed to elude the vigilance of the men on watch, harry did not know. he, himself, had only learnt his presence when, as he passed some bushes in the garden, a sharp whisper made him stop, and a moment later a hand was thrust through the foliage. he took the little note held out, and caught sight of the lad's face, through the leaves, as he leant forward and said: "go on, sir, without stopping. they may be watching you." harry had thrust the note into his pocket, and sauntered on for some time. he then returned to the house, and there read the letter, with whose contents charlie was already acquainted. eagerly, they talked over what each had been thinking of since they had parted, early on the previous day; and discussed charlie's idea of an attack on lancaster jail. "i don't know whether i could get as many men as you say, charlie. i don't think i could. if my father were in prison, as well as yours, i am sure that most of the young fellows on the estate would gladly help to rescue him, but it would be a different thing when it came to risking their lives for anyone else. of course i don't know, but it does not seem to me that fifty men would be of any use, at all, towards taking lancaster castle. it always seemed to me a tremendously strong place." "yes, it does look so, harry; but perhaps, on examining it closely, one would find that it is not so strong as it looks, by a long way. it seems to me there must be some way or other of getting father out, and, if there seems even the least bit of a chance, i shall try it." "and you may be sure i will stand by you, charlie, whatever it is," harry said heartily. "we have been just like brothers, and, of course, brothers ought to stick to each other like anything. if they don't, what is the use of being brothers? i daresay we shall know more, when we hear what my father has to say; and then we may see our way better." "thank you, harry. i knew you would stick by me. of course, i don't want to do any mad sort of thing. there is no hurry, anyhow, and, as you say, when we know more about it, we may be able to hit upon some sort of plan." it was not until eight o'clock that mr. jervoise arrived. he looked grievously tired and worn out, but he spoke cheerfully as he came in. "i have had a busy two days of it, boys, as you may guess. i have no particularly good news to tell you, but, on the other hand, i have no bad news. i was in time to warn all our friends, and when the soldiers came for them in the morning, it was only to find that their nests were empty. "they have been searching the houses of all sir marmaduke's tenants, charlie, and questioning man, woman, and child as to whether they have seen you. "ah! here is supper, and i am nearly famished. however, i can go on talking while i eat. i should have been here sooner, but i have been waiting for the return of the messenger i sent to lancaster. "yesterday morning there was an examination of your father, charlie, or rather, an examination of the testimony against him. first the two letters that were discovered were put in. without having got them word for word, my informer was able to give me the substance of them. both were unsigned, and professed to have been written in france. the first is dated three months back. it alludes to a conversation that somebody is supposed to have had with sir marmaduke, and states that the agent who had visited him, and who is spoken of as mr. h, had assured them that your father was perfectly ready to join, in any well-conceived design for putting a stop to the sufferings that afflicted the country, through the wars into which the foreign intruder had plunged it, even though the plan entailed the removal of the usurper. the writer assured sir marmaduke of the satisfaction that such an agreement on his part had caused at saint germains, and had heightened the high esteem in which sir marmaduke was held, for his long fidelity to the cause of his majesty. it then went on to state that a plan had been already formed, and that several gentlemen in the south were deeply pledged to carry it out, but that it was thought specially advisable that some from the north should also take part in it, as, from their persons being unknown near the court, they could act with more surety and safety. they would, therefore, be glad if he would take counsel, with the friends he had mentioned, as to what might seem to them the best course of proceeding. there was no occasion for any great haste and, indeed, some weeks must elapse before the blow was struck, in order that preparations should be made, in france, for taking instant advantage of it. "the rest of the letter was to the same purpose, but was really a repetition of it. the second letter was dated some time later, and was, as before, an answer to one the knight was supposed to have written. it highly approved of the suggestions therein made; that sir marmaduke and his friends should travel, separately and at a few days' interval, to london, and should take lodgings there in different parts of the town, and await the signal to assemble, near richmond, when it was known that the king would go hunting there. it said that special note had been made of the offer of sir marmaduke's son, to mingle among the king's attendants and to fire the first shot, as, in the confusion, he would be able to escape and, being but a boy, as he said, none would be able to recognize him afterwards. "in the event, of course, of the first shot failing, the rest of the party, gathered in a body, would rush forward, despatch the usurper, cut their way, sword in hand, through any who barred their path to the point where their horses were concealed, and then at once scatter in various directions. for this great service, his majesty would not fail to evince the deepest gratitude, upon his restoration to his rightful throne, and pledged his royal word that each of the party should receive rank and dignity, together with ample estates, from the lands of which the chief supporters of the usurper would be deprived. "so you see, charlie, you were to have the honour of playing the chief part in this tragedy." "honour indeed!" charlie exclaimed passionately. "dishonour, sir. was there ever so infamous a plot!" "it is a well-laid plot, charlie, and does credit to the scoundrel who planned it. you see, he made certain that sir marmaduke would be attainted, and his estates forfeited, but there existed just a possibility that, as you are but a boy, though a good big one, it might be thought that, as you were innocent of the business, a portion at least of the estate might be handed to you. to prevent this, it was necessary that you also should be mixed up in the affair." "has john dormay appeared in the matter so far, mr. jervoise?" "not openly, charlie. my informant knows that there have been two or three meetings of whig magistrates, with closed doors, and that at these he has been present, and he has no doubt, whatever, that it is he who has set the ball rolling. still, there is no proof of this, and he did not appear yesterday. the man who did appear was the rascal who tried to overhear us the other night. he stated that he had been instigated by a gentleman of great loyalty--here one of the magistrates broke in, and said no name must be mentioned--to enter the household of sir marmaduke, a gentleman who, as he believed, was trafficking with the king's enemies. he had agreed to do this, in spite of the danger of such employment, moved thereto not so much by the hope of a reward as from his great loyalty to his majesty, and a desire to avert from him his great danger from popish plots. having succeeded in entering sir marmaduke's service, he soon discovered that six gentlemen, to wit, myself and five friends, were in the habit of meeting at lynnwood, where they had long and secret talks. knowing the deep enmity and hostility these men bore towards his gracious majesty, he determined to run any hazard, even to the loss of his life, to learn the purport of such gatherings, and did, therefore, conceal himself, on one occasion behind the hangings of a window, and on another listened at an open casement, and did hear much conversation regarding the best manner in which the taking of the king's life could be accomplished. this, it was agreed, should be done in the forest at richmond, where all should lie in wait, the said sir marmaduke carstairs undertaking that he and his son would, in the first place, fire with pistol or musquetoon, and that, only if they should fail, the rest should charge forward on horse, overthrow the king's companions, and despatch him, mr. william jervoise undertaking the management of this part of the enterprise. no date was settled for this wicked business, it being, however, agreed that all should journey separately to london, and take up their lodging there under feigned names; lying hid until they heard from a friend at court, whose name was not mentioned, a day on which the king would hunt at richmond. he further testified that, making another attempt to overhear the conspirators in order that he might gather fuller details as to the manner of the plot, he was seen by master charles carstairs, who, taking him by surprise, grievously assaulted him, and that he and the others would have slain him, had he not overthrown master carstairs and effected his escape before the others, rushing out sword in hand, had time to assail him. "during his stay at lynnwood he had, several times, watched at the window of the room where sir marmaduke carstairs sits when alone, and where he writes his letters and transacts business, and that he observed him, more than once, peruse attentively papers that seemed to be of importance, for, after reading them, he would lay them down and walk, as if disturbed or doubtful in mind, up and down the room; and these papers he placed, when he had done with them, in the bottom drawer of a desk in his cabinet, the said desk being always carefully locked by him. "that is all that i learnt from lancaster, save that instructions have been given that no pains should be spared to secure the persons of those engaged in the plot, and that a special watch was to be set at the northern ports, lest they should, finding their guilt discovered, try to escape from the kingdom. so you see that your good father, sir marmaduke, is in a state of sore peril, and that the rest of us, including yourself, will be in a like strait if they can lay hands on us." "but it is all false!" charlie exclaimed. "it is a lie from beginning to end." "that is so, but we cannot prove it. the matter is so cunningly laid, i see no way to pick a hole in it. we are jacobites, and as such long regarded as objects of suspicion by the whig magistrates and others. there have been other plots against william's life, in which men of seeming reputation have been concerned. this man's story will be confirmed by the man who set him on, and by other hidden papers, if necessary. as to the discovery of the documents, we may know well enough that the fellow himself put them there, but we have no manner of proof of it. it is evident that there is nothing for us but to leave the country, and to await the time when the king shall have his own again. my other friends, who were with me this afternoon when the news came from lancaster, all agreed that it would be throwing away our lives to stay here. we all have money by us, for each has, for years, laid by something for the time when money will be required to aid the king on his arrival. "having agreed to take this course, we drew up a document, which we all signed, and which will be sent in when we have got clear away. in it we declare that being informed that accusations of being concerned in a plot against the life of william of orange have been brought against us, we declare solemnly before god that we, and also sir marmaduke carstairs and his son, are wholly innocent of the charge, and that, although we do not hesitate to declare that we consider the title of the said william to be king of this realm to be wholly unfounded and without reason, and should therefore take up arms openly against it on behalf of our sovereign did occasion offer, yet that we hold assassination in abhorrence, and that the crime with which we are charged is as hateful in our sight as in that of any whig gentleman. as, however, we are charged, as we learn, by evilly disposed and wicked persons, of this design, and have no means of proving our innocence, we are forced to leave the realm until such time shall arrive when we can rely on a fair trial, when our reputation and honour will weigh against the word of suborned perjurers and knaves. "we were not forgetful of your father's case, and we debated long as to whether our remaining here could do him service. we even discussed the possibility of raising a force, and attacking lancaster castle. we agreed, however, that this would be nothing short of madness. the country is wholly unprepared at present. the whigs are on the alert, and such an attempt would cost the lives of most of those concerned in it. besides, we are all sure that sir marmaduke would be the first to object to numbers of persons risking their lives in an attempt which, even if, for the moment, successful, must bring ruin upon all concerned in it. nor do we see that, were we to remain and to stand in the dock beside him, it would aid him. our word would count for no more than would this protest and denial that we have signed together. a prisoner's plea of not guilty has but a feather's weight against sworn evidence. "at the same time, charlie, i do not intend to leave the country until i am sure that nothing can be done. as force is out of the question, i have advised the others to lose not an hour in trying to escape and, by this time, they are all on the road. two are making for bristol, one for southampton, and two for london. it would be too dangerous to attempt to escape by one of the northern ports. but, though force cannot succeed, we may be able to effect your father's escape by other means, and it is for this purpose that i am determined to stay, and i shall do so until all hope is gone. alone you could effect nothing; but i, knowing who are our secret friends, may be able to use them to advantage. "we will stay here tonight, but tomorrow we must change our quarters, for the search will be a close one. during the day we will go far up over the hills, but tomorrow night we will make for lancaster. i have warned friends there to expect us, and it is the last place where they would think of searching for us." "you will take me with you, too, father?" harry exclaimed eagerly; while charlie expressed his gratitude to mr. jervoise, for thus determining to risk his own life in the endeavour to effect the escape of sir marmaduke. "yes, i intend to take you with me, harry. they will pretend, of course, that, in spite of our assertions of innocence, our flight is a confession of guilt, and you may be sure that we shall be condemned in our absence, and our estates declared confiscated, and bestowed upon some of william's minions. there will be no place for you here. "my own plans are laid. as you know, your mother came from the other side of the border, and a cousin of hers, with whom i am well acquainted, has gone over to sweden, and holds a commission in the army that the young king is raising to withstand russia and saxony; for both are thinking of taking goodly slices of his domains. i could not sit down quietly in exile, and, being but forty, i am not too old for service, and shall take a commission if i can obtain it. there are many scottish jacobites who, having fled rather than acknowledge dutch william as their king, have taken service in sweden, where their fathers fought under the great gustavus adolphus; and, even if i cannot myself take service, it may be that i shall be able to obtain a commission for you. you are nearly sixteen, and there are many officers no older. "should evil befall your father, charlie, which i earnestly hope will not be the case, i shall regard you as my son, and shall do the same for you as for harry. "and now, i will to rest, for i have scarce slept the last two nights, and we must be in the saddle long before daybreak." the little bedroom, that charlie had used the two previous nights, was given up to mr. jervoise; while harry and charlie slept on some sheep skins, in front of the kitchen fire. two hours before daybreak they mounted and, guided by the farmer, rode to a shepherd's hut far up among the hills. late in the afternoon, a boy came up from the farm, with the news that the place had been searched by a party of troopers. they had ridden away without discovering that the fugitives had been at the farm, but four of the party had been left, in case mr. jervoise should come there. the farmer, therefore, warned them against coming back that way, as had been intended, naming another place where he would meet them. as soon as the sun was setting they mounted and, accompanied by the shepherd on a rough pony, started for lancaster. after riding for three hours, they stopped at a lonely farm house, at which mr. jervoise and his friends had held their meeting on the previous day. here they changed their clothes for others that had been sent for their use from lancaster. mr. jervoise was attired as a small trader, and the lads in garb suitable to boys in the same rank of life. they still, however, retained their swords, and the pistols in their holsters. three miles farther they met their host, as arranged, at some crossroads, and rode on until within three miles of lancaster. they then dismounted, placed their pistols in their belts, and handed their horses to the two men, who would take them back to the hut in the hills, where they would remain until required. it was two o'clock in the morning when they entered lancaster and, going up to a small house, standing in a garden in the outskirts of the town, mr. jervoise gave three low knocks in quick succession. the door was opened almost immediately. no light was shown, and they entered in the dark, but as soon as the door was closed behind them, a woman came out with a candle from an inner room. "i am glad to see you safe, mr. jervoise," a man said. "my wife and i were beginning to be anxious, fearing that you might have fallen into the hands of your enemies." "no, all has gone well, herries; but it is a long ride from the hills here, and we walked the last three miles, as we wanted to get the horses back again before daylight. we are deeply grateful to you for giving us shelter." "i would be ready to do more than that," the man said, "for the sake of the good cause. my wife's father and mine both fell at naseby, and we are as loyal to the stuarts as they were. you are heartily welcome, sir, and, as we keep no servant, there will be none to gossip. you can either remain in the house, in which case none will know of your presence here; or, if you wish to go abroad in the town, i will accompany you, and will introduce you to any acquaintance i may meet as a cousin of my wife who, with his two sons, has come over from preston to pay us a visit. i don't think that anyone would know you, in that attire." "i will run no more risks than are necessary, herries. those i wish to see will visit me here, and, if i go out at all, it will not be until after dark." for a fortnight they remained at the house. after dark each day, a man paid mr. jervoise a visit. he was the magistrates' clerk, and had an apartment in the castle. from him they learned that a messenger had been despatched to london, with an account of the evidence taken in sir marmaduke's case; and that, at the end of twelve days, he had returned with orders that all prisoners and witnesses were to be sent to town, where they would be examined, in the first place, by his majesty's council; and where sir marmaduke's trial for high treason would take place. they were to be escorted by a party of twelve troopers, under the command of a lieutenant. the fugitives had, before, learned that the search for mr. jervoise had been given up; it being supposed that he, with his son and young carstairs had, with their accomplices, all ridden for the coast at the first alarm, and had probably taken ship for france before the orders had arrived that all outgoing vessels should be searched. harry and charlie had both been away for two or three days, and had been occupied in getting together ten young fellows, from the two estates, who would be willing and ready to attempt to rescue sir marmaduke from his captors' hands. they were able to judge, with tolerable accuracy, when the messenger would return from london and, two days previously, the men had been directed to ride, singly and by different roads, and to put up at various small inns in manchester, each giving out that he was a farmer in from the country, either to purchase supplies, or to meet with a customer likely to buy some cattle he wished to dispose of. charlie had paid a visit to lynnwood, and had gone by the long passage into the priest's chamber, and had carried off the gold hidden there. as soon as it was known that the messenger had returned, herries had borrowed a horse, and had ridden with a note to the farmer, telling him to go up to the hills and bring the horses down, with one of his own, to the place where he had parted from them, when they entered lancaster. there he was met by mr. jervoise and the lads and, mounting, they started with the spare horse for blackburn, choosing that line in preference to the road through preston, as there were troops stationed at the latter town. the next day they rode on to manchester. they went round, that evening, to the various inns where the men had put up, and directed them to discover whether, as was probable, the escort was to arrive that night. if so, they were to mount at daybreak, and assemble where the road crossed the moor, three miles north of chapel le frith, where they would find mr. jervoise awaiting them. at nine o'clock that evening the troop rode in and, at daybreak, mr. jervoise and the boys started. two of the men were already at the spot indicated, and, half an hour later, the whole of them had arrived. mr. jervoise led them back to a spot that he had selected, where the road dipped into a deep valley, in which, sheltered from the winds, was a small wood. leaving one at the edge, to give warning directly the escort appeared on the road over the brow, he told the rest to dismount. most of them were armed with pistols. all had swords. "do you," he said, "who are good shots with your pistols, fire at the men when i give the word--let the rest aim at the horses. the moment you have opened fire, dash forward and fall on them. we are already as numerous as they are, and we ought to be able to dismount or disable four or five of them, with our first fire. i shall give the order as sir marmaduke arrives opposite me. probably the officer will be riding. i shall make the officer my special mark, for it may be that he has orders to shoot the prisoner, if any rescue is attempted. "i don't suppose they will be at all prepared for an attack. they were vigilant, no doubt, for the first two days but, once out of lancashire, they will think that there is no longer any fear of an attempt at rescue. pursue those that escape for half a mile or so, and then draw rein, and, as soon as they are out of sight, strike due north across the fells. keep to the east of glossop, and then make your way singly to your homes. it will be better for you to travel up through yorkshire, till you are north of ingleborough, so as to come down from the north to your farms. "i know that you have all engaged in this affair for love of sir marmaduke or myself, and because you hate to see a loyal gentleman made the victim of lying knaves; but when we come back with the king, you may be sure that sir marmaduke and i will well reward the services you have rendered." it was an hour before the man on the lookout warned them that the troop had just appeared over the hill. they mounted now, and, pistol in hand, awaited the arrival of the party. two troopers came first, trotting carelessly along, laughing and smoking. a hundred yards behind came the main body, four troopers first, then the lieutenant and sir marmaduke, followed by the other six troopers. with outstretched arm, and pistol pointed through the undergrowth, mr. jervoise waited till the officer, who was riding on his side of the road, came abreast of him. he had already told the boys that he intended to aim at his shoulder. "they are the enemies of the king," he said, "but i cannot, in cold blood, shoot down a man with whom i have no cause for quarrel. i can depend upon my aim, and he will not be twelve paces from the muzzle of my pistol." he fired. the officer gave a sudden start, and reeled on his horse, and, before he could recover himself, the band, who had fired at the flash of the first pistol, dashed out through the bushes and fell upon the troopers. four men had dropped, one horse had fallen, and two others were plunging wildly as, with a shout, their assailants dashed upon them. all who could turn their horse's head rode furiously off, some along the road forward, others back towards manchester. the lieutenant's horse had rolled over with him, as that of mr. jervoise struck it on the shoulder, with the full impetus of its spring. "it is all over, sir marmaduke, and you are a free man. we have nothing to do now but to ride for it." and, before the knight had fairly recovered from his astonishment, he found himself riding south across the moor, with his son on one side of him, and mr. jervoise and harry on the other. "you have saved my life, jervoise," he said, holding out his hand to his friend. "they had got me so firmly in their clutches, that i thought my chances were at an end. "how are you, charlie? i am right glad to see you, safe and sound, for they had managed to include you in their pretended plot, and, for aught i knew, you had been all this time lying in a cell next mine in lancaster castle. "but who are the good fellows who helped you?" mr. jervoise briefly gave an account of the affair. "they are only keeping up a sham pursuit of the soldiers, so as to send them well on their way. i told them not to overtake them, as there was no occasion for any further bloodshed, when you were once out of their hands. by tomorrow morning they will all be at work on their farms again, and, if they keep their own counsel, need not fear." suddenly sir marmaduke reined in his horse. "we are riding south," he said. "certainly we are," mr. jervoise said. "why not? that is our only chance of safety. they will, in the first place, suspect us of having doubled back to the hills, and will search every farmhouse and cottage. our only hope of escape is to ride either for bristol, or one of the southern ports." "i must go back," sir marmaduke said doggedly. "i must kill that scoundrel john dormay, before i do anything else. it is he who has wound this precious skein, in order to entrap us, expecting, the scoundrel, to have my estates bestowed on him as a reward." "it were madness to ride back now, sir marmaduke. it would cost you your life, and you would leave charlie here fatherless, and with but little chance of ever regaining the estate. you have but to wait for a time, and everything will right itself. as soon as the king comes to his own, your estates will be restored, and then i would not seek to stay your hand, if you sought vengeance upon this cunning knave." "besides, father," charlie put in, "much as he deserves any punishment you can give him, you would not kill cousin celia's husband and ciceley's father. when the truth is all made known, his punishment will be bitter enough, for no honest man would offer him a hand, or sit down to a meal with him. "ciceley has been as a young sister to me, and her mother has ever been as kind as if she had been my aunt. i would not see them grieved, even if that rogue came off scot free from punishment; but, at any rate, father, i pray you to let it pass at present. this time we have happily got you out of the clutches of the whigs, but, if you fell into them again, you may be sure they would never give us another chance." sir marmaduke still sat irresolute, and charlie went on: "besides, father, mr. jervoise has risked his life in lingering in lancashire to save you, and the brave fellows who aided us to rescue you have risked theirs, both in the fray and afterwards, if their share in it should ever be known; and it would not be fair to risk failure, after all they have done. i pray you, father, be guided by the opinion of your good friend, mr. jervoise." sir marmaduke touched his horse's flank with his heel. "you have prevailed, charlie. your last argument decided me. i have no right to risk my life, after my good friends have done so much to save me. john dormay may enjoy his triumph for a while, but a day of reckoning will surely come. "now, tell me of the others, jervoise. have all escaped in safety?" "all. your boy brought me the news of your arrest, and that we were charged with plotting william's assassination. i rode that night with the news, and next day all were on the road to the coast, and were happily on board and away before the news of their escape could be sent to the ports." "and now, what are your plans, jervoise--that is, if you have any plans, beyond reaching a port and taking ship for france?" "i am going to sweden," mr. jervoise said, and then repeated the reasons that he had given charlie for taking this step. "i am too old for the wars," sir marmaduke said. "i was sixty last birthday, and though i am still strong and active, and could strike a shrewd blow in case of need, i am too old for the fatigues and hardships of campaigning. i could not hope, at my age, to obtain a commission in the swedish service." "no, i did not think of your joining the army, sir marmaduke, though i warrant you would do as well as most; but i thought that you might take up your residence at stockholm, as well as at saint germains. you will find many scottish gentlemen there, and not a few jacobites who, like yourself, have been forced to fly. besides, both the life and air would suit you better than at saint germains, where, by all accounts the life is a gay one, and men come to think more of pleasure than of duty. moreover, your money will go much further in sweden than in france." sir marmaduke, checking the horse's speed, said, "i have not so much as a penny in my pocket, and methinks i am like to have some trouble in getting at the hoard i have been collecting, ever since dutch william came to the throne, for the benefit of his majesty when he arrives." "you will have no trouble in getting at that, father," charlie said laughing, "seeing that you have nothing to do but to lean over, and put your hand into my holsters, which are so full, as you see, that i am forced to carry my pistols in my belt." "what mean you, lad?" "i mean, father, that i have the whole of the hoard, that was stowed away in the priest's hiding place;" and he then related how banks had revealed to him the secret of the hiding place, and how he had, the night before sir marmaduke was removed from lancaster castle, visited the place and carried away the money. "i could not see banks," he said, "but i left a few words on a scrap of paper, saying that it was i who had taken the money. otherwise he would have been in a terrible taking, when he discovered that it was gone." "that is right good news, indeed, lad. for twelve years i have set aside half my rents, so that in those bags in your holsters there are six years' income, and the interest of that money, laid out in good mortgages, will suffice amply for my wants in a country like sweden, where life is simple and living cheap. the money itself shall remain untouched, for your use, should our hopes fail and the estates be lost for all time. that is indeed a weight off my mind. "and you are, i hope, in equally good case, jervoise, for if not, you know that i would gladly share with you?" "i am in very good case, sir marmaduke, though i none the less thank you for your offer. i too have, as you know, put aside half my income. my estates are not so large as those of lynnwood. their acreage may be as large, but a good deal of it is mountain land, worth but little. my fund, therefore, is not as large as yours, but it amounts to a good round sum; and as i hope, either in the army or in some other way, to earn an income for myself, it is ample. i shall be sorry to divert it from the use for which i intended it, but that cannot now be helped. i have had the pleasure, year by year, of putting it by for the king's use, and, now that circumstances have changed, it will be equally useful to myself." "do you know this country well, jervoise?" "personally i know nothing about it, save that the sun tells me that, at present, i am travelling south, sir marmaduke. but, for the last few days i have been so closely studying a map, that i know the name of every town and village on the various routes." "and whither think you of going?" "to london or southampton. strangers are far less noticed in large towns than in small, and we could hardly hope to find a ship, bound for sweden, in any of the dorset or devon ports." chapter : in sweden. after much discussion, the party agreed that it would be best to make for southampton. the road thither was less frequented than that leading to london, and there were fewer towns to be passed, and less chance of interruption. mr. jervoise had brought with him a valise and suit of clothes for sir marmaduke, of sober cut and fashion. they avoided all large towns and, at the places where they put up, represented themselves as traders travelling from the midlands to the southern coast, and they arrived at southampton without having excited the smallest suspicion. indeed, throughout the journey, they had heard no word of the affray near chapel le frith, and knew, therefore, that the news had not travelled as fast as they had. at southampton, however, they had scarcely put up at an inn when the landlord said: "i suppose, gentlemen, they are talking of nothing else, in london, but the rescue of a desperate jacobite by his friends. the news only reached here yesterday." "it has occasioned a good deal of scare," mr. jervoise replied. "i suppose there is no word of the arrest of the man, or his accomplices? we have travelled but slowly, and the news may have passed us on the way." "not as yet," the landlord replied. "they say that all the northern and eastern ports are watched, and they make sure of catching him, if he presents himself there. the general opinion is that he will, for a time, go into hiding with his friends, in the hills of cumberland or westmoreland, or perhaps on the yorkshire moors; but they are sure to catch him sooner or later." "it is a bad business altogether," mr. jervoise said, "and we can only hope that all guilty persons will in time get the punishment they so well deserve. how can trade be carried on, if the country is to be disturbed by plots, and conspiracies?" "how, indeed?" the landlord repeated heartily. "i do not meddle in politics, being content to earn my living by my business, and to receive all who can pay their reckoning, without caring a jot whether they be whigs or tories." the next morning mr. jervoise and sir marmaduke went down to the port, leaving the lads to wander about the town at their pleasure, as two persons were likely to attract less attention than four. they found that there were two vessels in port, loading with munitions of war for sweden, and that one of them would sail shortly. they at once went on board her, and saw the captain. "do you carry any passengers?" "none have applied so far," the captain said; "but, if they were to offer, i should not say no to them." "we want to take passage for sweden," mr. jervoise said. "the king of that country is, as they say, fitting out an army. clothes are as necessary for troops as swords and guns, and we think we could obtain a contract for these goods. there is no hope of doing so, unless we ourselves go over, and, though sorely loath to do so, for neither of us have ever before set foot on board a ship, we determined on making the journey, together with our two clerks, for whom we will take passage at the same rate as for ourselves, seeing that they are both related to us." "have you any goods with you?" "we shall take over but a bale or two of cloth, as samples of the goods we can supply; but, beyond that, we have but little luggage, seeing that our stay may be a very short one." there was a little haggling for terms, as the two gentlemen did not wish to appear eager to go; but the matter was finally settled to the satisfaction of both parties. on their return to the inn, mr. jervoise took the host aside. "we have business connected with our trade in cloth in sweden, where we hope to obtain a large contract. the matter may occupy us a week, or a month or two for aught we know, and we do not want our horses to be eating their heads off, here, while we are away. besides, we may be able, on our return, to take a passage to one of the devonshire ports, which would suit us much better. but we should not be able to do so, if there were need for returning here for our horses. therefore, we would fain dispose of them, and, if you can find us a purchaser by tomorrow night, we will pay you a fair commission on the money we receive." "i doubt not that i can do that readily enough," the landlord said. "three of them are fine animals, fit for any gentleman's riding. the other is a stout hackney. trust me, i will get the best price i can for them." the next day he came up to their room. "i have had a good offer for the horses," he said. "two gentlemen, who arrived yesterday from france, and are staying at the inn of a friend of mine, are requiring horses for themselves and their servants, and i have promised my friend a slice of my commission, if he will bring them round hither. will you name your price for them?" "no, i would rather not," mr. jervoise said cautiously. "if we asked too high a figure, we might frighten the purchasers away. if we should ask too little, we should be the losers. i daresay they have named, to your friend, the price they are willing to give. you had better ask from them a good bit above that, then you can come down little by little, and maybe, seeing the horses are really good ones, they may advance a bit. i am not used to a horse deal, and will leave it to you to make the bargain. we are sorry to part with the animals, but they might die on the voyage, or get so injured as to be worthless; and, moreover, we shall have no use for them there. therefore, as we must sell, we are ready to take the best terms we can get." when they returned to the inn, after an absence of two hours, they found that the landlord had sold the horses, for a sum nearly approaching their value, the gentlemen being as anxious to purchase them as they were to sell. the next day, they bought three or four rolls of west country cloth, and a supply of clothes suitable to their condition, together with trunks for their carriage. all these were sent down to the ship, in the course of the afternoon, and they themselves embarked late in the evening, as she was to set sail at daybreak. the lads, accustomed to spacious and airy rooms, were quite taken aback at the small and stuffy cabin allotted to their joint use, and slept but badly, for the loading of the ship continued by torchlight, until within an hour of the time of their departure. after tossing about for some hours in their narrow beds, they were glad to go on deck, and to plunge their heads into a pail of water, and were then, after combing their long hair, able to take an interest in what was passing round them. the sailors were busy; stowing away the cargo last received, tidying the decks, and coiling down the ropes. there were but few persons on the quay, for those who had been engaged in loading the cargo had gone off to bed, as soon as the last bale was on board. in half an hour the sailors began to hoist the sails, the hawsers were thrown off, and, with a gentle wind blowing aft, the ship glided along past the shore, being helped by the tide, which had begun to ebb half an hour before. the lads were greatly interested in watching the well-wooded slope on the left, with the stately ruins of tintern abbey rising above the trees. then they passed the round fort, at the water's edge, on their right, and issued out from southampton water into the broad sheet between the island and the mainland. it was dotted with sails; fishing craft and coasters for the most part, but with some larger ships bound from the east to southampton, and others that had come in through the solent. this was very entertaining to the boys, and they were still more pleased when they saw the fortifications of portsmouth, with cannon pointing seaward, and with many vessels riding in the strait by the side of the town. "that fort would give the french or the dutch a hot reception, were they at any time to think to capture the dockyard and shipping," sir marmaduke said. "the dutch have already captured the place, and that without shedding a drop of blood," mr. jervoise remarked. "'that is true enough," the knight said, stamping his foot angrily on the deck, "but what has been won so easily may be lost as quickly. i have seen several changes since i can first remember, and i hope i may live to see another. however, we need not talk of that now." "no, indeed," mr. jervoise agreed. "it may be, sir marmaduke, that it would be better if we had talked and thought less of it, during the last twelve years; better for ourselves, and for these lads. we might still have been ready to join his majesty as soon as he landed, but as, till then, we could do nothing, it seems to me now that it would have been wiser had we gone about our business without worrying our heads, to say nothing of risking them, about a matter that may not take place during our lives; as we know, well enough, the king of france uses the stuarts only for his own convenience, and at heart cares nothing for them or their cause. it is convenient to have the means of creating trouble here, and of so weakening william; and it may be that, some day or other, it may suit him to send over an army here to fight william, with the aid of the stuarts' friends, instead of fighting him in holland or elsewhere. but whether he may think fit to do so in one year, or in twenty years hence, who can say? it is a question solely of military policy. "the stuarts are simply used, by the french king, to pull english chestnuts out of the fire. i would that they had established themselves anywhere rather than in france. it does them harm with vast numbers who would otherwise be their friends, at any rate in england. in scotland it is otherwise, for scotland has always been in alliance with france; but in england it is different. france has always been the national foe; and, had not charles and james proved themselves so subservient to louis, william of orange would never have been crowned king. there are vast numbers in england who would rather see a stuart than a dutchman on the throne, but who will never strike a blow to replace them there, and that because they will come over backed up by french bayonets. "well, let us talk of something else. if the time ever comes to act, we shall be ready, but till then we can let the matter sleep, the more so as we have a new life before us, and plenty of other things to occupy our thoughts." "what is it, father," harry asked, "that the swedes and danes are going to fight about?" "it is a difficult question, harry; but there can be little doubt that denmark is in the wrong. the king of sweden died in april, . his death was unfortunate, for the powers contending in europe had all agreed to refer their quarrels to his mediation. at his death, denmark endeavoured to obtain the honour, but failed; and by the mediation, chiefly, of the swedish regency, peace was concluded between france, england, and holland, in the autumn of that year; and, shortly afterwards, the struggle between the german emperor, france, and spain was also concluded, but not at all to the satisfaction of the swedish mediators. "while sweden was occupied in this matter of the pacification of europe, the king of denmark thought to take advantage of the fact that charles of sweden was but a minor, to press frederick, duke of holstein, who was in close alliance with him. "there had long been serious differences between the rulers of denmark and holstein, both of whom were branches of the oldenburg family, and this in reference to the duchy of schleswig. the quarrel had arisen from the act of christian the third, of denmark, who decreed that the descendants of his brother adolphus should govern holstein, jointly with the king of denmark, and that holstein and schleswig should belong to them in common, neither making any change in holstein without the consent of the other a more foolish arrangement could not have been conceived, for anyone might have foreseen that it would lead to disputes and troubles. in fact, quarrels continually arose, until, at the peace of rosahild, in , the duchy was adjudged to denmark. "holstein, however, never acquiesced in this, and in there was war, when, holstein being defeated, the danes imprisoned its duke, christian albertus, until he signed a renunciation of all his rights. "his troops were disarmed, and all his towns and fortresses garrisoned by danish troops. on his release, the duke went to hamburg, where he remained till, at the peace of fontainebleau, four years later, he was replaced in possession of his estates and rights of sovereignty. "but this did not last long. new troubles arose, but sweden, england, and holland interested themselves in favour of the duke, and a peace was concluded in , by which he was confirmed in the rights given him, ten years before, with full liberty to raise a certain number of troops, and of building fortresses, on the condition that he should raise none to the prejudice of denmark. "this was another of those stipulations which inevitably lead to trouble, for it afforded to denmark a pretext for continual complaint and interference. when frederick the fourth succeeded his father as duke of holstein, in , the quarrel grew so hot that denmark would have invaded holstein, had not the parties to the treaty of ' interfered, and brought about a conference. this lasted all through the year , but the negotiators appointed to settle the matter were unable to arrive at any conclusion. "the following year, charles of sweden, who had just succeeded his father, furnished the duke with some troops, to help him to build some forts that were intended to protect the frontier, in case of invasion by denmark. christian of denmark at once attacked and captured these forts, and levelled them to the ground. the duke, being too weak to engage in a war with his powerful neighbour, did not resent this attack, and the negotiations were continued as before. in view of the danger of the situation, and the necessity for a monarch at the head of affairs, the swedish diet met, at stockholm, to take part in the funeral of the late king, which was to be performed on the th of november, and to deliberate upon the situation. "by the will of the late king, charles was not to ascend the throne until he reached the age of eighteen, but the diet passed a vote overruling this, and, as the regency concurred, he was at once crowned, and the alliance with holstein was cemented by the marriage, that had been previously arranged between charles's eldest sister and the duke of holstein, being celebrated at stockholm. charles the twelfth at once concluded treaties with france, england, and holland; while denmark is reported to have prepared for war by making a secret alliance with augustus of saxony, king of poland, and the czar of russia. both these monarchs were doubtless desirous of extending their dominions, at the cost of sweden, whose continental possessions are considerable. "augustus is not yet very firmly seated on the throne of poland. there are several parties opposed to him, and these united in obtaining, from the diet, a refusal to pay the saxon troops augustus had brought with him. the king, no doubt, considered that these could be employed for the conquest of livonia, and that the addition of so large a territory to poland would so add to his popularity, that he would have no further troubles in his kingdom. "charles the twelfth, being in ignorance of this secret agreement, sent an embassy to russia, to announce his accession to the throne. the ambassadors were kept a long time waiting for an audience, as the czar was bringing a war with the turks to a conclusion, and did not wish to throw off the mask until he was free to use his whole force against sweden. the ambassadors were, at last, received civilly, but the czar evaded taking the usual oaths of friendship, and, after long delays, the embassy returned to sweden, feeling somewhat disquieted as to the intentions of the czar, but having no sure knowledge of them. "the king of poland was more successful in disguising his leaning towards denmark, sending the warmest assurances to charles, requesting him to act as mediator in the quarrel between himself and the duke of brandenburg, and signing a treaty of alliance with sweden. but, while sweden had no idea of the triple alliance that had been formed against her, the intention of denmark to make war was evident enough, for king christian was gathering a great naval armament. "the duke of holstein, becoming much alarmed at these preparations, hastened on the fortifications of tonningen, on the eider, three leagues from its mouth. the garrison of the place was a weak one, and a thousand swedish troops were thrown in to strengthen it. the king of denmark complained that this was a breach of the treaty, but, as his own preparations for war were unmistakable, no one could blame the duke of holstein for taking steps to defend his territories. "as you know, christian of denmark died about this time, and was succeeded by his son frederick the fourth. "last august, he commenced the war, by sending a naval squadron to cover the passage of four regiments into pomerania. charles of sweden, seeing that holstein must be crushed by its powerful neighbour, called upon holland and the duke of lunenburg, who were with sweden guarantors of the treaty, to enforce its provisions; and a joint protest was sent to the king of denmark, who was informed that, if he invaded holstein, they should consider it a breach of the treaty of altena, and treat him as a common enemy. frederick replied by sending some troops into the duchy. "no active operations took place, until the beginning of this year. up to that time, sweden had not doubted the friendship of the king of poland, and charles, at first, could hardly believe the reports he received from the governor of livonia, that the saxon troops were approaching the frontier. "a few days later, however, came the news that they were advancing against riga. the governor prepared for defence, and hastily mounted cannon on the walls. his powers of resistance, however, were lessened by the fact that the river duna was frozen over. fleming, who commanded the saxon troops, arrived before the town, early in february, with four thousand men. the governor had set fire to the suburbs on the previous day; and fleming was surprised to find that, instead of taking it by surprise, as he had hoped, the place was in a position to offer a stout resistance. however, he attacked the fort of cobrun, on the opposite side of the river, and carried it by assault. "the news was brought to young charles the twelfth when he was out hunting, a sport of which he is passionately fond. by all accounts, he is an extraordinary young fellow. he is not content with hunting bears and shooting them, but he and his followers engage them armed only with forked sticks. with these they attack the bears, pushing and hustling the great creatures, with the forks of their sticks, until they are completely exhausted, when they are bound and sent away. in this hunt charles took fourteen alive, one of which nearly killed him before it was captured. he did not break up the hunting party, but continued his sport to the end, sending off, however, orders for the concentration of all the troops, in livonia and finland, to act against the saxons. "as soon as the king of denmark heard of the siege of riga, he ordered the duke of wurtemberg-neustadt, his commander-in-chief, to enter holstein with his army, sixteen thousand strong. all of that country was at once overrun, the ducal domains seized, and great contributions exacted from schleswig and holstein. fleming and the saxons, after one severe repulse, forced the garrison of the fort of dunamund, commanding the mouth of the duna, to surrender. tonningen is the only fortress that now holds out in holstein. so you see, lads, there is every chance of there being brisk fighting, and i warrant the young king of sweden will not be backward in the fray. a man who is fond of engaging with bears, armed with nothing but a forked stick, is not likely to hang back in the day of battle. "but, at present, we will say no more on the matter. now that we have got beyond the shelter of the island, the waves are getting up, and the vessel is beginning to toss and roll. i see that sir marmaduke has retired to his cabin. i mean to remain here as long as i can, and i should advise you both to do the same. i have always heard that it is better to fight with this sickness of the sea, as long as possible, and that it is easier to do so in fresh air than in a close cabin." the lads quite agreed with this opinion, but were, in spite of their efforts, presently prostrate. they remained on deck for some hours, and then crawled to their cabin, where they remained for the next three days, at the end of which time they came on deck again, feeling better, but as weak as if they had suffered from a long illness. mr. jervoise had been in frequently to see them, having escaped the malady, from which, as he told them, sir marmaduke was suffering to the full as severely as they were. "so you have found your feet again," the captain said, when they appeared on deck. "you will be all right now." "we feel much better," harry said, "now that the storm is over." "storm! what storm? the weather has been splendid. we cannot wish for anything better. it has been just as you see it now--a bright sun, and just enough wind for her to carry whole sail." the lads both looked astonished. "then why should we roll and toss about so much?" harry asked. "roll and toss! nonsense, lad! there has been a little movement, of course, as there always must be when there is a brisk wind; but as for rolling and tossing, you must wait till you see a storm, then you will begin to have an idea of what the sea is." the boys both felt rather crestfallen, for they had flattered themselves that their sufferings were caused by something quite out of the ordinary way, and it was mortifying to know that the weather had been really fine, and there had been nothing even approaching a storm. the rest of the voyage was a pleasant one. they found they had regained their appetites, and were able to enjoy their meals; still they were not sorry when they saw the coast of sweden, and, a few hours later, entered the port of gottenburg, where sir marmaduke, for the first time, came on deck--looking a mere shadow of his former jovial self. "well, lads," he said, "i was glad to hear that you got through this business quicker than i did. here we are in sweden, and here i, at least, am likely to stay, unless i can pass by land through holland, france, and across from calais, for never again will i venture upon a long voyage. i have been feeling very ungrateful, for, over and over again, i wished that you had not rescued me, as death on tower hill would have been nothing to the agonies that i have been enduring!" as soon as the vessel was warped alongside the quay, they landed, and put up at an hotel, sir marmaduke insisting that the ground was as bad as the sea, as it kept on rising and falling beneath his feet. mr. jervoise agreed to return on board the following day, to fetch the luggage, which would by that time have been got up from the hold. at the hotel, they met several persons able to speak english, and from them learnt how matters had been going on since they had last heard. the town and fortress of tonningen had fallen, after a vigorous defence; it had been bombarded for eight days, and had repulsed one assault, but had been captured at the second attack. england and holland had agreed to furnish fleets, and an army of twelve thousand swedes were in readiness to march, at once, while other armies were being formed. the king had, the week before, reviewed the army gathered at malmoe; and had, on the previous day, arrived at gottenburg, accompanied by the duke of holstein. mr. jervoise went, the same afternoon, to find out some of his friends who resided at gottenburg. he was fortunate enough to find one of them, who was able to inform him that his wife's cousin was now a major, in one of the newly-raised regiments stationed at gottenburg. he found him without difficulty. major jamieson was delighted at the coming of his former friend. "you are the last person i expected to see here, jervoise. it is true that, when we met last, you said that if matters went wrong in england you should come out here, instead of taking refuge in france; but, as everything is quiet, i had little hope of seeing you again, until i paid another visit to scotland, of which at present there is but little prospect. have you grown tired of doing nothing, and is it a desire to see something of a stirring life that has brought you over here?" mr. jervoise related, shortly, the events by which he had been driven into exile, and expressed his desire to serve in the army of sweden, and that his son and young carstairs should also enter the army. "they are but sixteen yet," he said, "but are stout, active fellows, and could hold their own in a day's march or in a stout fight with many men. of course, if i could obtain commissions for them, all the better, but if not they are ready to enlist in the ranks. roughing it will do them no harm." "their age is no drawback," major jamieson said. "there are many no older, both in the ranks and as officers. men in sweden of all ages and of all ranks are joining, for this unprovoked attack, on the part of poland, has raised the national spirit to boiling heat. the chief difficulty is their and your ignorance of the language. were it not for that, i could obtain, from the minister of war, commissions for you at once." he sat thinking for some minutes, in silence. "i think i see how it can be managed, jervoise. i have some twenty or thirty scotchmen in my regiment, and i know a colonel who has as many in his, and these i could manage to get, in exchange for an equal number of my swedes. ships are coming daily from scotland, and most of them bring young fellows who have come out to join the army. "you know how the scots fought, under gustavus adolphus, and there is scarce a glen in scotland where there are not traditions of fathers, or grandfathers, who fought in hepburn's green brigade. therefore, it is natural that, seeing there is no chance of military service at home, there should be many young fellows coming out to join. "i can go across this evening to the minister of war, who is a personal friend of mine, and get him to give you permission to raise a company of scotchmen for service. i shall, of course, point out to him that you will enlist them here. i shall show him the advantage of these men being gathered together, as their ignorance of the language makes them, for some time, useless as soldiers if enrolled in a swedish regiment. i shall mention that i have twenty in my own corps, who are at present positively useless, and in fact a source of great trouble, owing to their understanding nothing that is said to them, and shall propose that they be at once handed over to you. as to the exchange, we can manage that quietly between ourselves. you would have no difficulty with fresh-landed men, as these will naturally be delighted at joining a company of their own countrymen." "thank you very heartily, jamieson. this altogether exceeds my hopes, but i fear that i know nothing of drilling them." "two of my men are sergeants, and, having been in the army for some years, speak swedish well. they will do the drilling at first. the manoeuvres are not complicated, and, for a pound or two, they will be glad to teach you all the orders necessary. i don't know how you are situated as to money, but i can assure you my purse is at your service." "thank you; i am, in that respect, excellently well provided, as is my friend sir marmaduke. we have both made provision for unexpected contingencies." "then, if you will call tomorrow after breakfast, i shall probably have your commission ready. as a matter of course, you will have the appointment of your own officers, and will only have to send in their names. each company is from a hundred and forty to a hundred and fifty strong, and has a captain, two lieutenants, and two ensigns." mr. jervoise's news was, on his return to the inn, received with delight by the two lads; and sir marmaduke said: "i wish i could shake off twenty of my years, jervoise, and join also. well, well, i daresay i shall get on comfortably enough. i know there are a good many english and scotch jacobites settled in the town or neighbourhood, and i shall not be long before i meet someone i know. "as the matter seems settled, i should advise you lads to go down, the first thing in the morning, to the wharves. there is no saying when ships may come in. moreover, it is likely enough that you may light upon young fellows who have landed within the last few weeks, and who have been kept so far, by their ignorance of the language, from enlisting." "that is a very good idea," mr. jervoise said. "they will be delighted to hear a friendly voice, and be only too glad to enlist in a scottish company. you can say that each man will have a free outfit given him." accordingly, the next morning early, the two lads went down to the wharf. presently they saw three young fellows, who were evidently scotch by their dress and caps, talking together. they strolled up near enough to catch what they were saying. "it is hard," one said, "that, now we are here, we can make no one understand us, and it seems to me we had far better have stayed at home." "we shall find some one who speaks our language presently, jock," another said more cheerfully. "the old man, where we lodged last night, said in his broken tongue, that we had but to go over to malmoe, or some such place as that, where there is a big camp, and walk up to an officer and say we wish to enlist." "oh, that is all very well," the other grumbled; "but, if he did not understand us, we should be no better off than before." "are you wanting to enlist?" harry said, going up to them. the men gave an exclamation of pleasure, at being addressed in their own tongue. "that we do, sir. if you can put us in the way, we shall be grateful." "that i can do easily," harry said. "my father is raising a company of scotch and englishmen, for the regiment commanded by colonel jamieson. this will be far better than joining a swedish company, where no one will understand your language, and you will not be able to make out the orders given. my father will give each man who joins a free outfit." "that is the very thing for us, sir. we expected to find scotch regiments here, as there were in the old times, and we had hoped to join them; but whether it is a company or regiment, it makes but little difference, so that we are with those who speak our tongue." "very well, then. if you come to the lion inn, at nine o'clock, you will see my father there. if you know of any others in the same mind as yourselves, and willing to join, bring them with you." "there are ten or twelve others who came over in the ship with us, two days since, and i have no doubt they will be fine and glad to join." "well, see if you can hunt them up, and bring them with you." on returning to the inn, they found that mr. jervoise had already received his commission as captain, and, by ten o'clock, fifteen young scotchmen had been sworn in. all of them had brought broadswords and dirks, and captain jervoise at once set to work buying, at various shops, iron head pieces, muskets, and other accoutrements. during the next three days ten other english and scotchmen had joined, and then a ship came in, from which they gathered another four-and-twenty recruits. arms had already been purchased for them, and, on the following day, captain jervoise marched off to malmoe with his forty-nine recruits. harry accompanied them, charlie being left behind, with his father, to gather another fifty men as the ships arrived. a week later this number was obtained, and charlie started with them for the camp, sir marmaduke accompanying them on horseback, in order to aid charlie in maintaining order among his recruits. he had already fixed upon a small house, just outside the town, and, having met two or three old friends, who had been obliged to leave england at william's accession, he already began to feel at home. "don't you fidget about me, charlie," he said. "ferrers tells me that there are at least a score of jacobites here, and that they form quite a society among themselves. living is very cheap, and he will introduce me to a man of business, who will see that my money is well invested." chapter : narva. for the next fortnight, drilling went on from morning till night, the officers receiving instructions privately from the sergeants, and further learning the words of command by standing by while the men were being drilled. at the end of that time, both officers and men were sufficiently instructed to carry out the simple movements which were, alone, in use in those days. it was not, however, until two months later that they were called upon to act. the english and dutch fleets had arrived, and effected a junction with that of sweden, and the danish fleet had shut themselves up in the port of copenhagen, which was closely blockaded. a large army had crossed to zeeland, and repulsed the danes, who had endeavoured to prevent their landing, and had then marched up to within sight of the walls of copenhagen, which they were preparing to besiege; when the king of denmark, alarmed at this unexpected result of his aggression on holstein, conceded every point demanded, and peace was signed. the negotiations were carried on in holland, and the swedes were extremely angry, when they found that they were baulked of their expected vengeance on their troublesome neighbours. the peace, however, left charles the twelfth at liberty to turn his attention to his other foes, and to hurry to the assistance of riga, which was beleaguered by the saxons and poles; and of narva, against which city the russians had made several unsuccessful assaults. without losing an hour, the king crossed to malmoe. the troops there were ordered to embark, immediately, in the vessels in the harbour. they then sailed to revel, where the swedish commander, welling, had retired from the neighbourhood of riga, his force being too small to meet the enemy in the open field. no sooner had the troops landed than the king reviewed them, and general welling was ordered, at once, to march so as to place himself between the enemy and wesenberg, where a large amount of provisions and stores for the use of the army had been collected. the two lieutenants, in the company of captain jervoise, were young scotchmen of good family, who had three months before come over and obtained commissions, and both had, at the colonel's request, been transferred to his regiment, and promoted to the rank of lieutenants. captain jervoise and his four officers messed together, and were a very cheerful party; indeed, their commander, to the surprise both of his son and charlie, had quite shaken off his quiet and somewhat gloomy manner, and seemed to have become quite another man, in the active and bracing life in which he was now embarked. cunningham and forbes were both active young men, full of life and energy, while the boys thoroughly enjoyed roughing it, and the excitement and animation of their daily work. sometimes they slept in the open air, sometimes on the floor of a cottage. their meals were rough but plentiful. the king's orders against plundering were very severe, and, even when in denmark, the country people, having nothing to complain of, had brought in supplies regularly. here in linovia they were in swedish dominions, but there was little to be purchased, for the peasantry had been brought to ruin by the foraging parties of the russians and poles. there was some disappointment, that the enemy had fallen back at the approach of welling's force, but all felt sure that it would not be long before they met them, for the king would assuredly lose no time in advancing against them, as soon as his army could be brought over. they were not, however, to wait for the arrival of the main force, although the cavalry only took part in the first affair. general welling heard that a force of three thousand circassians had taken up their quarters in a village, some fifteen miles away, and sent six hundred horse, under majors patkul and tisenbausen, to surprise them. they were, at first, successful and, attacking the circassians, set fire to the village, and were engaged in slaughtering the defenders, when twenty-one squadrons of russian cavalry came up and fell upon them, attacking them on all sides, and posting themselves so as to cut off their retreat. the swedes, however, gathered in a body, and charged the russians so furiously that they cut a way through their ranks, losing, however, many of their men, while major patkul and another officer were made prisoners. the king was at revel when this engagement took place, and, although but few of the troops had arrived, he was too impatient for action to wait until the coming of the fleet. he therefore marched to wesenberg, with his bodyguard and a few troops from revel. he at once despatched a thousand men, to cover the frontier, and issued orders for the rest of the troops to leave the whole of their baggage behind them, to take three days' provision in their haversacks, and to prepare to march the next morning. major jamieson came into the cottage, occupied by captain jervoise and his officers, late in the evening. they had a blazing fire, for it was now the middle of november, and the nights were very sharp. "well, jervoise, what do you think of the orders?" he asked, as he seated himself on a log that had been brought in for the fire. "i have not thought much about them, except that we are going to do a long and quick march somewhere." "and where is that somewhere, do you think?" "that, i have not the slightest idea." "you would not say that it was to narva?" "i certainly should not, considering that we have but five thousand infantry, and three thousand cavalry, and of these a large number have been so weakened, by fever, as to be unfit for fighting; while at narva, report says there are eighty thousand russians, in a strongly intrenched camp." "well, that is where we are going, jervoise, nevertheless. at least, that is what the colonel has told me." "he must have been surely jesting, major. we may be going to push forward in that direction, and occupy some strong position until the army comes up, but it would be the height of madness to attack an enemy, in a strong position, and just tenfold our force." "well, we shall see," jamieson said coolly. "it is certain that narva cannot hold out much longer, and i know that the king has set his heart on relieving it; but it does seem somewhat too dangerous an enterprise to attack the russians. at any rate, that is the direction in which we are going, tomorrow. it is a good seventy miles distant, and, as they say that the whole country has been devastated, and the villagers have all fled, it is evident that when the three days' bread and meat we carry are exhausted we shall have to get some food, out of the russian camp, if nowhere else." captain jervoise laughed, as did the others. "we can live for a short time on the horses, jamieson, if we are hard pushed for it, though most of them are little beyond skin and bone." "that is true. the cavalry are certainly scarcely fit for service. welling's troops have had a very hard time of it, and we may thank our stars, though we did not think so at the time, that we were kept nearly three months at malmoe, instead of being here with welling." "but do you seriously think, major, that the king means to attack the russians?" cunningham asked. "my own idea is that he does, cunningham. i cannot see what else there is for us to do. at any rate, if he does, you may be sure that we shall make a tough fight for it. the cavalry showed, the other day, that they can stand up against many times their number of the russians, and if they can do it, i fancy we can. there is one thing, the very audacity of such an attempt is in its favour." "well, we will all do our best, you may be sure; but since thermopylae, i doubt if men have fought against longer odds." the next morning the men fell in. captain jervoise, who, like all of his rank, was mounted, took his place at the head of his company, and the little army marched away from wesenberg. it was a dreary march to purts, but the sight of the ruined villages, and devastated fields, aroused a feeling of indignation and fury among the troops, and a fierce longing to attack men who had so ruthlessly spread ruin through a fertile country. orders were issued, that evening, that the men were to husband their provisions as much as possible, and the order was more strictly obeyed than such orders usually are, for the men saw, for themselves, that there was no possibility of obtaining fresh supplies in the wasted country, and were well aware that there existed no train of waggons and horses capable of bringing up stores from wesenberg. there were a few aged men and women remaining at purts, and from these they learned that their next day's march would take them to a very difficult pass, which was held by six hundred of the russian cavalry, together with a force of infantry and some guns. it was the intention of the king to encamp that evening near the pass, and, when within three or four miles of it, general meidel, who had with him the quartermaster of the army, and four hundred cavalry, rode on ahead to choose a site for the camp. he presently saw a large body of russian foragers in front of him, and sent back to the king for permission to attack them. charles ordered the army to continue its march, and, hurrying forward with some of his officers, joined general meidel and charged the foragers, killing many, taking others prisoners, and putting the rest to flight. he followed close upon their heels, and rode right up to the mouth of the pass, in spite of the heavy fire of artillery and musketry opened by the russians. he at once determined to take advantage of the alarm produced by the defeat of the russian cavalry, and, although darkness was now drawing on, brought up some of his infantry and artillery, and attacked with such vigour that the russians fled, after offering a very feeble resistance. a battalion of foot were ordered to occupy the pass, while the rest of the army piled their arms, and lay down where they stood. in the morning, they were astonished at the strength of the position that had been gained so easily. the defile was deep and narrow, a rapid stream ran through it, and the ground was soft and marshy. a few determined men should have been able to bar the advance of an army. the troops were in high spirits at the result of this, their first action against the enemy, and were the more pleased that they found, in the russian camp, sufficient provisions to replace those they had used. after a hearty meal, they again advanced at a brisk march. the defile was captured on the evening of the th november, and, early in the morning of the th, the army reached lagena, a league and a half from narva, and, ordering the troops to follow, the king rode forward to reconnoitre the russian position. the troops were weary with their long marches, and many of those who had, but recently, recovered from fever were scarce able to drag themselves along, while great numbers were unfit to take part in a battle, until after two or three days of rest. the officers of the malmoe regiment, for it had taken its name from the camp where it had been formed, were gathered in a group at its head, discussing the situation. most of the officers were of opinion that, to attack at once, with men and horses worn out with fatigue, was to ensure destruction; but there were others who thought that, in face of so great an army as that gathered in front of them, the only hope was in an immediate attack. major jamieson was one of these. "the king is right," he said. "if the russian army have time to form, and to advance against us in order of battle, we must be annihilated. at present, their camp is an extensive one, for, as i hear, it extends in a great semi-circle four or five miles long, with the ends resting on the river. they cannot believe that we intend to attack them, and, if we go straight at them, we may possibly gain a footing in their intrenchments, before the whole army can gather to aid those at the point of attack. it will be almost a surprise, and i think the king is right to attempt it, for it is only by a quick and sudden stroke that we can gain a success over so great an army." the halt was but a short one and, as soon as the regiments had arrived at the positions assigned to them, they advanced. as soon as they appeared, on a rise of ground facing the intrenchments, the enemy opened fire. the king had already reconnoitred a portion of their position, exposing himself recklessly to their shot, and, as soon as the troops came up, he issued orders for them to prepare to attack in two columns. first, however, several of the regiments were ordered to fall out, and to cut down bushes and make fascines, to enable the troops to cross the ditches. the intrenchment was a formidable one, being provided with parapets armed with chevaux de frise, and flanked by strong exterior works, while several batteries had been placed to sweep the ground across which an enemy must advance. the right column, under general welling, was to march to a point nearly in the centre of the great semicircle; while the left, under general rhenschild, was to assault a point about halfway between the centre and the river, where one of the largest and most powerful of the enemy's batteries was placed. the king himself was with this wing, with his bodyguard, and he hoped that here he might meet the czar commanding in person. the russian emperor had, however, left the camp that morning, to fetch up forty thousand men who were advancing from plescow, and the command of the army had been assumed by the duke of croy. the swedish left wing had with it a battery of twenty-one guns, while sixteen guns covered the attack on the right. it was two o'clock in the afternoon when two guns gave the signal for the advance. hitherto the weather had been fine, but it had become gradually overcast, and, just as the signal was given, a tremendous storm of snow and hail began. it set right in the face of the russians, and concealed from them the movement of the swedes, for which, indeed, they were wholly unprepared, believing that the small force they saw was but the advance guard of a great swedish army, and that no attack need be expected until the main body arrived. the consequence was, the swedes were almost at the edge of the ditch before they were perceived, and both columns attacked with such vigour and courage that, in a quarter of an hour, they had gained a footing in the intrenchments, and had so filled up the ditch with the fascines that the cavalry were able to follow them. the russians were so astounded at this sudden attack that they lost heart altogether. the swedish left, as soon as it entered the intrenchments, swept along them, the russians abandoning their guns and batteries, and making for their bridge across the river. unfortunately for them, their huts were built close behind the works, and in rear was another intrenchment, designed to repel assaults from the town; and the terrified crowd, unable to make their way rapidly along, over ground encumbered by their huts, crossed the interior intrenchments, thinking to make their way faster through the fields to the bridge. the swedish king, however, placed himself at the head of his bodyguard, and, followed by the rest of his horse, charged right upon them, cutting down great numbers, and driving the rest before them towards the river, while the infantry kept up a heavy fire upon the fugitives in the intrenchments. the panic had spread quickly, and the russian troops nearest to the bridge were already pouring over, when the mass of the fugitives arrived. these pressed upon the bridge in such numbers that it speedily gave way, cutting off the retreat of their comrades behind. ignorant of the result, the terrified crowd pushed on, pressing those in front of them into the river, and the number of drowned was no less than that of those who fell beneath the bullets, pikes, and sabres of the swedes. in their despair the russians, rallied by some of their generals, now attempted to defend themselves, and, by occupying some houses and barracks, and barricading the passages between these with overturned waggons, they fought bravely, and repulsed, for some time, every effort of the swedes. darkness was now falling, and the king hastened to the spot where the battle was fiercely raging. as he ran towards it, he fell into a morass, from which he was rescued with some difficulty, leaving his sword and one boot behind him. however, he at once pushed on, and placed himself at the head of the infantry engaged in the assault. but even his presence and example did not avail. the russians maintained their position with desperate courage, and, when it became quite dark, the assault ceased. the right column had met with equal success. it had penetrated the intrenchments, defeated all the russians who opposed it, and now moved to assist the left wing. the king, however, seeing that the russian defences could not be carried, by a direct assault, without great loss, gathered the army in the space between the town and the russian intrenchments, and placed them in a position to repel an attack, should the russians take the offensive; giving orders that, at daylight, the hill on which the enemy had their principal battery should be assaulted. the guns here commanded all the intrenchments, and the capture of that position would render it impossible for the russians to continue their defence, or for the now separated wings of the army to combine. the officers in command of the russian right wing, finding themselves unable to cross the river on their broken bridge, and surrounded by the swedes, sent in to surrender in the course of the evening, and two battalions of the swedish guards took possession of the post that had been so gallantly defended. the king granted them permission to retire with their arms, the colours and standards being given up, and the superior officers being retained as prisoners of war. the broken bridge was repaired and, early the next morning, the russian troops passed over. their left wing was, after the surrender of their right, in a hopeless position, for on that side no bridge had been thrown over the river, and their retreat was wholly cut off. on learning, before daybreak, that the right wing had surrendered, they too sent in to ask for terms. the king granted them freedom to return to their country, but without their standards or arms. they filed off before him, officers and soldiers bareheaded, and passed over the bridge, their numbers being so great that all had not crossed until next morning. the russians lost over , men killed or drowned, a hundred and forty-five cannon, and twenty-eight mortars, all of which were new, besides vast quantities of military stores and provisions. a hundred and fifty-one colours, and twenty standards, and the greater proportion of their muskets, together with the military chest, the duke of croy, their commander-in-chief, and the whole of their generals, colonels, majors, and captains, fell into the hands of the swedes, as prisoners of war. the total loss in killed and wounded of the swedes was under two thousand, the chief loss being due to the desperate resistance of the russians, after the battle was irretrievably lost. it may be doubted whether so complete and surprising a victory, between armies so disproportionate in force, was ever before gained. the king had exposed himself, throughout the day, most recklessly, and was everywhere in the thick of the russian bullets, and yet he escaped without so much as a scratch. the malmoe regiment had been with the left wing, but suffered comparatively little loss, as they were one of the last to enter the intrenchments, and it was only when darkness was closing in that they were called up to take a part in the attack on the position held by the russians. "never was the saying, that fortune favours the brave, more signally verified, jervoise," major jamieson said, as he sat down to a rough breakfast with the officers of the scottish company, on the morning after the russian surrender. "that's true enough, but russians are brave, too, as they showed at the end of the day. i fancy you have a scotch proverb to the effect that 'fou folk come to no harm.' i think that is more applicable in the present case." the major laughed. "the fou folk relates rather to drunkenness than madness, jervoise. but, of course, it would do for both. i own that the whole enterprise did seem, to me, to be absolute madness, but the result has justified it. that sudden snowstorm was the real cause of our victory, and, had it not been for that, i still think that we could not have succeeded. the russian cannon certainly continued to fire, but it was wholly at random, and they were taken by surprise when we suddenly appeared at the side of the ditch, while we were across before they could gather any force sufficient to defend it. "after that, panic did the rest. the commander in chief fell early into our hands. there was no one to give orders, no one to rally them, and i expect the russian soldiers gave us credit for having brought on that storm, to cover our assault, by the aid of malign spirits. "well, lads, and how did you feel when the shots were whistling about?" "i did not like it at all, major," charlie said. "it seemed such a strange thing, marching along in the thick of that snowstorm, hearing the rush of cannonballs overhead, and the boom of guns, and yet be unable to see anything but the rear files of the company in front." "it was an uncanny feeling, charlie. i felt it myself, and was very grateful that we were hidden from the enemy, who, of course, were blazing away in the direction in which they had last seen us. we only lost three killed and twelve wounded, altogether, and i think those were, for the most part, hit by random shots. "well, if this is the way the king means to carry on war, we shall have enough of it before we are done." the sick and wounded were sent into the town, the first thing, but it was not until the russians had all crossed the river that the king, himself, rode triumphantly into the place, surrounded by his staff, amid the wild enthusiasm of the inhabitants, whom his victory had saved from ruin and massacre. the town, although strongly fortified, was not a large one, and its houses were so dilapidated, from the effects of the russian bombardment, that but few of the troops could be accommodated there. the rest were quartered in the russian huts. on the th, a solemn service of thanksgiving for the victory was celebrated, with a salute from all the cannon of the town and camp, and by salvos of musketry from the troops. the question of provisions was the most important now. it was true that large quantities had been captured in the russian camp, but, beyond a magazine of corn, abandoned by the fugitives at tama and brought in, there was no prospect of replenishing the store when exhausted, for the whole country, for a great distance round, had been completely devastated by the russians. these had not retreated far, having been rallied by the czar at plescow, and quartered in the towns of the frontier of livonia, whence they made incursions into such districts as had not been previously wasted. "this is dull work," archie cunningham said, one day. "the sooner we are busy again, the better. there is nothing to do, and very little to eat. the cold is bitter, and fuel scarce. one wants something to warm one's blood." "you are not likely to have anything of that kind, for some months to come," major jamieson replied dryly. "you don't suppose we are going to have a battle of narva once a week, do you? no doubt there will be a few skirmishes, and outpost encounters, but beyond that there will be little doing until next spring. you can make up your mind, for at least five months, of the worst side of a soldier's life--dull quarters, and probably bad ones, scanty food, cold, and disease." "not a very bright lookout, major," forbes laughed. "i hope it won't be as bad as that." "then i advise you to give up hoping, and to make up your mind to realities, forbes. there is a good deal of illness in the camp now, and there will be more and more as the time goes on. there is nothing like inaction to tell upon the health of troops. however, we certainly shall not stay here. it would be impossible to victual the army, and i expect that, before long, we shall march away and take up quarters for the winter. "as to operations on a great scale, they are out of the question. after the thrashing they have had, the russians will be months before they are in a condition to take the offensive again; while we are equally unable to move because, in the first place, we are not strong enough to do so, and in the second we have no baggage train to carry provisions with us, and no provisions to carry if we had it." on the th of december, the king quitted narva with the army, and on the th arrived at lais, an old castle six miles from derpt, and here established his headquarters. a few of the troops were stationed in villages, but the greater part in rough huts in the neighbourhood, and along the frontier. it was not long before major jamieson's predictions were verified. a low fever, occasioned by the fatiguing marches and the hardships they had endured, added to the misery from the cold and wet that penetrated the wretched huts, spread rapidly through the army. many died, and great numbers were absolutely prostrated. the king was indefatigable in his efforts to keep up the spirits of the troops. he constantly rode about from camp to camp, entering the huts, chatting cheerfully with the soldiers, and encouraging them by kind words and assurances that, when the spring came, they would soon gain strength again. at narva the four young officers had all purchased horses. most of the swedish officers were mounted; and the king encouraged this, as, on occasion, he could thereby collect at once a body of mounted men ready for any enterprise; but their own colonel preferred that, on the march, the lieutenants and ensigns should be on foot with their men, in order to set them an example of cheerful endurance. those who wished it, however, were permitted to have horses, which were, on such occasions, led in the rear of the regiment. captain jervoise had approved of the purchase of the horses, which were got very cheaply, as great numbers had been captured. "if we can get over the difficulty of the forage," he said, "you will find them very useful for preserving your health during the winter. a ride will set your blood in motion, and, wherever we are quartered, there are sure to be camps within riding distance. the king approves of officers taking part in dashing expeditions, so you may be able to take a share in affairs that will break the monotony of camp life." they found great benefit from being able to ride about. forage was indeed very scarce. they had no means of spending their pay on luxuries of any kind, their only outlay being in the purchase of black bread, and an occasional load of forage from the peasants. their regiment was with the force under the command of colonel schlippenbach, which was not very far from marienburg, a place open to the incursions of the russians. baron spens was at signiz, and colonel alvedyhl at rounenberg, and to both these places they occasionally paid a visit. in order to keep the company in health, captain jervoise encouraged the men to get up games, in which the four young officers took part. sometimes it was a snowball match in the open; at other times a snow fort was built, garrisoned, and attacked. occasionally there were matches at hockey, while putting the stone, throwing the caber, running and wrestling matches, were all tried in turn; and the company suffered comparatively little from the illness which rendered so large a proportion of the swedish army inefficient. colonel schlippenbach was an energetic officer, and had, several times, ridden past when the men were engaged in these exercises. he expressed to captain jervoise his approval of the manner in which he kept his men in strength and vigour. "i shall not forget it," he said, one day, "and if there is service to be done, i see that i can depend upon your company to do it." in january, he took a party of horse, and reconnoitred along the river aa, to observe the motions of the saxons on the other side; and, hearing that a party of them had entered marienburg, he determined to take possession of that place, as, were they to fortify it, they would be able greatly to harass the swedes. sending word to the king of his intention, and asking for an approval of his plan of fortifying the town, he took three companies of infantry and four hundred horse, made a rapid march to marienburg, and occupied it without opposition. he had not forgotten his promise, and the company of captain jervoise was one of those selected for the work. its officers were delighted at the prospect of a change, and, when the party started, captain jervoise was proud of the show made by his men, whose active and vigorous condition contrasted strongly with the debility and feebleness evident, so generally, among the swedish soldiers. as soon as marienburg was entered, the men were set to work, to raise and strengthen the rampart and to erect bastions; and they were aided, a few days later, by a reinforcement of two hundred infantry, sent by the king, with some cannon, from the garrison of derpt. as the place was surrounded by a morass, it was, ere long, put into a position to offer a formidable defence against any force that the russians or saxons might bring against it. the swedes engaged on the work gained strength rapidly, and, by the time the fortifications were finished, they had completely shaken off the effects of the fever. chapter : a prisoner. a fortnight after the fortifications of marienburg were completed, colonel schlippenbach sent off lieutenant colonel brandt, with four hundred horse, to capture a magazine at seffwegen, to which the saxons had forced the inhabitants of the country round to bring in their corn, intending later to convey it to the headquarters of their army. the expedition was completely successful. the saxon guard were overpowered, and a thousand tons of corn were brought, in triumph, into marienburg. some of it was sent on to the army, abundance being retained for the use of the town and garrison, in case of siege. it was now resolved to surprise and burn pitschur, a town on the frontier from which the enemy constantly made incursions. it was held by a strong body of russians. baron spens was in command of the expedition. he had with him both the regiments of horse guards. much excitement was caused, in marienburg, by the issue of an order that the cavalry, and a portion of the infantry, were to be ready to march at daylight; and by the arrival of a large number of peasants, brought in by small parties of the cavalry. many were the surmises as to the operation to be undertaken, its object being kept a strict secret. captain jervoise's company was one of those in orders, and paraded at daybreak, and, after a march of some distance, the force joined that of baron spens. the troops were halted in a wood, and ordered to light fires to cook food, and to prepare for a halt of some hours. great fires were soon blazing and, after eating their meal, most of the troops wrapped themselves in the blankets that they carried, in addition to their greatcoats, and lay down by the fires. they slept until midnight, and were then called to arms again. they marched all night, and at daybreak the next morning, the th of february, were near pitschur, and at once attacked the russian camp outside the town. taken completely by surprise, the russians fought feebly, and more than five hundred were killed before they entered the town, hotly pursued by the swedes. shutting themselves up in the houses, and barricading the doors and windows, they defended themselves desperately, refusing all offers of surrender. the livonian peasants were, however, at work, and set fire to the town in many places. the flames spread rapidly. great stores of hides and leather, and a huge magazine filled with hemp, added to the fury of the conflagration, and the whole town was burned to the ground; numbers of the russians preferring death by fire, in the houses, to coming out and surrendering themselves. many of the fugitives had succeeded in reaching a strong position on the hill commanding the town. this consisted of a convent, surrounded by strong walls mounted with cannon, which played upon the town while the fight there was going on. as baron spens had no guns with him, he was unable to follow up his advantage by taking this position, and he therefore gave orders to the force to retire, the peasants being loaded with booty that they had gathered before the fire spread. the loss of the swedes was thirty killed and sixty wounded, this being a small amount of loss compared with what they had inflicted upon the enemy. "i call that a horrible business, captain jervoise," charlie said, when the troops had returned to marienburg. "there was no real fighting in it." "it was a surprise, charlie. but they fought desperately after they gained the town." "yes, but we did nothing there beyond firing away at the windows. of course, i had my sword in my hand; but it might as well have been in its sheath, for i never struck a blow, and i think it was the same with most of our men. one could not cut down those poor wretches, who were scarce awake enough to use their arms. i was glad you held our company in rear of the others." "yes; i asked the colonel before attacking to put us in reserve, in case the enemy should rally. i did it on purpose, for i knew that our men, not having, like the swedes, any personal animosity against the russians, would not like the work. if it had come to storming the convent, i would have volunteered to lead the assault. at any rate, i am glad that, although a few of the men are wounded, no lives are lost in our company." harry cordially agreed with his friend. "i like an expedition, charlie, if there is fighting to be done; but i don't want to have anything more to do with surprises. however, the cavalry had a good deal more to do with it than we had; but, as you say, it was a ghastly business. the only comfort is they began it, and have been robbing the peasants and destroying their homes for months." many small expeditions were sent out with equally favourable results; but captain jervoise's company took no part in these excursions. charles the twelfth was passionately fond of hunting and, in spite of his many occupations, found time occasionally to spend a day or two in the chase. a few days after the attack upon pitschur, he came to marienburg to learn all particulars of the russian position from colonel schlippenbach, as he intended, in the spring, to attack the triangle formed by three fortresses, in order to drive the russians farther back from the frontier. "i hear that there are many wolves and bears in the forest, five leagues to the north. i want a party of about fifty footmen to drive the game, and as many horse, in case we come across one of the parties of russians. i want some hearty, active men for the march. i will send the foot on this afternoon, and ride with the horse so as to get there by daybreak. which is your best company of infantry?" "my best company is one composed chiefly of scotchmen, though there are some english among them. it belongs to the malmoe regiment, and is commanded by captain jervoise, an englishman. i do not say that they are braver than our swedes; they have not been tested in any desperate service; but they are healthier and more hardy, for their officers, since the battle of narva, have kept them engaged in sports of all kinds--mimic battles, foot races, and other friendly contests. i have marked them at it several times, and wondered sometimes at the rough play. but it has had its effect. while the rest of suborn's regiment suffered as much from fever as the other troops, scarce a man in this company was sick, and they have, all the winter, been fit for arduous service at any moment." "that is good indeed, and i will remember it, and will see that, another winter, similar games are carried on throughout the army. let the company be paraded at once. i will, myself, inspect them." the company's call was sounded, and, surprised at a summons just as they were cooking their dinners, the troops fell in, in front of their quarters, and the officers took their places in front of them, and waited for orders. "i wonder what is up now," nigel forbes said to harry. "you have not heard anything, from your father, of our being wanted, have you?" "no; he was just as much surprised as i was, when a sergeant ran up with schlippenbach's order that the company were to fall in." five minutes after they had formed up, three officers were seen approaching on foot. "it is the colonel himself," forbes muttered, as captain jervoise gave the word to the men to stand to attention. a minute later, captain jervoise gave the order for the salute, and harry saw that the tall young officer, walking with the colonel, was the king. without speaking a word, charles walked up and down the line, narrowly inspecting the men, then he returned to the front. "a fine set of fellows, schlippenbach. i wish that, like my grandfather, i had some fifteen thousand of such troops under my orders. present the captain to me." the officers were called up, and captain jervoise was presented. "your company does you great credit, captain jervoise," the king said. "i would that all my troops looked in as good health and condition. colonel schlippenbach tells me that you have kept your men in good health, all through the winter, by means of sports and games. it is a good plan. i will try to get all my officers to adopt it another winter. do the men join in them willingly?" captain jervoise and his officers had all, during the nine months that had passed since they landed in sweden, done their best to acquire the language, and could now speak and understand it thoroughly. "they like it, your majesty. our people are fond of games of this kind. my four officers take part in them with the men." the king nodded. "that is as it should be. it must create a good feeling on both sides. present your officers to me, captain jervoise." this was done, and the king spoke a few words to each. charlie had often seen the king at a distance, but never before so close as to be able to notice his face particularly. he was a tall young fellow, thin and bony. his face was long, and his forehead singularly high and somewhat projecting. this was the most noticeable feature of his face. his eyes were quick and keen, his face clean-shaven, and, had it not been for the forehead and eyes, would have attracted no attention. his movements were quick and energetic, and, after speaking to the officers, he strode a step or two forward and, raising his voice, said: "i am pleased with you, men. your appearance does credit to yourselves and your officers. scottish troops did grand service under my grandfather, gustavus adolphus, and i would that i had twenty battalions of such soldiers with me. i am going hunting tomorrow, and i asked colonel schlippenbach for half a company of men who could stand cold and fatigue. he told me that i could not do better than take them from among this company, and i see that he could not have made a better choice. but i will not separate you, and will therefore take you all. you will march in an hour, and i will see that there is a good supper ready for you, at the end of your journey." colonel schlippenbach gave captain jervoise directions as to the road they were to follow, and the village, at the edge of the forest, where they were to halt for the night. he then walked away with the king. highly pleased with the praise charles had given them, the company fell out. "get your dinners as soon as you can, men," captain jervoise said. "the king gave us an hour. we must be in readiness to march by that time." on arriving at the village, which consisted of a few small houses only, they found two waggons awaiting them, one with tents and the other with a plentiful supply of provisions, and a barrel of wine. the tents were erected, and then the men went into the forest, and soon returned with large quantities of wood, and great fires were speedily lighted. meat was cut up and roasted over them, and, regarding the expedition as a holiday, the men sat down to their supper in high spirits. after it was eaten there were songs round the fires, and, at nine o'clock, all turned into their tents, as it was known that the king would arrive at daylight. sentries were posted, for there was never any saying when marauding parties of russians, who were constantly on the move, might come along. half an hour before daybreak, the men were aroused. tents were struck and packed in the waggon, and the men then fell in, and remained until the king, with three or four of his officers and fifty cavalry, rode up. fresh wood had been thrown on the fires, and some of the men told off as cooks. "that looks cheerful for hungry men," the king said, as he leaped from his horse. "i did not know whether your majesty would wish to breakfast at once," captain jervoise said; "but i thought it well to be prepared." "we will breakfast by all means. we are all sharp set already. have your own men had food yet?" "no, sir. i thought perhaps they would carry it with them." "no, no. let them all have a hearty meal before they move, then they can hold on as long as may be necessary." the company fell out again, and, in a quarter of an hour, they and the troopers breakfasted. a joint of meat was placed, for the use of the king and the officers who had come with him, and captain jervoise and those with him prepared to take their meal a short distance away, but charles said: "bring that joint here, captain jervoise, and we will all take breakfast together. we are all hunters and comrades." in a short time, they were all seated round a fire, with their meat on wooden platters on their knees, and with mugs of wine beside them; captain jervoise, by the king's orders, taking his seat beside him. during the meal, he asked him many questions as to his reasons for leaving england, and taking service with him. "so you have meddled in politics, eh?" the king laughed, when he heard a brief account of captain jervoise's reason for leaving home. "your quarrels, in england and scotland, have added many a thousand good soldiers to the armies of france and sweden, and, i may say, of every country in europe. i believe there are some of your compatriots, or at any rate scotchmen, in the czar's camp. i suppose that, at william's death, these troubles will cease." "i do not know, sir. anne was james' favourite daughter, and it may be she will resign in favour of her brother, the lawful king. if she does so, there is an end of trouble; but, should she mount the throne, she would be a usurper, as mary was up to her death in ' . as anne has been on good terms with william, since her sister's death, i fear she will act as unnatural a part as mary did, and, in that case, assuredly we shall not recognize her as our queen." "you have heard the news, i suppose, of the action of the parliament last month?" "no, sir, we have heard nothing for some weeks of what is doing in england." "they have been making an act of settlement of the succession. anne is to succeed william, and, as she has no children by george of denmark, the succession is to pass from her to the elector of hanover, in right of his wife sophia, as the rest of the children of the elector of the palatinate have abjured protestantism, and are therefore excluded. how will that meet the views of the english and scotch jacobites?" "it is some distance to look forward to, sire. if anne comes to the throne at william's death, it will, i think, postpone our hopes, for anne is a stuart, and is a favourite with the nation, in spite of her undutiful conduct to her father. still, it will be felt that for stuart to fight against stuart, brother against sister, would be contrary to nature. foreigners are always unpopular, and, as against william, every jacobite is ready to take up arms. but i think that nothing will be done during anne's reign. the elector of hanover would be as unpopular, among englishmen in general, as is william of orange, and, should he come to the throne, there will assuredly ere long be a rising to bring back the stuarts." charles shook his head. "i don't want to ruffle your spirit of loyalty to the stuarts, captain jervoise, but they have showed themselves weak monarchs for a great country. they want fibre. william of orange may be, as you call him, a foreigner and a usurper, but england has greater weight in the councils of europe, in his hands, than it has had since the death of elizabeth." this was rather a sore point with captain jervoise, who, thorough jacobite as he was, had smarted under the subservience of england to france during the reigns of the two previous monarchs. "you englishmen and scotchmen are fighting people," the king went on, "and should have a military monarch. i do not mean a king like myself, who likes to fight in the front ranks of his soldiers; but one like william, who has certainly lofty aims, and is a statesman, and can join in european combinations." "william thinks and plans more for holland than for england, sire. he would join a league against france and spain, not so much for the benefit of england, which has not much to fear from these powers, but of holland, whose existence now, as of old is threatened by them." "england's interest is similar to that of holland," the king said. "i began this war, nominally, in the interest of the duke of holstein, but really because it was sweden's interest that denmark should not become too powerful. "but we must not waste time in talking politics. i see the men have finished their breakfast, and we are here to hunt. i shall keep twenty horse with me; the rest will enter the forest with you. i have arranged for the peasants here to guide you. you will march two miles along by the edge of the forest, and then enter it and make a wide semicircle, leaving men as you go, until you come down to the edge of the forest again, a mile to our left. "as soon as you do so, you will sound a trumpet, and the men will then move forward, shouting so as to drive the game before them. as the peasants tell me there are many wolves and bears in the forest, i hope that you will inclose some of them in your cordon, which will be about five miles from end to end. with the horse you will have a hundred and thirty men, so that there will be a man every sixty or seventy yards. that is too wide a space at first, but, as you close in, the distances will rapidly lessen, and they must make up, by noise, for the scantiness of their numbers. if they find the animals are trying to break through, they can discharge their pieces; but do not let them do so otherwise, as it would frighten the animals too soon, and send them flying out all along the open side of the semicircle." it was more than two hours before the whole of the beaters were in position. just before they had started, the king had requested captain jervoise to remain with him and the officers who had accompanied him, five in number. they had been posted, a hundred yards apart, at the edge of the forest. charlie was the first officer left behind as the troop moved through the forest, and it seemed to him an endless time before he heard a faint shout, followed by another and another, until, at last, the man stationed next to him repeated the signal. then they moved forward, each trying to obey the orders to march straight ahead. for some time, nothing was heard save the shouts of the men, and then charlie made out some distant shots, far in the wood, and guessed that some animals were trying to break through the lines. then he heard the sound of firing directly in front of him. this continued for some time, occasionally single shots being heard, but more often shots in close succession. louder and louder grew the shouting, as the men closed in towards a common point, and, in half an hour after the signal had been given, all met. "what sport have you had, father?" harry asked, as he came up to captain jervoise. "we killed seventeen wolves and four bears, with, what is more important, six stags. i do not know whether we are going to have another beat." it soon turned out that this was the king's intention, and the troops marched along the edge of the forest. charlie was in the front of his company, the king with the cavalry a few hundred yards ahead, when, from a dip of ground on the right, a large body of horsemen suddenly appeared. "russians!" captain jervoise exclaimed, and shouted to the men, who were marching at ease, to close up. the king did not hesitate a moment, but, at the head of his fifty cavalry, charged right down upon the russians, who were at least five hundred strong. the little body disappeared in the melee, and then seemed to be swallowed up. "keep together, shoulder to shoulder, men. double!" and the company set off at a run. when they came close to the mass of horsemen, they poured in a volley, and then rushed forward, hastily fitting the short pikes they carried into their musket barrels; for, as yet, the modern form of bayonets was not used. the russians fought obstinately, but the infantry pressed their way step by step through them, until they reached the spot where the king, with his little troop of cavalry, were defending themselves desperately from the attacks of the russians. the arrival of the infantry decided the contest, and the russians began to draw off, the king hastening the movement by plunging into the midst of them with his horsemen. charlie was on the flank of the company as it advanced, and, after running through a russian horseman with the short pike that was carried by officers, he received a tremendous blow on his steel cap, that stretched him insensible on the ground. when he recovered, he felt that he was being carried, and soon awoke to the fact that he was a prisoner. after a long ride, the russians arrived at plescow. they had lost some sixty men in the fight. charlie was the only prisoner taken. he was, on dismounting, too weak to stand, but he was half carried and half dragged to the quarters of the russian officer in command. the latter addressed him, but, finding that he was not understood, sent for an officer who spoke swedish. "what were the party you were with doing in the wood?" "we were hunting wolves and bears." "where did you come from?" "from marienburg." "how strong were you?" "fifty horse and a hundred and forty foot," charlie replied, knowing there could be no harm in stating the truth. "but it was a long way to march, merely to hunt, and your officers must have been mad to come out, with so small a party, to a point where they were likely to meet with us." "it was not too small a party, sir, as they managed to beat off the attack made upon them." the russian was silent for a moment, then he asked: "who was the officer in command?" "the officer in command was the king of sweden," charlie replied. an exclamation of surprise and anger broke from the russian general, when the answer was translated to him. "you missed a good chance of distinguishing yourself," he said to the officer in command of the troops. "here has this mad king of sweden been actually putting himself in your hands, and you have let him slip through your fingers. it would have got you two steps in rank, and the favour of the czar, had you captured him, and now he will be in a rage, indeed, when he hears that five hundred cavalry could do nothing against a force only a third of their number." "i had no idea that the king of sweden was there himself," the officer said humbly. "bah, that is no excuse. there were officers, and you ought to have captured them, instead of allowing yourself to be put to flight by a hundred and fifty men." "we must have killed half the horsemen before the infantry came up." "all the worse, colonel, that you did not complete the business. the infantry would not have been formidable, after they discharged their pieces. however, it is your own affair, and i wash my hands of it. what the czar will say when he hears of it, i know not, but i would not be in your shoes for all my estates." as charlie learned afterwards, the colonel was degraded from his rank by the angry czar, and ordered to serve as a private in the regiment he commanded. the officer who acted as translator said something in his own tongue to the general, who then, through him, said: "this officer tells me that by your language you are not a swede." "i am not. i am english, and i am an ensign in the malmoe regiment." "all the worse for you," the general said. "the czar has declared that he will exchange no foreign officers who may be taken prisoners." "very well, sir," charlie said, fearlessly. "he will be only punishing his own officers. there are plenty of them in the king of sweden's hands." the general, when this reply was translated to him, angrily ordered charlie to be taken away, and he was soon lodged in a cell in the castle. his head was still swimming from the effects of the blow that had stricken him down, and, without even trying to think over his position, he threw himself down on the straw pallet, and was soon asleep. it was morning when he woke and, for a short time, he was unable to imagine where he was, but soon recalled what had happened. he had been visited by someone after he had lain down, for a platter of bread and meat stood on the table, and a jug of water. he was also covered with two thick blankets. these had not been there when he lay down, for he had wondered vaguely as to how he should pass the night without some covering. he took a long draught of water, then ate some food. his head throbbed with the pain of the wound. it had been roughly bandaged by his captors, but needed surgical dressing. "i wonder how long i am likely to be, before i am exchanged," he said to himself. "a long time, i am afraid; for there are scores of russian officers prisoners with us, and i don't think there are half a dozen of ours captured by the russians. of course, no exchange can take place until there are a good batch to send over, and, it may be, months may pass before they happen to lay hands on enough swedish officers to make it worth while to trouble about exchanging them." an hour later the door opened, and an officer entered, followed by a soldier with a large bowl of broth and some bread. "i am a doctor," he said in swedish. "i came in to see you yesterday evening, but you were sound asleep, and that was a better medicine than any i can give; so i told the man to throw those two barrack rugs over you, and leave your food in case you should wake, which did not seem to me likely. i see, however, that you did wake," and he pointed to the plate. "that was not till this morning, doctor. it is not an hour since i ate it." "this broth will be better for you, and i daresay you can manage another breakfast. sit down and take it, at once, while it is hot. i am in no hurry." he gave an order in russian to the soldier, who went out, and returned in a few minutes with a small wooden tub, filled with hot water. by this time charlie had finished the broth. the doctor then bathed his head for some time in hot water, but was obliged to cut off some of his hair, in order to remove the bandage. as he examined the wound, charlie was astounded to hear him mutter to himself: "it is a mighty nate clip you have got, my boy; and, if your skull had not been a thick one, it is lying out there on the turf you would be." charlie burst into a fit of laughter. "so you are english, too," he exclaimed, as he looked up into the surgeon's face. "at laste irish, my boy," the doctor said, as surprised as charlie had been. "to think we should have been talking swedish to each other, instead of our native tongue. and what is your name? and what is it you are doing here, as a swede, at all?" "my name is charles carstairs. i come from lancashire, just on the borders of westmoreland. my father is a jacobite, and so had to leave the country. he went over to sweden, and i, with some friends of his, got commissions." "then our cases are pretty much alike," the doctor said. "i had gone through dublin university, and had just passed as a surgeon, when king james landed. it didn't much matter to me who was king, but i thought it was a fine opportunity to study gunshot wounds, so i joined the royal army, and was at the battle of the boyne. i had plenty of work with wounds, early in the day, but when, after the irish had fairly beat the dutchman back all day, they made up their minds to march away at night, i had to lave my patients and be off too. then i was shut up in limerick; and i was not idle there, as you may guess. when at last the surrender came, i managed to slip away, having no fancy for going over with the regiments that were to enter the service of france. i thought i could have gone back to dublin, and that no one would trouble about me; but someone put them up to it, and i had to go without stopping to ask leave. i landed at bristol, and there, for a time, was nearly starving. "i was well nigh my wits' end as to what to do for a living, and had just spent my last shilling, when i met an english captain, who told me that across at gottenburg there were a good many irish and scotchmen who had, like myself, been in trouble at home. he gave me a passage across, and took me to the house of a man he knew. of course, it was no use my trying to doctor people, when they could not tell me what was the matter with them, and i worked at one thing and another, doing anything i could turn my hands to, for four or five months. that is how i got to pick up swedish. then some people told me that russia was a place where a doctor might get on, for that they had got no doctors for their army who knew anything of surgery, and the czar was always ready to take on foreigners who could teach them anything. i had got my diploma with me, and some of my friends came forward and subscribed enough to rig me out in clothes and pay my passage. what was better, one of them happened to have made the acquaintance of le ford, who was, as you may have heard, the czar's most intimate friend. "i wished myself back a hundred times before i reached moscow, but when i did, everything was easy for me. le ford introduced me to the czar, and i was appointed surgeon of a newly-raised regiment, of which le ford was colonel. that was eight years ago, and i am now a sort of surgeon general of a division, and am at the head of the hospitals about here. till the war began i had not, for five years, done any military work, but had been at the head of a college the czar has established for training surgeons for the army. i was only sent down here after that business at narva. "so, you see, i have fallen on my feet. the czar's is a good service, and we employ a score or two of scotchmen, most of them in good posts. he took to them because a scotchman, general gordon, and other foreign officers, rescued him from his sister sophia, who intended to assassinate him, and established him firmly on the throne of his father. "it is a pity you are not on this side. perhaps it isn't too late to change, eh?" charlie laughed. "my father is in sweden, and my company is commanded by a man who is as good as a father to me, and his son is like my brother. if there were no other reason, i could not change. why, it was only yesterday i was sitting round a bivouac fire with king charles, and nothing would induce me to fight against him." "i am not going to try to persuade you. the czar has treated me well, and i love him. by the way, i have not given you my name after all. it's terence kelly." "is not the czar very fierce and cruel?" "bedad, i would be much more cruel and fierce if i were in his place. just think of one man, with all russia on his shoulders. there is he trying to improve the country, working like a horse himself, knowing that, like every other russian, he is as ignorant as a pig, and setting to improve himself--working in the dockyards of holland and england, attending lectures, and all kinds of subjects. why, man, he learnt anatomy, and can take off a leg as quickly as i can. he is building a fleet and getting together an army. it is not much good yet, you will say, but it will be some day. you can turn a peasant into a soldier in six months, but it takes a long time to turn out generals and officers who are fit for their work. "then, while he is trying everywhere to improve his country, every man jack of them objects to being improved, and wants to go along in his old ways. didn't they get up an insurrection, only because he wanted them to cut off their beards? any other man would have lost heart, and given it up years ago. it looks as hopeless a task as for a mouse to drag a mountain, but he is doing it. "i don't say that he is perfect. he gets into passions, and it is mighty hard for anyone he gets into a passion with. but who would not get into passions, when there is so much work to be done, and everyone tries to hinder instead of to help? it would break the heart of saint patrick! why, that affair at narva would have broken down most men. here, for years, has he been working to make an army, and the first time they meet an enemy worthy of the name, what do they do? why, they are beaten by a tenth of their number of half-starved men, led by a mad-brained young fellow who had never heard a shot fired before, and lose all their cannon, guns, ammunition, and stores. why, i was heartbroken, myself, when i heard of it; but peter, instead of blowing out his brains, or drowning himself, set to work, an hour after the news reached him, to bring up fresh troops, to re-arm the men, and to prepare to meet the swedes again, as soon as the snow is off the ground. "if james of england had been peter of russia, he would be ruling over ireland now, and england and scotland, too. "but now, i must be off. don't you worry about your head. i have seen as bad a clip given by a blackthorn. i have got to go round now and see the wounded, and watch some operations being done, but i will come in again this evening. don't eat any more of their messes, if they bring them in. you and i will have a snug little dinner together. i might get you put into a more dacent chamber, but the general is one of the old pig-headed sort. we don't pull together, so i would rather not ask any favours from him. "the czar may come any day--he is always flying about. i will speak to him when he comes, and see that you have better entertainment." chapter : exchanged. late in the afternoon, doctor kelly came in again to the cell. "come along," he said; "i have got lave for you to have supper with me, and have given my pledge that you won't try to escape till it is over, or make any onslaught on the garrison, but will behave like a quiet and peaceable man." "you are quite safe in giving the pledge, doctor," charlie laughed. "come along then, me boy, for they were just dishing up when i came to fetch you. it is cold enough outside, and there is no sinse in putting cold victuals into one in such weather as this." they were not long in reaching a snugly-furnished room, where a big fire was burning. another gentleman was standing, with his back to it. he was a man of some seven or eight and twenty, with large features, dark brown hair falling in natural curls over his ears, and large and powerful in build. "this is my friend, charlie carstairs," the doctor said. "this, carstairs, is peter michaeloff, a better doctor than most of those who mangle the czar's soldiers." "things will better in time," the other said, "when your pupils begin to take their places in the army." "i hope so," the doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. "there is one comfort, they can't be much worse." at this moment a servant entered, bearing a bowl of soup and three basins. they at once seated themselves at the table. "so you managed to get yourself captured yesterday," doctor michaeloff said to charlie. "i have not had the pleasure of seeing many of you gentlemen here." "we don't come if we can help it," charlie laughed. "but the cossacks were so pressing, that i could not resist. in fact, i did not know anything about it, until i was well on the way." "i hope they have made you comfortable," the other said, sharply. "i can't say much for the food," charlie said, "and still less for the cell, which was bitterly cold. still, as the doctor gave me two rugs to wrap myself up in, i need not grumble." "that is not right," the other said angrily. "i hear that the king of sweden treats our prisoners well. "you should have remonstrated, kelly." the irishman shrugged his shoulders. "i ventured to hint to the general that i thought an officer had a right to better treatment, even if he were a prisoner, but i was told sharply to mind my own business, which was with the sick and wounded. i said, as the prisoner was wounded, i thought it was a matter that did come to some extent under my control." "what did the pig say?" "he grumbled something between his teeth, that i did not catch, and, as i thought the prisoner would not be kept there long, and was not unaccustomed to roughing it, it was not worthwhile pressing the matter further." "have you heard that an officer has been here this afternoon, with a flag of truce, to treat for your exchange?" doctor michaeloff said, turning suddenly to charlie. "no, i have not heard anything about it," charlie said. "he offered a captain for you, which you may consider a high honour." "it is, no doubt," charlie said, with a smile. "i suppose his majesty thought, as it was in his special service i was caught, he was bound to get me released, if he could." "it was a hunting party, was it not?" "yes. there was only the king with four of his officers there, and my company of foot, and fifty horse. i don't think i can call it an escort, for we went principally as beaters." "rustoff missed a grand chance there, kelly. "what regiment do you belong to?" and he again turned to charlie. "the malmoe regiment. the company is commanded by an english gentleman, who is a neighbour and great friend of my father. his son is an ensign, and my greatest friend. the men are all either scotch or english, but most of them scotch." "they are good soldiers, the scotch; none better. there are a good many in the russian service, also in that of austria and france. they are always faithful, and to be relied upon, even when native troops prove treacherous. and you like charles of sweden?" "there is not a soldier in his army but likes him," charlie said enthusiastically. "he expects us to do much, but he does more himself. all through the winter, he did everything in his power for us, riding long distances from camp to camp, to visit the sick and to keep up the spirits of the men. if we live roughly, so does he, and, on the march, he will take his meals among the soldiers, and wrap himself up in his cloak, and sleep on the bare ground, just as they do. and as for his bravery, he exposes his life recklessly--too recklessly, we all think--and it seemed a miracle that, always in the front as he was, he should have got through narva without a scratch." "yes, that was a bad bit of business, that narva," the other said thoughtfully. "why do you think we were beaten in the horrible way we were?--because the russians are no cowards." "no; they made a gallant stand when they recovered from their surprise," charlie agreed. "but in the first place, they were taken by surprise." "they ought not to have been," the doctor said angrily. "they had news, two days before, brought by the cavalry, who ought to have defended that pass, but didn't." "still, it was a surprise when we attacked," charlie said, "for they could not suppose that the small body they saw were going to assail them. then, we had the cover of that snowstorm, and they did not see us, until we reached the edge of the ditch. of course, your general ought to have made proper dispositions, and to have collected the greater part of his troops at the spot facing us, instead of having them strung out round that big semicircle, so that, when we made an entry they were separated, and each half was ignorant of what the other was doing. still, even then they might have concentrated between the trenches and the town. but no orders had been given. the general was one of the first we captured. the others waited for the orders that never came, until it was too late. if the general who commanded on the left had massed his troops, and marched against us as we were attacking the position they held on their right, we should have been caught between two fires." "it was a badly managed business, altogether," doctor michaeloff growled; "but we shall do better next time. we shall understand charles's tactics better. we reckoned on his troops, but we did not reckon on him. "kelly tells me that you would not care to change service." "my friends are in the swedish army, and i am well satisfied with the service. i daresay, if russia had been nearer england than sweden is, and we had landed there first, we should have been as glad to enter the service of the czar as we were to join that of king charles. everyone says that the czar makes strangers welcome, and that he is a liberal master to those who serve him well. as to the quarrel between them, i am not old enough to be able to give my opinion on it, though, as far as i am concerned, it seems to me that it was not a fair thing for russia to take advantage of sweden's being at war with denmark and augustus of saxony, to fall upon her without any cause of quarrel." "nations move less by morality than interest," doctor michaeloff said calmly. "russia wants a way to the sea--the turks cut her off to the south, and the swedes from the baltic. she is smothered between them, and when she saw her chance, she took it. that is not good morality. i admit that it is the excuse of the poor man who robs the rich, but it is human nature, and nations act, in the long run, a good deal like individuals." "but you have not told me yet, doctor," charlie said, turning the conversation, "whether the proposal for an exchange was accepted." "the general had no power to accept it, carstairs. it had to be referred to the czar himself." "i wish his majesty could see me, then," charlie laughed. "he would see that i am but a lad, and that my release would not greatly strengthen the swedish army." "but then the czar may be of opinion that none of his officers, who allowed themselves to be captured by a handful of men at narva, would be of any use to him," doctor michaeloff laughed. "that may, doubtless, be said of a good many among them," charlie said, "but, individually, none of the captains could be blamed for the mess they made of it." "perhaps not, but if all the men had been panic stricken, there were officers enough to have gathered together and cut their way through the swedes." "no doubt there were; but you must remember, doctor michaeloff, that an officer's place is with his company, and that it is his duty to think of his men, before thinking of himself. supposing all the officers of the left wing, as you say, had gathered together and cut their way out, the czar would have had a right to blame them for the capture of the whole of the men. how could they tell that, at daybreak, the general would not have given orders for the left wing to attack the swedes? they were strong enough still to have eaten us up, had they made the effort, and had the czar been there in person, i will warrant he would have tried it." "that he would," doctor michaeloff said warmly. "you are right there, young sir. the czar may not be a soldier, but at least he is a man, which is more than can be said for the officer who ordered sixty thousand men to lay down their arms to eight thousand." "i am sure of that," charlie said. "a man who would do as he has done, leave his kingdom, and work like a common man in dockyards, to learn how to build ships, and who rules his people as he does, must be a great man. i don't suppose he would do for us in england, because a king has no real power with us, and peter would never put up with being thwarted in all his plans by parliament, as william is. but for a country like russia, he is wonderful. of course, our company being composed of scotchmen and englishmen, we have no prejudices against him. we think him wrong for entering upon this war against sweden, but we all consider him a wonderful fellow, just the sort of fellow one would be proud to serve under, if we did not serve under charles of sweden. "well, doctor kelly, when do you think the czar will be here?" the doctor did not reply, but michaeloff said quietly: "he arrived this afternoon." "he did!" charlie exclaimed excitedly. "why did you not tell me before, doctor kelly? has he been asked about my exchange, and is the swedish officer still here?" "he is here, and you will be exchanged in the morning. "i have other things to see about now, and must say goodnight; and if you should ever fall into the hands of our people again, and doctor kelly does not happen to be near, ask for peter michaeloff, and he will do all he can for you." "then i am really to be exchanged tomorrow, doctor?" charlie said, as doctor michaeloff left the room. "it seems like it." "but did not you know?" "no, i had heard nothing for certain. i knew the czar had come, but i had not heard of his decision. i congratulate you." "it is a piece of luck," charlie said. "i thought it might be months before there was an exchange. it is very good of the king to send over so quickly." "yes; and of the czar to let you go." "well, i don't see much in that, doctor, considering that he gets a captain in exchange for me; still, of course, he might have refused. it would not have been civil, but he might have done it." "what did you think of my friend, charlie?" "i like him. he has a pleasant face, though i should think he has got a temper of his own. he has a splendid figure, and looks more like a fighting man than a doctor. i will write down his name, so as not to forget it, as he says he might be able to help me if i am ever taken prisoner again, and you did not happen to be with the army. it is always nice having a friend. look at the difference it has made to me, finding a countryman here." "yes, you may find it useful, carstairs; and he has a good deal of influence. still, i think it probable that if you ever should get into a scrape again, you will be able to get tidings of me, for i am likely to be with the advanced division of our army, wherever it is, as i am in charge of its hospitals. "you had better turn in now, for i suppose you will be starting early, and i have two or three patients i must visit again before i go to bed. this is your room, next to mine. i managed, after all, to get it changed." "that is very good of you, doctor, but it really would not have mattered a bit for one night. it does look snug and warm, with that great fire." "yes, the stoves are the one thing i don't like in russia. i like to see a blazing fire, and the first thing i do, when i get into fresh quarters, is to have the stove opened so that i can see one. this is a second room of mine. there were three together, you see, and as my rank is that of a colonel, i was able to get them, and it is handy, if a friend comes to see me, to have a room for him." an hour later, just as charlie was dozing off to sleep, the doctor put his head in to the door. "you are to start at daybreak, carstairs. my servant will call you an hour before that. i shall be up. i must put a fresh bandage on your head before you start." "thank you very much, doctor. i am sorry to get you up so early." "that is nothing. i am accustomed to work at all hours. good night." at eight o'clock, having had a bowl of broth, charlie descended to the courtyard in charge of an officer and two soldiers, the doctor accompanying him. here he found a swedish officer belonging to the king's personal staff. the russian handed the lad formally over to his charge, saying: "by the orders of the czar, i now exchange ensign carstairs for captain potoff, whom you, on your part, engage to send off at once." "i do," the swede said; "that is, i engage that he shall be sent off, as soon as he can be fetched from revel, where he is now interned, and shall be safely delivered under an escort; and that if, either by death, illness, or escape, i should not be able to hand him over, i will return another officer of the same rank." "i have the czar's commands," the russian went on, "to express his regret that, owing to a mistake on the part of the officer commanding here, ensign carstairs has not received such worthy treatment as the czar would have desired for him, but he has given stringent orders that, in future, any swedish officers who may be taken prisoners shall receive every comfort and hospitality that can be shown them." "goodbye, doctor kelly," charlie said, as he mounted his horse, which had been saddled in readiness for him. "i am greatly obliged to you for your very great kindness to me, and hope that i may some day have an opportunity of repaying it." "i hope not, carstairs. i trust that we may meet again, but hope that i sha'n't be in the position of a prisoner. however, strange things have happened already in this war, and there is no saying how fortune may go. goodbye, and a pleasant journey." a russian officer took his place by the side of the swede, and an escort of twenty troopers rode behind them, as they trotted out through the gate of the convent. "it was very kind of the king to send for me," charlie said to the swede, "and i am really sorry that you should have had so long a ride on my account, captain pradovich." "as to that, it is a trifle," the officer said. "if i had not been riding here, i should be riding with the king elsewhere, so that i am none the worse. but, in truth, i am glad i came, for yesterday evening i saw the czar himself. i conversed with him for some time. he expressed himself very courteously with respect to the king, and to our army, against whom he seems to bear no sort of malice for the defeat we inflicted on him at narva. he spoke of it himself, and said, 'you will see that, some day, we shall turn the tables upon you.' "the king will be pleased when i return with you, for we all feared that you might be very badly hurt. all that we knew was that some of your men had seen you cut down. after the battle was over, a search was made for your body. when it could not be found, questions were asked of some of our own men, and some wounded russians, who were lying near the spot where you had been seen to fall. "our men had seen nothing, for, as the russians closed in behind your company as it advanced, they had shut their eyes and lay as if dead, fearing that they might be run through, as they lay, by the cossack lances. the russians, however, told us that they had seen two of the cossacks dismount, by the orders of one of their officers, lift you on to a horse, and ride off with you. there was therefore a certainty that you were still living, for the russians would assuredly not have troubled to carry off a dead body. his majesty interested himself very much in the matter, and yesterday morning sent me off to inquire if you were alive, and if so, to propose an exchange. "i was much pleased, when i reached plescow yesterday, to learn that your wound is not a serious one. i saw the doctor, who, i found, was a countryman of yours, and he assured me that it was nothing, and made some joke that i did not understand about the thickness of north country skulls. "the czar arrived in the afternoon, but i did not see him until late in the evening, when i was sent for. i found him with the general in command, and several other officers, among whom was your friend the doctor. the czar was, at first, in a furious passion. he abused the general right and left, and i almost thought, at one time, that he would have struck him. he told him that he had disgraced the russian name, by not treating you with proper hospitality, and especially by placing you in a miserable cell without a fire. "'what will the king of sweden think?' he said. 'he treats his prisoners with kindness and courtesy, and after narva gave them a banquet, at which he himself was present. the duke of croy writes to me, to say he is treated as an honoured guest rather than as a prisoner, and here you disgrace us by shutting your prisoner in a cheerless cell, although he is wounded, and giving him food such as you might give to a common soldier. the swedes will think that we are barbarians. you are released from your command, and will at once proceed to moscow and report yourself there, when a post will be assigned to you where you will have no opportunity of showing yourself ignorant of the laws of courtesy. "'doctor,' he went on, 'you will remember that all prisoners, officers and men, will be henceforth under the charge of the medical department, and that you have full authority to make such arrangements as you may think necessary for their comfort and honourable treatment. i will not have russia made a byword among civilized peoples.' "then he dismissed the rest of them, and afterwards sat down and chatted with me, just as if we had been of the same rank, puffing a pipe furiously, and drinking amazing quantities of wine. indeed, my head feels the effects of it this morning, although i was quite unable to drink cup for cup with him, for, had i done so, i should have been under the table long before he rose from it, seemingly quite unmoved by the quantity he had drank. i have no doubt he summoned me especially to hear his rebuke to the general, so that i could take word to the king how earnest he was, in his regrets for your treatment." "there was nothing much to complain of," charlie said; "and, indeed, the cell was a palace after the miserable huts in which we have passed the winter. i am glad, however, the czar gave the general a wigging, for he spoke brutally to me on my arrival. you may be sure, now, that any prisoners that may be taken will be well treated; for doctor kelly, who has been extremely kind to me, will certainly take good care of them. as to my wound, it is of little consequence. it fell on my steel cap, and i think i was stunned by its force, rather than rendered insensible by the cut itself." after three hours' riding they came to a village. as soon as they were seen approaching, there was a stir there. a man riding ahead waved the white flag that he carried, and, when they entered the village, they found a party of fifty swedish cavalry in the saddle. the russian escort, as soon as the swedish officer and charlie had joined their friends, turned and rode off. a meal was in readiness, and when charlie, who was still feeling somewhat weak from the effects of his wound, had partaken of it, the party proceeded on their way, and rode into marienburg before nightfall. two or three miles outside the town, they met harry jervoise. two soldiers had been sent on at full speed, directly charlie reached the village, to report that he had arrived there and was not seriously wounded, and, knowing about the time they would arrive, harry had ridden out to meet his friend. "you are looking white," he said, after the first hearty greeting. "i am feeling desperately tired, harry. the wound is of no consequence, but i lost a good deal of blood, and it is as much as i can do to keep my saddle, though we have been coming on quietly on purpose. however, i shall soon be all right again, and i need hardly say that i am heartily glad to be back." "we have all been in a great way about you, charlie, for we made sure that you were very badly wounded. i can tell you, it was a relief when the men rode in three hours ago, with the news that you had arrived, and were not badly hurt. the men seemed as pleased as we were, and there was a loud burst of cheering when we told them the news. cunningham and forbes would have ridden out with me; but cunningham is on duty, and forbes thought that we should like to have a chat together." on his arrival, charlie was heartily welcomed by captain jervoise and the men of the company, who cheered lustily as he rode up. "you are to go and see the king at once," captain jervoise said as he dismounted. "i believe he wants to hear, especially, how you were treated. make the best of it you can, lad. there is no occasion for the feeling of charles against the russians being embittered." "i understand," charlie said. "i will make things as smooth as i can." he walked quickly to the little house where the king had taken up his quarters. there was no sentry at the door, or other sign that the house contained an occupant of special rank. he knocked at the door, and hearing a shout of "enter," opened it and went in. "ah, my young ensign; is it you?" the king said, rising from a low settle on which he was sitting by the fire, talking with colonel schlippenbach. "hurt somewhat, i see, but not badly, i hope. i was sure that you would not have been taken prisoner, unless you had been injured." "i was cut down by a blow that clove my helmet, your majesty, and stunned me for some time; but, beyond making a somewhat long gash on my skull, it did me no great harm." "that speaks well for the thickness of your skull, lad, and i am heartily glad it is no worse. now, tell me, how did they treat you?" "it was a somewhat rough cell into which i was thrown, sir, but i was most kindly tended by an irish doctor high in the czar's service, and, when the czar himself arrived, and learned that i had not been lodged as well as he thought necessary, i hear he was so angered that he disgraced the general, deprived him of his command, and sent him to take charge of some fortress in the interior of russia; and i was, by his orders, allowed to occupy the doctor's quarters, and a bedroom was assigned to me next to his. i heard that the czar spoke in terms of the warmest appreciation of your treatment of your prisoners, and said that any of your officers who fell into his hands should be treated with equal courtesy." charles looked gratified. "i am glad to hear it," he said. "in the field, if necessary, blood must flow like water, but there is no reason why we should not behave towards each other with courtesy, when the fighting is over. you know nothing of the force there, at present?" "no, sir, i heard nothing. i did not exchange a word with anyone, save the doctor and another medical man; and as the former treated me as a friend, rather than as an enemy, i did not deem it right to question him, and, had i done so, i am sure that he would have given me no answer." "well, you can return to your quarters, sir. your company did me good service in that fight, and colonel schlippenbach did not speak in any way too warmly in their favour. i would that i had more of these brave englishmen and scotchmen in my service." charlie's head, however, was not as hard as he had believed it to be; and the long ride brought on inflammation of the wound, so that, on the following morning, he was in a high state of fever. it was a fortnight before he was convalescent, and the surgeon then recommended that he should have rest and quiet for a time, as he was sorely pulled down, and unfit to bear the hardships of a campaign; and it was settled that he should go down with the next convoy to revel, and thence take ship for sweden. he was so weak, that although very sorry to leave the army just as spring was commencing, he himself felt that he should be unable to support the fatigues of the campaign, until he had had entire rest and change. a few hours after the decision of the surgeon had been given, major jamieson and captain jervoise entered the room where he was sitting, propped up by pillows. "i have a bit of news that will please you, charlie. the king sent for the major this morning, and told him that he intended to increase our company to a regiment, if he could do so. he had heard that a considerable number of scotchmen and englishmen had come over, and were desirous of enlisting, but, from their ignorance of the language, their services had been declined. he said that he was so pleased, not only with the conduct of the company in that fight, but with its discipline, physique, and power of endurance, that he had decided to convert it into a regiment. he said he was sorry to lose its services for a time; but, as we lost twenty men in the fight, and have some fifteen still too disabled to take their places in the ranks, this was of the less importance. "so we are all going to march down to revel with you. major jamieson is appointed colonel, and i am promoted to be major. the king himself directed that cunningham and forbes shall have commissions as captains, and you and harry as lieutenants. the colonel has authority given him to nominate scotch and english gentlemen of good name to make up the quota of officers, while most of our own men will be appointed non-commissioned officers, to drill the new recruits. the king has been good enough, at colonel jamieson's request, to say that, as soon as the regiment is raised and organized, it shall be sent up to the front." "that is good news, indeed," charlie said, with more animation than he had evinced since his illness. "i have been so accustomed to be attended to, in every way, that i was quite looking forward with dread to the journey among strangers. still, if you are all going, it will be a different thing altogether. i don't think you will be long in raising the regiment. we only were a week in getting the company together, and, if they have been refusing to accept the services of our people, there must be numbers of them at gottenburg." early on the following morning, charlie and the men unable to march were placed in waggons, and the company started on its march to revel. it was a heavy journey, for the frost had broken up, and the roads were in a terrible state from the heavy traffic passing. there was no delay when they reached the port, as they at once marched on board a ship, which was the next day to start for sweden. orders from the king had already been received that the company was to be conveyed direct to gottenburg, and they entered the port on the fifth day after sailing. the change, the sea air, and the prospect of seeing his father again greatly benefited charlie, and, while the company was marched to a large building assigned to their use, he was able to make his way on foot to his father's, assisted by his soldier servant, jock armstrong. "why, charlie," sir marmaduke carstairs exclaimed as he entered, "who would have thought of seeing you? you are looking ill, lad; ill and weak. what has happened to you?" charlie briefly related the events that had brought about his return to gottenburg, of which sir marmaduke was entirely ignorant. postal communications were rare and uncertain, and captain jervoise had not taken advantage of the one opportunity that offered, after charlie had been wounded, thinking it better to delay till the lad could write and give a good account of himself. "so jervoise, and his son, and that good fellow jamieson are all back again? that is good news, charlie; and you have been promoted? that is capital too, after only a year in the service. and you have been wounded, and a prisoner among the russians? you have had adventures, indeed! i was terribly uneasy when the first news of that wonderful victory at narva came, for we generally have to wait for the arrival of the despatches giving the lists of the killed and wounded. i saw that the regiment had not been in the thick of it, as the lists contained none of your names. i would have given a limb to have taken part in that wonderful battle. when you get as old as i am, my boy, you will feel a pride in telling how you fought at narva, and helped to destroy an entire russian army with the odds ten to one against you. "of course, you will stay here with me. i suppose you have leave at present?" "yes, father, colonel jamieson told me that my first duty was to get strong and well again, and that i was to think of no other until i had performed that. and how have you been getting on, father?" "very well, lad. i don't pretend that it is not a great change from lynnwood, but i get along very well, and thank heaven, daily, that for so many years i had set aside a portion of my rents, little thinking that the time would come when they would prove my means of existence. my friends here have invested the money for me, and it bears good interest, which is punctually paid. with the english and scotch exiles, i have as much society as i care for, and as i find i am able to keep a horse--for living here is not more than half the cost that it would be in england--i am well enough contented with my lot. "there is but one thing that pricks me. that villain john dormay has, as he schemed for, obtained possession of my estates, and has been knighted for his distinguished services to the king. i heard of this some time since, by a letter from one of our jacobite friends to whom i wrote, asking for news. he says that the new knight has no great cause for enjoyment in his dignity and possessions, because, not only do the jacobite gentry turn their backs upon him, when they meet him in the town, but the better class of whigs hold altogether aloof from him, regarding his elevation, at the expense of his wife's kinsman, to be disgraceful, although of course they have no idea of the evil plot by which he brought about my ruin. there is great pity expressed for his wife, who has not once stirred beyond the grounds at lynnwood since he took her there, and who is, they say, a shadow of her former self. ciceley, he hears, is well. that cub of a son is in london, and there are reports that he is very wild, and puts his father to much cost. as to the man himself, they say he is surrounded by the lowest knaves, and it is rumoured that he has taken to drink for want of better company. it is some comfort to me to think that, although the villain has my estates, he is getting no enjoyment out of them. "however, i hope some day to have a reckoning with him. the stuarts must come to their own, sooner or later. until then i am content to rest quietly here in sweden." chapter : the passage of the dwina. a few hours after charlie's arrival home, major jervoise and harry came round to the house. "i congratulate you, jervoise, on your new rank," sir marmaduke said heartily, as he entered; "and you, too, harry. it has been a great comfort to me, to know that you and charlie have been together always. at present you have the advantage of him in looks. my lad has no more strength than a girl, not half the strength, indeed, of many of these sturdy swedish maidens." "yes, charlie has had a bad bout of it, carstairs," major jervoise said cheerfully; "but he has picked up wonderfully in the last ten days, and, in as many more, i shall look to see him at work again. i only wish that you could have been with us, old friend." "it is of no use wishing, jervoise. we have heard enough here, of what the troops have been suffering through the winter, for me to know that, if i had had my wish and gone with you, my bones would now be lying somewhere under the soil of livonia." "yes, it was a hard time," major jervoise agreed, "but we all got through it well, thanks principally to our turning to at sports of all kinds. these kept the men in health, and prevented them from moping. the king was struck with the condition of our company, and he has ordered that, in future, all the swedish troops shall take part in such games and amusements when in winter quarters. of course, charlie has told you we are going to have a regiment entirely composed of scots and englishmen. i put the scots first, since they will be by far the most numerous. there are always plenty of active spirits, who find but small opening for their energy at home, and are ready to take foreign service whenever the chance opens. besides, there are always feuds there. in the old days, it was chief against chief. now it is religion against religion; and now, as then, there are numbers of young fellows glad to exchange the troubles at home for service abroad. there have been quite a crowd of men round our quarters, for, directly the news spread that the company was landing, our countrymen flocked round, each eager to learn how many vacancies there were in the ranks, and whether we would receive recruits. their joy was extreme when it became known that jamieson had authority to raise a whole regiment. i doubt not that many of the poor fellows are in great straits." "that i can tell you they are," sir marmaduke broke in. "we have been doing what we can for them, for it was grievous that so many men should be wandering, without means or employment, in a strange country. but the number was too great for our money to go far among them, and i know that many of them are destitute and well-nigh starving. we had hoped to ship some of them back to scotland, and have been treating with the captain of a vessel sailing, in two or three days, to carry them home." "it is unfortunate, but they have none to blame but themselves. they should have waited until an invitation for foreigners to enlist was issued by the swedish government, or until gentlemen of birth raised companies and regiments for service here. however, we are the gainers, for i see that we shall not have to wait here many weeks. already, as far as i can judge from what i hear, there must be well-nigh four hundred men here, all eager to serve. "we will send the news by the next ship that sails, both to scotland and to our own country, that men, active and fit for service, can be received into a regiment, specially formed of english-speaking soldiers. i will warrant that, when it is known in the fells that i am a major in the regiment, and that your son and mine are lieutenants, we shall have two or three score of stout young fellows coming over." the next day, indeed, nearly four hundred men were enlisted into the service, and were divided into eight companies. each of these, when complete, was to be two hundred strong. six scottish officers were transferred, from swedish regiments, to fill up the list of captains, and commissions were given to several gentlemen of family as lieutenants and ensigns. most of these, however, were held over, as the colonel wrote to many gentlemen of his acquaintance in scotland, offering them commissions if they would raise and bring over men. major jervoise did the same to half a dozen young jacobite gentlemen in the north of england, and so successful were the appeals that, within two months of the return of the company to gottenburg, the regiment had been raised to its full strength. a fortnight was spent in drilling the last batch of recruits, from morning till night, so that they should be able to take their places in the ranks; and then, with drums beating and colours flying, the corps embarked at gottenburg, and sailed to join the army. they arrived at revel in the beginning of may. the port was full of ships, for twelve thousand men had embarked, at stockholm and other ports, to reinforce the army and enable the king to take the field in force; and, by the end of the month, the greater portion of the force was concentrated at dorpt. charlie had long since regained his full strength. as soon as he was fit for duty, he had rejoined, and had been engaged, early and late, in the work of drilling the recruits, and in the general organization of the regiment. he and harry, however, found time to take part in any amusement that was going on. they were made welcome in the houses of the principal merchants and other residents of gottenburg, and much enjoyed their stay in the town, in spite of their longing to be back in time to take part in the early operations of the campaign. when they sailed into the port of revel, they found that the campaign had but just commenced, and they marched with all haste to join the force with which the king was advancing against the saxons, who were still besieging riga. their army was commanded by marshal steinau, and was posted on the other side of the river dwina, a broad stream. charles the twelfth had ridden up to colonel jamieson's regiment upon its arrival, and expressed warm gratification at its appearance, when it was paraded for his inspection. "you have done well, indeed, colonel," he said. "i had hardly hoped you could have collected so fine a body of men in so short a time." at his request, the officers were brought up and introduced. he spoke a few words to those he had known before, saying to charlie: "i am glad to see you back again, lieutenant. you have quite recovered from that crack on your crown, i hope. but i need not ask, your looks speak for themselves. you have just got back in time to pay my enemies back for it." the prospect was not a cheerful one, when the swedes arrived on the banks of the dwina. the saxons were somewhat superior in force, and it would be a desperate enterprise to cross the river, in the teeth of their cannon and musketry. already the king had caused a number of large flat boats to be constructed. the sides were made very high, so as to completely cover the troops from musketry, and were hinged so as to let down and act as gangways, and facilitate a landing. charlie was standing on the bank, looking at the movements of the saxon troops across the river, and wondering how the passage was to be effected, when a hand was placed on his shoulder. looking round, he saw it was the king, who, as was his custom, was moving about on foot, unattended by any of his officers. "wondering how we are to get across, lieutenant?" "that is just what i was thinking over, your majesty." "we want another snowstorm, as we had at narva," the king said. "the wind is blowing the right way, but there is no chance of such another stroke of luck, at this time of year." "no, sir; but i was thinking that one might make an artificial fog." "how do you mean?" the king asked quickly. "your majesty has great stacks of straw here, collected for forage for the cattle. no doubt a good deal of it is damp, or if not, it could be easily wetted. if we were to build great piles of it, all along on the banks here, and set it alight so as to burn very slowly, but to give out a great deal of smoke, this light wind would blow it across the river into the faces of the saxons, and completely cover our movements." "you are right!" the king exclaimed. "nothing could be better. we will make a smoke that will blind and half smother them;" and he hurried away. an hour later, orders were sent out to all the regiments that, as soon as it became dusk, the men should assemble at the great forage stores for fatigue duty. as soon as they did so, they were ordered to pull down the stacks, and to carry the straw to the bank of the river, and there pile it in heavy masses, twenty yards apart. the whole was to be damped, with the exception of only a small quantity on the windward side of the heaps, which was to be used for starting the fire. in two hours, the work was completed. the men were then ordered to return to their camps, have their suppers, and lie down at once. then they were to form up, half an hour before daybreak, in readiness to take their places in the boats, and were then to lie down, in order, until the word was given to move forward. this was done, and just as the daylight appeared the heaps of straw were lighted, and dense volumes of smoke rolled across the river, entirely obscuring the opposite shore from view. the saxons, enveloped in the smoke, were unable to understand its meaning. those on the watch had seen no sign of troops on the bank, before the smoke began to roll across the water, and the general was uncertain whether a great fire had broken out in the forage stores of the swedes, or whether the fire had been purposely raised, either to cover the movements of the army and enable them to march away and cross at some undefended point, or whether to cover their passage. the swedish regiments, which were the first to cross, took their places at once in the boats, the king himself accompanying them. in a quarter of an hour the opposite bank was gained. marshal steinau, an able general, had called the saxons under arms, and was marching towards the river, when the wind, freshening, lifted the thick veil of smoke, and he saw that the swedes had already gained the bank of the river, and at once hurled his cavalry against them. the swedish formation was not complete and, for a moment, they were driven back in disorder, and forced into the river. the water was shallow, and the king, going about among them, quickly restored order and discipline, and, charging in solid formation, they drove the cavalry back and advanced across the plain. steinau recalled his troops and posted them in a strong position, one flank being covered by a marsh and the other by a wood. he had time to effect his arrangements, as charles was compelled to wait until the whole of his troops were across. as soon as they were so, he led them against the enemy. the battle was a severe one, for the swedes were unprovided with artillery, and the saxons, with the advantages of position and a powerful artillery, fought steadily. three times marshal steinau led his cavalry in desperate charges, and each time almost penetrated to the point where charles was directing the movements of his troops; but, at last, he was struck from his horse by a blow from the butt end of a musket; and his cuirassiers, with difficulty, carried him from the field. as soon as his fall became known, disorder spread among the ranks of the saxons. some regiments gave way, and, the swedes rushing forward with loud shouts, the whole army was speedily in full flight. this victory laid the whole of courland at the mercy of the swedes, all the towns opening their gates at their approach. they were now on the confines of poland, and the king, brave to rashness as he was, hesitated to attack a nation so powerful. poland, at that time, was a country a little larger than france, though with a somewhat smaller population, but in this respect exceeding sweden. with the poles themselves he had no quarrel, for they had taken no part in the struggle, which had been carried on solely by their king, with his saxon troops. the authority of the kings of poland was much smaller than that of other european monarchs. the office was not a hereditary one; the king being elected at a diet, composed of the whole of the nobles of the country, the nobility embracing practically every free man; and, as it was necessary, according to the constitution of the country, that the vote should be unanimous, the difficulties in the way of election were very great, and civil wars of constant occurrence. charles was determined that he would drive augustus, who was the author of the league against him, from the throne; but he desired to do this by means of the poles themselves, rather than to unite the whole nation against him by invading the country. poland was divided into two parts, the larger of which was poland proper, which could at once place thirty thousand men in the field. the other was lithuania, with an army of twelve thousand. these forces were entirely independent of each other. the troops were for the most part cavalry, and the small force, permanently kept up, was composed almost entirely of horsemen. they rarely drew pay, and subsisted entirely on plunder, being as formidable to their own people as to an enemy. lithuania, on whose borders the king had taken post with his army, was, as usual, harassed by two factions, that of the prince sapieha and the prince of oginski, between whom a civil war was going on. the king of sweden took the part of the former, and, furnishing him with assistance, speedily enabled him to overcome the oginski party, who received but slight aid from the saxons. oginski's forces were speedily dispersed, and roamed about the country in scattered parties, subsisting on pillage, thereby exciting among the people a lively feeling of hatred against the king of poland, who was regarded as the author of the misfortunes that had befallen the country. from the day when charlie's suggestion, of burning damp straw to conceal the passage of the river, had been attended with such success, the king had held him in high favour. there was but a few years' difference between their ages, and the suggestion, so promptly made, seemed to show the king that the young englishman was a kindred spirit, and he frequently requested him to accompany him in his rides, and chatted familiarly with him. "i hate this inactive life," he said one day, "and would, a thousand times, rather be fighting the russians than setting the poles by the ears; but i dare not move against them, for, were augustus of saxony left alone, he would ere long set all poland against me. at present, the poles refuse to allow him to bring in reinforcements from his own country; but if he cannot get men he can get gold, and with gold he can buy over his chief opponents, and regain his power. if it costs me a year's delay, i must wait until he is forced to fly the kingdom, and i can place on the throne someone who will owe his election entirely to me, and in whose good faith i can be secure. "that done, i can turn my attention to russia, which, by all accounts, daily becomes more formidable. narva is besieged by them, and will ere long fall; but i can retake narva when once i can depend upon the neutrality of the poles. would i were king of poland as well as of sweden. with eighty thousand polish horse, and my own swedish infantry, i could conquer europe if i wished to do so. "i know that you are as fond of adventure as i am, and i am thinking of sending you with an envoy i am despatching to warsaw. "you know that the poles are adverse to business of all kinds. the poorest noble, who can scarcely pay for the cloak he wears, and who is ready enough to sell his vote and his sword to the highest bidder, will turn up his nose at honest trade; and the consequence is, as there is no class between the noble and the peasant, the trade of the country is wholly in the hands of jews and foreigners, among the latter being, i hear, many scotchmen, who, while they make excellent soldiers, are also keen traders. this class must have considerable power, in fact, although it be exercised quietly. the jews are, of course, money lenders as well as traders. large numbers of these petty nobles must be in their debt, either for money lent or goods supplied. "my agent goes specially charged to deal with the archbishop, who is quite open to sell his services to me, although he poses as one of the strongest adherents of the saxons. with him, it is not a question so much of money, as of power. being a wise man, he sees that augustus can never retain his position, in the face of the enmity of the great body of the poles, and of my hostility. but, while my agent deals with him and such nobles as he indicates as being likely to take my part against augustus, you could ascertain the feeling of the trading class, and endeavour to induce them, not only to favour me, but to exert all the influence they possess on my behalf. as there are many scotch merchants in the city, you could begin by making yourself known to them, taking with you letters of introduction from your colonel, and any other scotch gentleman whom you may find to have acquaintanceship, if not with the men themselves, with their families in scotland. i do not, of course, say that the mission will be without danger, but that will, i know, be an advantage in your eyes. what do you think of the proposal?" "i do not know, sire," charlie said doubtfully. "i have no experience whatever in matters of that kind." "this will be a good opportunity for you to serve an apprenticeship," the king said decidedly. "there is no chance of anything being done here, for months, and as you will have no opportunity of using your sword, you cannot be better employed than in polishing up your wits. i will speak to colonel jamieson about it this evening. count piper will give you full instructions, and will obtain for you, from some of our friends, lists of the names of the men who would be likely to be most useful to us. you will please to remember that the brain does a great deal more than the sword, in enabling a man to rise above his fellows. you are a brave young officer, but i have many a score of brave young officers, and it was your quick wit, in suggesting the strategy by which we crossed the dwina without loss, that has marked you out from among others, and made me see that you are fit for something better than getting your throat cut." the king then changed the subject with his usual abruptness, and dismissed charlie, at the end of his ride, without any further allusion to the subject. the young fellow, however, knew enough of the king's headstrong disposition to be aware that the matter was settled, and that he could not, without incurring the king's serious displeasure, decline to accept the commission. he walked back, with a serious face, to the hut that the officers of the company occupied, and asked harry jervoise to come out to him. "what is it, charlie?" his friend said. "has his gracious majesty been blowing you up, or has your horse broken its knees?" "a much worse thing than either, harry. the king appears to have taken into his head that i am cut out for a diplomatist;" and he then repeated to his friend the conversation the king had had with him. harry burst into a shout of laughter. "don't be angry, charlie, but i cannot help it. the idea of your going, in disguise, i suppose, and trying to talk over the jewish clothiers and cannie scotch traders, is one of the funniest things i ever heard. and do you think the king was really in earnest?" "the king is always in earnest," charlie said in a vexed tone; "and, when he once takes a thing into his head, there is no gainsaying him." "that is true enough, charlie," harry said, becoming serious. "well, i have no doubt you will do it just as well as another, and after all, there will be some fun in it, and you will be in a big city, and likely to have a deal more excitement than will fall to our lot here." "i don't think it will be at all the sort of excitement i should care for, harry. however, my hope is, that the colonel will be able to dissuade him from the idea." "well, i don't know that i should wish that if i were in your place, charlie. undoubtedly, it is an honour being chosen for such a mission, and it is possible you may get a great deal of credit for it, as the king is always ready to push forward those who do good service. look how much he thinks of you, because you made that suggestion about getting up a smoke to cover our passage." "i wish i had never made it," charlie said heartily. "well, in that case, charlie, it is likely enough we should not be talking together here, for our loss in crossing the river under fire would have been terrible." "well, perhaps it is as well as it is," charlie agreed. "but i did not want to attract his attention. i was very happy as i was, with you all. as for my suggestion about the straw, anyone might have thought of it. i should never have given the matter another moment's consideration, and i should be much better pleased if the king had not done so, either, instead of telling the colonel about it, and the colonel speaking to the officers, and such a ridiculous fuss being made about nothing." "my dear charlie," harry said seriously, "you seem to be forgetting that we all came out here, together, to make our fortune, or at any rate to do as well as we could till the stuarts come to the throne again, and our fathers regain their estates, a matter concerning which, let me tell you, i do not feel by any means so certain as i did in the old days. then, you know, all our friends were of our way of thinking, and the faith that the stuarts would return was like a matter of religion, which it was heresy to doubt for an instant. well, you see, in the year that we have been out here one's eyes have got opened a bit, and i don't feel by any means sanguine that the stuarts will ever come to the throne of england again, or that our fathers will recover their estates. "you have seen here what good soldiers can do, and how powerless men possessing but little discipline, though perhaps as brave as themselves, are against them. william of orange has got good soldiers. his dutch troops are probably quite as good as our best swedish regiments. they have had plenty of fighting in ireland and elsewhere, and i doubt whether the jacobite gentlemen, however numerous, but without training or discipline, could any more make head against them than the masses of muscovites could against the swedish battalions at narva. all this means that it is necessary that we should, if possible, carve out a fortune here. so far, i certainly have no reason to grumble. on the contrary, i have had great luck. i am a lieutenant at seventeen, and, if i am not shot or carried off by fever, i may, suppose the war goes on and the army is not reduced, be a colonel at the age of forty. "now you, on the other hand, have, by that happy suggestion of yours, attracted the notice of the king, and he is pleased to nominate you to a mission in which there is a chance of your distinguishing yourself in another way, and of being employed in other and more important business. all this will place you much farther on the road towards making a fortune, than marching and fighting with your company would be likely to do in the course of twenty years, and i think it would be foolish in the extreme for you to exhibit any disinclination to undertake the duty." "i suppose you are right, harry, and i am much obliged to you for your advice, which certainly puts the matter in a light in which i had not before seen it. if i thought that i could do it well, i should not so much mind, for, as you say, there will be some fun to be got out of it, and some excitement, and there seems little chance of doing anything here for a long time. but what am i to say to the fellows? how can i argue with them? besides, i don't talk polish." "i don't suppose there are ten men in the army who do so, probably not five. as to what to say, count piper will no doubt give you full instructions as to the line you are to take, the arguments you are to use, and the inducements you are to hold out. that is sure to be all right." "well, do not say anything about it, harry, when you get back. i still hope the colonel will dissuade the king." "then you are singularly hopeful, charlie, that is all i can say. you might persuade a brick wall to move out of your way, as easily as induce the king of sweden to give up a plan he has once formed. however, i will say nothing about it." at nine o'clock, an orderly came to the hut with a message that the colonel wished to speak to lieutenant carstairs. harry gave his friend a comical look, as the latter rose and buckled on his sword. "what is the joke, harry?" his father asked, when charlie had left. "do you know what the colonel can want him for, at this time of the evening? it is not his turn for duty." "i know, father; but i must not say." "the lad has not been getting into a scrape, i hope?" "nothing serious, i can assure you; but really, i must not say anything until he comes back." harry's positive assurance, as to the impossibility of changing the king's decision, had pretty well dispelled any hopes charlie might before have entertained, and he entered the colonel's room with a grave face. "you know why i have sent for you, carstairs?" "yes, sir; i am afraid that i do." "afraid? that is to say, you don't like it." "yes, sir; i own that i don't like it." "nor do i, lad, and i told his majesty so. i said you were too young for so risky a business. the king scoffed at the idea. he said, 'he is not much more than two years younger than i am, and if i am old enough to command an army, he is old enough to carry out this mission. we know that he is courageous. he is cool, sharp, and intelligent. why do i choose him? has he not saved me from the loss of about four or five thousand men, and probably a total defeat? a young fellow who can do that, ought to be able to cope with jewish traders, and to throw dust in the eyes of the poles. "i have chosen him for this service for two reasons. in the first place, because i know he will do it well, and even those who consider that i am rash and headstrong, admit that i have the knack of picking out good men. in the next place, i want to reward him for the service he has done for us. i cannot, at his age, make a colonel of him, but i can give him a chance of distinguishing himself in a service in which age does not count for so much, and count piper, knowing my wishes in the matter, will push him forward. moreover, in such a mission as this, his youth will be an advantage, for he is very much less likely to excite suspicion than if he were an older man.' "the king's manner did not admit of argument, and i had only to wait and ask what were his commands. these were simply that you are to call upon his minister tomorrow, and that you would then receive full instructions. "the king means well by you, lad, and on turning it over, i think better of the plan than i did before. i am convinced, at any rate, that you will do credit to the king's choice." "i will do my best, sir," charlie said. "at present, it all seems so vague to me that i can form no idea whatever as to what it will be like. i am sure that the king's intentions are, at any rate, kind. i am glad to hear you say that, on consideration, you think better of the plan. then i may mention the matter to major jervoise?" "certainly, carstairs, and to his son, but it must go no farther. i shall put your name in orders, as relieved from duty, and shall mention that you have been despatched on service, which might mean anything. come and see me tomorrow, lad, after you have received count piper's instructions. as the king reminded me, there are many scotchmen at warsaw, and it is likely that some of them passed through sweden on the way to establish themselves there, and i may very well have made their acquaintance at gottenburg or stockholm. "once established in the house of one of my countrymen, your position would be fairly safe and not altogether unpleasant, and you would be certainly far better off than a swede would be engaged on this mission. the swedes are, of course, regarded by the poles as enemies, but, as there is no feeling against englishmen or scotchmen, you might pass about unnoticed as one of the family of a scottish trader there, or as his assistant." "i don't fear its being unpleasant in the least, colonel. nor do i think anything one way or the other about my safety. i only fear that i shall not be able to carry out properly the mission intrusted to me." "you will do your best, lad, and that is all that can be expected. you have not solicited the post, and as it is none of your choosing, your failure would be the fault of those who have sent you, and not of yourself; but in a matter of this kind there is no such thing as complete failure. when you have to deal with one man you may succeed or you may fail in endeavouring to induce him to act in a certain manner, but when you have to deal with a considerable number of men, some will be willing to accept your proposals, some will not, and the question of success will probably depend upon outside influences and circumstances over which you have no control whatever. i have no fear that it will be a failure. if our party in poland triumph, or if our army here advances, or if augustus, finding his position hopeless, leaves the country, the good people of warsaw will join their voices to those of the majority. if matters go the other way, you may be sure that they will not risk imprisonment, confiscation, and perhaps death, by getting up a revolt on their own account. the king will be perfectly aware of this, and will not expect impossibilities, and there is really no occasion whatever for you to worry yourself on that ground." upon calling upon count piper the next morning, charlie found that, as the colonel had told him, his mission was a general one. "it will be your duty," the minister said, "to have interviews with as many of the foreign traders and jews in warsaw as you can, only going to those to whom you have some sort of introduction from the persons you may first meet, or who are, as far as you can learn from the report of others, ill disposed towards the saxon party. here is a letter, stating to all whom it may concern, that you are in the confidence of the king of sweden, and are authorized to represent him. "in the first place, you can point out to those you see that, should the present situation continue, it will bring grievous evils upon poland. proclamations have already been spread broadcast over the country, saying that the king has no quarrel with the people of poland, but, as their sovereign has, without the slightest provocation, embarked on a war, he must fight against him and his saxon troops, until they are driven from the country. this you will repeat, and will urge that it will be infinitely better that poland herself should cast out the man who has embroiled her with sweden, than that the country should be the scene of a long and sanguinary struggle, in which large districts will necessarily be laid waste, all trade be arrested, and grievous suffering inflicted upon the people at large. "you can say that king charles has already received promises of support from a large number of nobles, and is most desirous that the people of the large towns, and especially of the capital, should use their influence in his favour. that he has himself no ambition, and no end to serve save to obtain peace and tranquillity for his country, and that it will be free for the people of poland to elect their own monarch, when once augustus of saxony has disappeared from the scene. "in this sealed packet you will find a list of influential citizens. it has been furnished me by one well acquainted with the place. the jews are to be assured that, in case of a friendly monarch being placed on the throne, charles will make a treaty with him, insuring freedom of commerce to the two countries, and will also use his friendly endeavours to obtain, from the king and diet, an enlargement of the privileges that the jews enjoy. to the foreign merchants you will hold the same language, somewhat altered, to suit their condition and wants. "you are not asking them to organize any public movement, the time has not yet come for that; but simply to throw the weight of their example and influence against the party of the saxons. of course our friends in warsaw have been doing their best to bring round public opinion in the capital to this direction, but the country is so torn by perpetual intrigues, that the trading classes hold aloof altogether from quarrels in which they have no personal interest, and are slow to believe that they can be seriously affected by any changes which will take place. "our envoy will start tomorrow morning. his mission is an open one. he goes to lay certain complaints, to propose an exchange of prisoners, and to open negotiations for peace. all these are but pretences. his real object is to enter into personal communication with two or three powerful personages, well disposed towards us. "come again to me this evening, when you have thought the matter over. i shall then be glad to hear any suggestion you may like to make." "there is one thing, sir, that i should like to ask you. it will evidently be of great advantage to me, if i can obtain private letters of introduction to scotch traders in the city. this i cannot do, unless by mentioning the fact that i am bound for warsaw. have i your permission to do so, or is it to be kept a close secret?" "no. i see no objection to your naming it to anyone you can implicitly trust, and who may, as you think, be able to give you such introductions, but you must impress upon them that the matter must be kept a secret. doubtless the saxons have in their pay people in our camp, just as we have in theirs, and were word of your going sent, you would find yourself watched, and perhaps arrested. we should, of course wish you to be zealous in your mission, but i would say, do not be over anxious. we are not trying to get up a revolution in warsaw, but seeking to ensure that the feeling in the city should be in our favour; and this, we think, may be brought about, to some extent, by such assurances as you can give of the king's friendship, and by such expressions of a belief in the justice of our cause, and in the advantages there would be in getting rid of this foreign prince, as might be said openly by one trader to another, when men meet in their exchanges or upon the street. so that the ball is once set rolling, it may be trusted to keep in motion, and there can be little doubt that such expressions of feeling, among the mercantile community of the capital, will have some effect even upon nobles who pretend to despise trade, but who are not unfrequently in debt to traders, and who hold their views in a certain respect." "thank you, sir. at what time shall i come this evening?" "at eight o'clock. by that time, i may have thought out farther details for your guidance." chapter : in warsaw. upon leaving the quarters of count piper, charlie returned to the camp, and, after discussing the matter with major jervoise, proceeded with him to the colonel's hut. "well, you look brighter this morning, carstairs. are you better pleased, now you have thought the matter over?" "yes, sir. what you said last night has been quite confirmed by count piper, and the matter does not really seem so difficult. i am merely, as a foreigner in the employment of the king of sweden, to talk with foreigners in warsaw, to assure them that the king is sincere in his desire to avoid war with poland, and will gladly make a lasting peace between the two countries, to urge upon them to show themselves favourable to his project for securing such a peace, by forcing augustus to resign the crown, and to use what influence they can in that direction, both upon their fellow traders and upon the poles." "there is nothing very difficult about that," colonel jamieson said cheerfully, "as it happens to be quite true; and there can be no real question as to the true interest of poland, and especially of the trading classes in the great towns, from whom heavy contributions towards the expenses of war are always exacted by their own rulers, and who have to pay a ruinous ransom in case of their city being captured by the enemy. the traders of warsaw will need no reminder of such well-known facts, and will be only too glad to be assured that, unless as a last resource, our king has no intention of making war upon poland, and they will certainly be inclined to bestir themselves to avert such a possibility. you have, i suppose, a list of names of the people with whom you had best put yourself into communication?" "yes, sir. here is a list. there are, i see, ten scotchmen, fifteen frenchmen, and about as many jews." "i know nothing of the frenchmen, and less of the jews," the colonel said, taking the list; "but i ought to know some of the scotchmen. they will hail from dundee and glasgow, and, it may be, dumfries." he ran his eye down the list. "aha! here is one, and we need go no further. allan ramsay; we were lads together at the high school of glasgow, and were classmates at the college. his father was a member of the city council, and was one of the leading traders in the city. allan was a wild lad, as i was myself, and many a scrape did we get into together, and had many a skirmish with the watch. allan had two or three half brothers, men from ten to twenty years older than himself, and, a year or two after i came out to sweden and entered the army as an ensign, who should i meet in the streets of gottenburg, but allan ramsay. "we were delighted to see each other, and he stopped with me nearly a week. he had, after leaving the college, gone into his father's business, but when the old man died he could not get on with his half brothers, who were dour men, and had little patience with allan's restlessness and love of pleasure. so, after a final quarrel, they had given him so much money for his share of the business, and a letter of introduction to a trader in poland, who had written to them saying that he wanted a partner with some capital; and allan was willing enough to try the life in a strange country, for he was a shrewd fellow, with all his love of fun. "five years afterwards, he came through gottenburg again. i did not see him, for my regiment was at stockholm at the time, but he wrote me a letter saying that he had been in scotland to marry and bring back one janet black, the daughter of a mercer, whom i remember well enough as an old flame of his. "he reported that he was doing well, and that the poles were not bad fellows to live among, though less punctual in their payments than might be wished. he said he did not suppose that, as a swedish officer, i should ever be in poland, unless sweden produced another gustavus adolphus; but if i was, he would be delighted to welcome me, and that anyone i asked in warsaw would direct me to his shop. i wonder that i did not think of him before; but that is ten years ago, and it had altogether passed out of my mind, till i saw his name here. unless he is greatly changed, you may be sure of a hearty welcome from allan ramsay, for my sake. we need not trouble about the other names. he will know all about them, and will be able to put you in the way of getting at them." this was a great relief to charlie, who felt that it would be an immense advantage to have the house of someone, from whom he might expect a welcome, to go to on his arrival in warsaw; and he was able, during the day, to talk over the prospects of the journey, with harry jervoise, with a real sense of interest and excitement in his mission. in the evening, he again went to the house of the minister. the latter, a close observer of men, saw at once that the young officer was in much better spirits than he had been in the morning. "have you obtained information respecting any of the persons whose names i gave you?" he asked. "yes, sir. it seems that, most fortunately, the trader named allan ramsay is an old friend of colonel jamieson, and the colonel has given me a letter to him which will, he assures me, procure me a hearty welcome." "and have you thought anything more of your best plan of action?" "yes, sir. it seems to me that i had better dress myself in an attire such as might be worn by a young scotchman, journeying through the country to place himself with a relation established in business. i could ride behind the royal envoy, as if i had received permission to journey under the protection of his escort, and could drop behind a few miles from the capital, and make my way in alone. i could not, of course, inquire for allan ramsay in polish, but i know enough french to ask for him at any shop having a french name over it, if i did not happen to light upon one kept by a scotchman." "yes, that plan will do very well. but you will have no difficulty in finding the house, as i have arranged that a man shall accompany you as servant. he is a lithuanian, and is the grandson of a soldier of gustavus adolphus, who married and settled there. his grandfather kept up his connection with his native country, and the young fellow speaks swedish fairly, and, of course, polish. for the last three weeks i have employed him in various matters, and find him shrewd and, i believe, faithful. such a fellow would be of great use to you, and could, if necessary, act as your interpreter in any interviews you may have with polish jews, although you will find that most of these men speak other languages besides their own." he touched a bell, and on a servant entering, said: "bring stanislas bistron here." an active, well-built young fellow of some four and twenty years of age entered the room a minute later. his fair hair and blue eyes showed that he took after his swedish ancestors. "this is the gentleman, stanislas, that you are to accompany to warsaw, as his servant. you will obey him, in all respects, as if he had hired you in his service, and, should he arrive at any situation of danger or difficulty, i trust that you will not be found wanting." the man had looked closely at charlie. "i will do my best, sir, and i doubt not that the gentleman's service will suit me. he has the look of one who would be kind to his servants." "wait at the outside door," the count said. "captain carstairs will speak to you as he leaves." the man bowed and went out, and the count then said, with a smile at the look of surprise on charlie's face: "it was not a slip of the tongue. here is a commission, signed by his majesty, appointing you to the rank of captain, as he has long considered that you had well won your promotion, by your suggestion which enabled him to cross the dwina without loss; but he thought there would be a difficulty in placing you over the heads of so many officers senior to yourself. this inconvenience no longer exists, now that you have what may be considered a staff appointment, and the rank may, moreover, add to your weight and influence in your interviews with persons at warsaw. "you will need money. here is a purse for your expenses. you may meet with some of these men, especially among the jewish traders, who may need a bribe. bribery is common, from the highest to the lowest, in poland. you will find, in this letter of instructions, that you are authorized to promise sums of money to men whose assistance may be valuable. it is impossible to fix the sums. these must depend upon the position of the men, and the value of their services; and i can only say do not be lavish, but at the same time do not hesitate to promise a sum that will secure the services of useful men. your best plan will be to find out, if you are able, what each man expects, and to make what abatement you can. the only limit placed is that you must not commit the royal treasury to a total sum exceeding ten thousand crowns. you will, i hope, find a smaller sum suffice. "the envoy will start at six tomorrow morning. i do not know that there are any further instructions to give you. you will find details, in these written instructions, as to the manner in which you are to communicate, from time to time, the result of your mission, and you will receive orders when to return." outside the house, charlie saw his new servant waiting him. "you have a horse, stanislas?" "yes, sir, i have been provided with one. i have also a brace of pistols, and a sword." "i hope you will not have to use them, but in these disturbed times they are necessaries." "i have better clothes than these, sir, if you wish me to look gay." "by no means," charlie replied. "i am going in the character of a young scotchman, on my way to join a relative in business in warsaw, and you accompany me in the capacity of guide and servant. as i should not be in a position to pay high wages, the more humble your appearance, the better. we start at six in the morning. the envoy will leave the royal quarters at that hour, and we travel with his escort. join me a quarter of an hour before that at my hut. you had better accompany me there now, so that you may know the spot. i shall not require your services before we start, as my soldier servant will saddle my horse, and have all in readiness." harry came to the door of the hut, as he saw his friend approaching. "well, charlie, is all satisfactorily settled? "yes, quite satisfactorily, i think. that is my new servant. count piper has appointed him. he speaks swedish and polish." "that will be a great comfort to you, charlie. jock armstrong, who has not picked up ten words of swedish since he joined, would have been worse than useless." "i have another piece of news, harry, that i am in one way very glad of, and in another sorry for. i had always hoped that we should keep together, and that, just as we joined together, and were made lieutenants at the same time, it would always be so." "you have got another step?" harry exclaimed. "i am heartily glad of it. i thought very likely you might get it. indeed, i was surprised that you did not get it, at once, after our fight with the saxons. i am sure you deserved it, if ever a fellow did, considering what it saved us all." "of course it is for that," charlie replied, "though i think it is very absurd. count piper said the king would have given it to me at once, only it would have taken me over the heads of so many men older than myself; but he considered that, now i am going on a sort of staff work, away from the regiment, i could be promoted, and he thought, too, that the title of captain would assist me in my mission." "of course it will," harry said, warmly. "that is just what i told you, you know. this business was not quite to your liking, but it was a good long step towards making your fortune. don't you think that i shall be jealous of your going ahead, for i am not in the least. i am sorry you are going away, for i shall miss you terribly; but i am quite content to be with the regiment, and to work my way up gradually. as it is, i am senior lieutenant in the regiment, and the first battle may give me my company; though i don't expect it, for i do not think my father would wish the colonel to give me the step, if it occurred, for all the other lieutenants are older than we are, though they are junior to us in the regiment, and i feel sure that he would prefer me to remain for another two or three years as lieutenant. in fact, he said as much to me, a short time ago. still, when i am fit to command a company, there is no doubt i shall get it. "of course, i am sorry you are going, very sorry, charlie; but, even if you go altogether on to the staff, i shall see a good deal of you, for, as the king is always with the army, this must be your headquarters still. "i wonder how long you will be away. i like the look of the fellow who is going with you. it was an honest, open sort of face, as far as i saw it. at any rate, it is a comfort to think that you won't be absolutely alone, especially among people whose language you don't know. mind, if you are sending letters to count piper, be sure you send a few lines, by the same messenger, to let me know how you are going on. not long letters, you know; i expect you will have your hands pretty well full; but just enough to give me an idea of how you are, and what you are doing." the following morning, charlie started. he had said goodbye to no one, except the colonel, major jervoise, and harry, as it was not considered advisable that his departure with the envoy for warsaw should be talked about. he only joined the party, indeed, after they had ridden out of the camp. he had laid aside his uniform, and was dressed in clothes which major jervoise had procured for him, from one of the last-joined recruits who had but just received his uniform. the lieutenant commanding the escort of twenty troopers rode up to him, as he joined the party. "baron seckers informs me that he has given permission to a young scotchman and his servant, travelling to warsaw, to ride under his protection. are you the person in question, sir?" "it is all right, lieutenant eberstein," charlie said, with a smile. "don't you recognize me?" "of course--lieutenant carstairs. i was at the hunt where you were taken prisoner; but i did not expect to see you in this garb." "i am going on duty," charlie said, "and am dressed according to orders. do not address me by my name. i am at present sandy anderson, going to join a relation in warsaw." "ah, ah! is that so? going to put your head into the den of the lion augustus. well, i rather envy you, for it is likely, by all accounts, to be dull work here for some time. it is hard to be sitting idle, while the russian guns are thundering round narva. now, i must join the baron again. where would you rather ride--after us, or behind the escort?" "behind the escort. i think it will be more natural, and i can chat more freely with my servant. he is a lithuanian, but speaks swedish, and i hope to get some information from him." the lieutenant rode on, and, as he passed the troopers, he told them that the two men behind had the baron's permission to ride with them, in order that they might have protection from the bands of pillagers who were roaming through the country. "now, stanislas," charlie said. "we can talk freely together. do you know warsaw?" "i have been there several times, sir, but i never stopped there long. still, i can find my way about the town." "when were you there last?" "some two months ago. it was just before i entered the swedish service." "and what do the people say about the war?" "they are bitterly opposed to it. the king entered upon it without consulting the diet, which was altogether contrary to the constitution. it is true that the king may do so, in cases of emergency, and obtain the sanction of the diet afterwards. there was no urgency here, and the king made his agreement with the czar and the king of denmark without anyone knowing of it. he certainly obtained a sort of sanction from the diet afterwards, but everyone knows how these things are worked. he has a strong party, of course, because it is the interest of a great many people to retain him in power, as no one can say who would be chosen to succeed him. but among the people in general, the traders and the peasants, he is hated, and so are his saxon soldiers. "suppose he had gained a slice of swedish territory. it would not have benefited them; while, as it is, all sorts of misfortunes and troubles have come upon the country, and none can say how much greater may ensue. "poland is always split up into parties. they used to unite against the turk, and they would unite again against the swedes, if their country was invaded; but as long as king charles keeps his army beyond the frontier, they are too deeply engaged in their own quarrels to think of anything else." "then, even if i were known, in the city, to be in the swedish service, there would be little danger, stanislas?" "i do not say that, at all," the man said gravely. "in the first place, warsaw is held by saxon soldiers, who would show you but scant mercy, were you known to be a swedish officer; and, in the second place, the lower classes are ever ready to make tumults; and, if worked upon by the archbishop, or the nobles of the king's party, they would readily enough tear a stranger to pieces. "going as you do as a scotchman, there is, i hope, little danger, especially if you are received into a scottish household." the journey passed without incident, until they were within a few miles of warsaw, when charlie, after formally thanking baron seckers for the protection his escort had afforded him, fell behind with his servant. several parties of armed men had been met with, but they knew better than to interfere with the little body of swedish cavalry; while, in the towns through which they passed, the baron was respectfully received as the envoy of the dreaded king of sweden. "is there another gate to the city, on this side of the town, beside that by which the swedes will enter? if so, it would be as well to use it, so that there should seem to be no connection between us and them," said charlie. there was another gate, and by this they rode into warsaw, at that time a city of far greater importance than it is at present. the gate was unguarded, and they passed through without question. the citizens were talking excitedly in groups, evidently discussing the question of the arrival of the swedish envoy, and the chances of peace; and no attention was paid to the travellers, whose appearance denoted them to be persons of no importance. richly-attired nobles, in costumes of almost oriental magnificence, galloped through the streets on splendid horses, scattering the groups of citizens, and paying no attention whatever to the angry murmurs that followed them. charlie stopped at a small inn, and there the horses were put up. stanislas made inquiries for the shop of allan ramsay, mentioning that his employer was a relation of the scottish merchant, and had come out to be with him, until he had learned the language. "the scots know their business," the landlord grumbled. "they and the french and the jews, together, have their hand in everyone's pocket. they buy the cattle and grain of the peasants, for what they choose to give for them, and send them out of the country, getting all the profits of the transaction; while, as to the nobles, there is scarce one who is not deep in their books." "still, you could not do without them," stanislas said. "there must be somebody to buy and to sell, and as the nobles won't do it, and the peasants can't, i don't see that the foreigners are to be blamed for coming in and taking the trade." "that is true enough," the landlord admitted reluctantly. "still, there is no doubt the country is kept poor, while, between them, these men gather up the harvest." "better that than let it rot upon the ground," stanislas said unconcernedly; and then, having obtained the name of the street where several of the scottish traders had places of business, he and charlie started on foot. they were not long in finding the shop with the sign of the merchant swinging over the door. "you had better wait outside, stanislas, while i go in and see the master. no; if he is not in the shop, his men will not understand me, so come in with me till you see that i have met him, and then go back to the inn for the night. whether i join you there will depend upon the warmth of my welcome." two or three young poles were in the shop. stanislas asked them for allan ramsay, and they replied that he was taking his evening meal upstairs, whereupon charlie produced the letter from colonel jamieson, and stanislas requested one of them to take it up to the merchant. three minutes later the inner door opened, and a tall man with a ruddy face and blue eyes entered, holding the open letter in his hand. charlie took a step forward to meet him. "so you are sandy anderson," he said heartily, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "my connection, it seems, and the friend of my dear classmate jamieson? come upstairs. who is this scotch-looking lad with you?" "he is my servant and interpreter. his grandfather was a swede, and to him he owes his fair hair and complexion. he is a lithuanian. he is to be trusted, i hope, thoroughly. he was sent with me by--" "never mind names," the scotchman said hastily. "we will talk about him afterwards. now come upstairs. your letter has thrown me quite into a flutter. "never say anything in english before those poles," he said, as he left the shop; "the fellows pick up languages as easily as i can drink whisky, when i get the chance. one of them has been with me two years, and it is quite likely he understands, at any rate, something of what is said. "here we are." he opened a door, and ushered charlie into a large room, comfortably furnished. his wife, a boy eight years of age, and a girl a year older, were seated at the table. "janet," the merchant said, "this is captain carstairs, alias sandy anderson, a connection of ours, though i cannot say, for certain, of what degree." "what are you talking of, allan?" she asked in surprise; for her husband, after opening and partly reading the letter, had jumped up and run off without saying a word. "what i say, wife. this gentleman is, for the present, sandy anderson, who has come out to learn the business and language, with the intent of some day entering into partnership with me; also, which is more to the point, he is a friend of my good friend jock jamieson, whom you remember well in the old days." "i am very glad, indeed, to see any friend of jock jamieson," janet ramsay said warmly, holding out her hand to charlie, "though i do not in the least understand what my husband is talking about, or what your name really is." "my name is carstairs, madam. i am a captain in the swedish service, and am here on a mission for king charles. colonel jamieson, for he is now colonel of the regiment to which i belong--" "what!" the merchant exclaimed. "do you mean to say that our jock jamieson is a colonel? well, well, who would have thought he would have climbed the tree so quickly?" "it is a regiment entirely of scotch and englishmen," charlie said; "and he was promoted, to take its command, only a short time since." "well, please to sit down and join us," mrs. ramsay said. "it is bad manners, indeed, to keep you talking while the meat is getting cold on the table. when you have finished, it will be time enough to question you." while the meal was going on, however, many questions were asked as to colonel jamieson, the regiment, and its officers. "as soon as matters are more settled," the merchant said, "i will give myself a holiday, and janet and i will go and spend a few days with jock. many of the names of the officers are well known to me, and two or three of the captains were at glasgow college with jock and myself. it will be like old times, to have four or five of us talking over the wild doings we had together." the supper over, the children were sent off to bed. allan ramsay lit a long pipe. a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed on the table, and mrs. ramsay withdrew, to see after domestic matters, and prepare a room for charlie. "now, lad, tell me all about it," allan ramsay said. "jock tells me you are here on a mission, which he would leave it to yourself to explain; but it is no business of mine, and, if you would rather keep it to yourself, i will ask no questions." "there is no secret about it, as far as you are concerned, mr. ramsay, for it is to you and to other merchants here that i have come to talk it over;" and he then went fully into the subject. the scotchman sat, smoking his pipe in silence, for some minutes after he had concluded. "we do not much meddle with politics here. we have neither voice nor part in the making of kings or of laws, and, beyond that we like to have a peace-loving king, it matters little to us whom the diet may set up over us. if we were once to put the tips of our fingers into polish affairs, we might give up all thought of trade. they are forever intriguing and plotting, except when they are fighting; and it would be weary work to keep touch with it all, much less to take part in it. it is our business to buy and to sell, and so that both parties come to us, it matters little; one's money is as good as the other. if i had one set of creditors deeper in my books than another, i might wish their party to gain the day, for it would, maybe, set them up in funds, and i might get my money; but, as it is, it matters little. there is not a customer i have but is in my debt. money is always scarce with them; for they are reckless and extravagant, keeping a horde of idle loons about them, spending as much money on their own attire and that of their wives as would keep a whole scotch clan in victuals. but, if they cannot pay in money, they can pay in corn or in cattle, in wine or in hides. "i do not know which they are fondest of--plotting, or fighting, or feasting; and yet, reckless as they are, they are people to like. if they do sell their votes for money, it is not a scotchman that should throw it in their teeth; for there is scarce a scotch noble, since the days of bruce, who has not been ready to sell himself for english gold. our own highlanders are as fond of fighting as the poles, and their chiefs are as profuse in hospitality, and as reckless and spendthrift. "but the poles have their virtues. they love their country, and are ready to die for her. they are courteous, and even chivalrous, they are hospitable to an excess, they are good husbands and kindly masters, they are recklessly brave; and, if they are unduly fond of finery, i, who supply so many of them, should be the last to find fault with them on that score. they are proud, and look down upon us traders, but that does not hurt us; and, if they were to take to trading themselves, there would be no place for us here. but this has nothing to do with our present purpose. "certainly, if it was a question of polish affairs, neither the foreign nor the jewish merchants here would move a finger one way or the other. we have everything to lose, and nothing to gain. suppose we took sides with one of the parties, and the other got the upper hand. why, they might make ordinances hampering us in every way, laying heavy taxes on us, forbidding the export of cattle or horses, and making our lives burdensome. true, if they drove us out they would soon have to repeal the law, for all trade would be at an end. but that would be too late for many of us. "however, i do not say that, at the present time, many would not be disposed to do what they could against augustus of saxony. we are accustomed to civil wars; and, though these may cause misery and ruin, in the districts where they take place, they do not touch us here in the capital. but this is a different affair. augustus has, without reason or provocation, brought down your fiery king of sweden upon us; and, if he continues on the throne, we may hear the swedish cannon thundering outside our walls, and may have the city taken and sacked. therefore, for once, politics become our natural business. "but, though you may find many well wishers, i doubt if you can obtain any substantial aid. with saxon troops in the town, and the nobles divided, there is no hope of a successful rising in warsaw." "the king did not think of that," charlie said. "his opinion was, that were it evident that the citizens of warsaw were strongly opposed to augustus of saxony, it would have a great moral effect, and that, perhaps, they might influence some of the nobles who, as you say, are deeply in their books, or upon whose estates they may hold mortgages, to join the party against the king." "they might do something that way," allan ramsay agreed. "of course, i have no money out on mortgages. i want badly enough all the money i can lay hands on in my own business. giving credit, as we have to, and often very long credit, it requires a large capital to carry on trade. but the jews, who no doubt do hold large mortgages on the land, cannot exert much power. they cannot hold land themselves, and, were one of them to venture to sell the property of any noble of influence, he would be ruined. the whole class would shrink from him, and, like enough, there would be a tumult got up, his house would be burned over his head, and he and his family murdered. "still, as far as popular opinion goes, something might be done. at any rate, i will get some of my friends here tomorrow, and introduce you to them and talk it over. but we must be careful, for augustus has a strong party here, and, were it suspected that you are a swedish officer, it would go very hard with you. "tomorrow you must fetch your servant here. i have already sent round to the inn, and you will find your valises in your room. you said you could rely thoroughly upon him?" "yes, he was handed over to me by count piper himself; and moreover, from what i have seen of him, i am myself confident that he can be trusted. he is of swedish descent, and is, i think, a very honest fellow." for a fortnight, charlie remained at allan ramsay's, and then, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his host and hostess, took a lodging near them. he had, by this time, seen a good many of the leading traders of the town. the scotch and frenchmen had all heartily agreed with his argument, that it was for the benefit of poland, and especially for that of warsaw, that augustus of saxony should be replaced by another king, who would be acceptable to charles of sweden; but all were of opinion that but little could be done, by them, towards bringing about this result. with the jewish traders his success was less decided. they admitted that it would be a great misfortune, were warsaw taken by the swedes, but, as poles, they retained their confidence in the national army, and were altogether sceptical that a few thousand swedes could withstand the host that could be put in the field against them. several of them pointedly asked what interest they had in the matter, and, to some of these, charlie was obliged to use his power of promising sums of money, in case of success. there were one or two, however, of whom he felt doubtful. chief among these was ben soloman muller, a man of great influence in the jewish community. this man had placed so large a value upon his services, that charlie did not feel justified in promising him such a sum. he did not like the man's face, and did not rely upon the promises of silence he had given, before the mission was revealed to him. it was for this reason, principally, that he determined to go into lodgings. should he be denounced, serious trouble might fall upon allan ramsay, and it would at least minimize this risk, were he not living at his house when he was arrested. ramsay himself was disposed to make light of the danger. "i believe myself that ben soloman is an old rogue, but he is not a fool. he cannot help seeing that the position of the king is precarious, and, were he to cause your arrest, he might get little thanks and no profit, while he would be incurring the risk of the vengeance of charles, should he ever become master of the town. did he have you arrested, he himself would be forced to appear as a witness against you, and this he could hardly do without the matter becoming publicly known. "i do not say, however, that, if he could curry favour with the king's party by doing you harm, without appearing in the matter, he would hesitate for a moment. "even if you were arrested here, i doubt whether any great harm would befall me, for all the scotch merchants would make common cause with me, and, although we have no political power, we have a good deal of influence one way or another, and augustus, at this time, would not care to make fresh enemies. however, lad, i will not further dispute your decision. were i quite alone, i would not let you leave me, so long as you stop in this city, without taking great offence; but, with a wife and two children, a man is more timid than if he had but himself to think of." charlie therefore moved into the lodging, but every day he went for three or four hours to the shop, where he kept up his assumed character by aiding to keep the ledgers, and in learning from the polish assistants the value of the various goods in the shop. one evening, he was returning after supper to his lodging, when stanislas met him. "i observed three or four evil-looking rascals casting glances at the house today, and there are several rough-looking fellows hanging about the house this evening. i do not know if it means anything, but i thought i would let you know." "i think it must be only your fancy, stanislas. i might be arrested by the troops, were i denounced, but i apprehend no danger from men of the class you speak of. however, if we should be interfered with, i fancy we could deal with several rascals of that sort." at the corner of his street, three or four men were standing. one of them moved, as he passed, and pushed rudely against him, sending his hat into the gutter. then, as his face was exposed, the fellow exclaimed: "it is he, death to the swedish spy!" they were the last words he uttered. charlie's sword flew from its scabbard, and, with a rapid pass, he ran the man through the body. the others drew instantly, and fell upon charlie with fury, keeping up the shout of, "death to the swedish spy!" it was evidently a signal--for men darted out of doorways, and came running down the street, repeating the cry. "go, stanislas!" charlie shouted, as he defended himself against a dozen assailants. "tell ramsay what has happened; you can do no good here." a moment later, he received a tremendous blow on the back of the head, from an iron-bound cudgel, and fell senseless to the ground. chapter : in evil plight. when charlie recovered his senses, he found himself lying bound in a room lighted by a dim lamp, which sufficed only to show that the beams were blackened by smoke and age, and the walls constructed of rough stone work. there was, so far as he could see, no furniture whatever in it, and he imagined that it was an underground cellar, used perhaps, at some time or other, as a storeroom. it was some time before his brain was clear enough to understand what had happened, or how he had got into his present position. gradually the facts came back to him, and he was able to think coherently, in spite of a splitting headache, and a dull, throbbing pain at the back of his head. "i was knocked down and stunned," he said to himself, at last. "i wonder what became of stanislas. i hope he got away. "this does not look like a prison. i should say that it was a cellar, in the house of one of the gang that set upon me. it is evident that someone has betrayed me, probably that jew, ben soloman. what have they brought me here for? i wonder what are they going to do with me." his head, however, hurt him too much for him to continue the strain of thought, and, after a while, he dozed off to sleep. when he awoke, a faint light was streaming in through a slit, two or three inches wide, high up on the wall. he still felt faint and dizzy, from the effects of the blow. parched with thirst, he tried to call out for water, but scarce a sound came from his lips. gradually, the room seemed to darken and become indistinct, and he again lapsed into insensibility. when he again became conscious, someone was pouring water between his lips, and he heard a voice speaking loudly and angrily. he had picked up a few words of polish from stanislas--the names of common things, the words to use in case he lost his way, how to ask for food and for stabling for a horse, but he was unable to understand what was said. he judged, however, that someone was furiously upbraiding the man who was giving him water, for the latter now and then muttered excuses. "he is blowing the fellow up, for having so nearly let me slip through their fingers," he said to himself. "probably they want to question me, and find out who i have been in communication with. they shall get nothing, at present, anyhow." he kept his eyes resolutely closed. presently, he heard a door open, and another man come in. a few words were exchanged, and, this time, wine instead of water was poured down his throat. then he was partly lifted up, and felt a cooling sensation at the back of his head. some bandages were passed round it, and he was laid down again. there was some more conversation, then a door opened and two of the men went out; the third walked back to him, muttering angrily to himself. charlie felt sure that he had been moved from the place in which he had been the evening before. his bonds had been loosed, and he was lying on straw, and not on the bare ground. opening his eyelids the slightest possible degree, he was confirmed in his belief, by seeing that there was much more light than could have entered the cellar. he dared not look farther, and, in a short time, fell into a far more refreshing sleep than that he before had. the next time he woke his brain was clearer, though there was still a dull sense of pain where he had been struck. without opening his eyes, he listened attentively. there was some sound of movement in the room, and, presently, he heard a faint regular breathing. this continued for some time, and he then heard a sort of grunt. "he is asleep," he said to himself, and, opening his eyes slightly looked round. he was in another chamber. it was grimy with dirt, and almost as unfurnished as the cellar, but there was a window through which the sun was streaming brightly. he, himself, lay upon a heap of straw. at the opposite side of the room was a similar heap, and upon this a man was sitting, leaning against the wall, with his chin dropped on his chest. the thought of escape at once occurred to charlie. could he reach the window, which was without glass and a mere opening in the wall, without awakening his guard, he could drop out and make for allan ramsay's. as soon as he tried to move, however, he found that this idea was for the present impracticable. he felt too weak to lift his head, and, at the slight rustle of straw caused by the attempt, the man opposite roused himself with a start. he gave another slight movement, and then again lay quiet with his eyes closed. the man came across and spoke, but he made no sign. some more wine was poured between his lips, then the man returned to his former position, and all was quiet. as he lay thinking his position over, charlie thought that those who had set his assailants to their work must have had two objects--the one to put a stop to his efforts to organize an agitation against the king, the second to find out, by questioning him, who were those with whom he had been in communication, in order that they might be arrested, and their property confiscated. he could see no other reason why his life should be spared by his assailants, for it would have been easier, and far less troublesome, to run him through as he lay senseless on the ground, than to carry him off and keep him a prisoner. this idea confirmed the suspicion he had first entertained, that the assault had been organized by ben soloman. he could have no real interest in the king, for he was ready to join in the organization against him, could he have obtained his own terms. he might intend to gain credit with the royal party, by claiming to have stopped a dangerous plot, and at the same time to benefit himself, by bringing about the expulsion or death of many of his foreign trade rivals. for this end, the jew would desire that he should be taken alive, in order to serve as a witness against the others. "he will not get any names from me," he said. "besides, none of them have promised to take any active measures against augustus. i did not ask them to do so. there is no high treason in trying to influence public opinion. still, it is likely enough that the jew wants to get me to acknowledge that an insurrection was intended, and will offer me my freedom, if i will give such testimony. as i am altogether in his power, the only thing to do is to pretend to be a great deal worse than i am, and so to gain time, till i am strong enough to try to get away from this place." all this was not arrived at, at once, but was the result of half-dreamy cogitation extending over hours, and interrupted by short snatches of sleep. he was conscious that, from time to time, someone came into the room and spoke to his guard; and that, three or four times, wine was poured between his lips. once he was raised up, and fresh cloths, dipped in water, and bandages applied to his head. in the evening, two or three men came in, and he believed that he recognized the voice of one of them as that of ben soloman. one of the men addressed him suddenly and sharply in swedish. "how are you feeling? are you in pain? we have come here to give you your freedom." charlie was on his guard, and remained silent, with his eyes closed. "it is of no use," ben soloman said in his own language. "the fellow is still insensible. the clumsy fool who hit him would fare badly, if i knew who he was. i said that he was to be knocked down, silenced, and brought here; and here he is, of no more use than if he were dead." "he will doubtless come round, in time," another said in an apologetic tone. "we will bring him round, if you will have patience, ben soloman." "well, well," the other replied, "a few days will make no difference; but mind that he is well guarded, directly he begins to gain strength. i will get him out of the town, as soon as i can. allan ramsay has laid a complaint, before the mayor, that his countryman has been attacked by a band of ruffians, and has been either killed or carried off by them. it is a pity that servant of his was not killed." "we thought he was dead. two or three of us looked at him, and i could have sworn that life was out of him." "well, then, you would have sworn what was not true, for he managed to crawl to ramsay's, where he lies, i am told, dangerously ill, and an official has been to him, to obtain his account of the fray. it was a bungled business, from beginning to end." "we could not have calculated on the fellows making such a resistance," the other grumbled. "this one seemed but a lad, and yet he killed three of our party, and the other killed one. a nice business that; and you will have to pay their friends well, ben soloman, for i can tell you there is grumbling at the price, which they say was not enough for the work, which you told them would be easy." "it ought to have been," the jew said sullenly. "fifteen or twenty men to overpower a lad. what could have been more easy? however, i will do something for the friends of the men who were fools enough to get themselves killed, but if i hear any grumbling from the others, it will be worse for them; there is not one i could not lay by the heels in jail. "well, as to this young fellow, i shall not come again. i do not want to be noticed coming here. keep a shrewd lookout after him." "there is no fear about that," the man said. "it will be long ere he is strong enough to walk." "when he gets better, we will have him taken away to a safe place outside the town. once there, i can make him say what i like." "and if he does not get well?" "in that case, we will take away his body and bury it outside. i will see to that myself." "i understand," the other sneered. "you don't want anyone to know where it is buried, so as to be able to bring it up against you." "you attend to your own business," the jew said angrily. "why should i care about what they say? at any rate, there are some matters between you and me, and there is no fear of your speaking." "not until the time comes when i may think it worth my while to throw away my life, in order to secure your death, ben soloman." "it is of no use talking like that," the jew said quietly. "we are useful to each other. i have saved your life from the gibbet, you have done the work i required. between us, it is worse than childish to threaten in the present matter. i do not doubt that you will do your business well, and you know that you will be well paid for it; what can either of us require more?" charlie would have given a good deal to understand the conversation, and he would have been specially glad to learn that stanislas had escaped with his life; for he had taken a great fancy to the young lithuanian, and was grieved by the thought that he had probably lost his life in his defence. three days passed. his head was now clear, and his appetite returning, and he found, by quietly moving at night, when his guard was asleep, that he was gaining strength. the third day, there was some talking among several men who entered the room; then he was lifted, wrapt up in some cloths, and put into a large box. he felt this being hoisted up, it was carried downstairs, and then placed on something. a minute afterwards he felt a vibration, followed by a swaying and bumping, and guessed at once that he was on a cart, and was being removed, either to prison or to some other place of confinement. the latter he considered more probable. the journey was a long one. he had no means of judging time, but he thought that it must have lasted two or three hours. then the rumbling ceased, the box was lifted down, and carried a short distance, then the lid was opened and he was again laid down on some straw. he heard the sound of cart wheels, and knew that the vehicle on which he had been brought was being driven away. he was now so hungry that he felt he could no longer maintain the appearance of insensibility. two men were talking in the room, and when, for a moment, their conversation ceased, he gave a low groan, and then opened his eyes. they came at once to his bedside, with exclamations of satisfaction. "how do you feel?" one asked in swedish. "i do not know," he said in a low tone. "where am i, how did i get here?" "you are with friends. never mind how you got here. you have been ill, but you will soon get well again. someone hit you on the head, and we picked you up and brought you here." "i am weak and faint," charlie murmured. "have you any food?" "you shall have some food, directly it is prepared. take a drink of wine, and see if you can eat a bit of bread while the broth is preparing." charlie drank a little of the wine that was put to his lips, and then broke up the bread, and ate it crumb by crumb, as if it were a great effort to do so, although he had difficulty in restraining himself from eating it voraciously. when he had finished it, he closed his eyes again, as if sleep had overpowered him. an hour later, there was a touch on his shoulder. "here is some broth, young fellow. wake up and drink that, it will do you good." charlie, as before, slowly sipped down the broth, and then really fell asleep, for the jolting had fatigued him terribly. it was evening when he awoke. two men were sitting at a blazing fire. when he moved, one of them brought him another basin of broth, and fed him with a spoon. charlie had been long enough in the country to know, by the appearance of the room, that he was in a peasant's hut. he wondered why he had been brought there, and concluded that it must be because allan ramsay had set so stringent a search on foot in the city, that they considered it necessary to take him away. "they will not keep me here long," he said to himself. "i am sure that i could walk now, and, in another two or three days, i shall be strong enough to go some distance. that soup has done me a deal of good. i believe half my weakness is from hunger." he no longer kept up the appearance of unconsciousness, and, in the morning, put various questions, to the man who spoke swedish, as to what had happened and how he came to be there. this man was evidently, from his dress and appearance, a jew, while the other was as unmistakably a peasant, a rough powerfully-built man with an evil face. the jew gave him but little information, but told him that in a day or two, when he was strong enough to listen, a friend would come who would tell him all about it. on the third day, he heard the sound of an approaching horse, and was not surprised when, after a conversation in a low tone outside, ben soloman entered. charlie was now much stronger, but he had carefully abstained from showing any marked improvement, speaking always in a voice a little above a whisper, and allowing the men to feed him, after making one or two pretended attempts to convey the spoon to his mouth. "well, master englishman," ben soloman said, as he came up to his bedside, "what do you think of things?" "i do not know what to think," charlie said feebly. "i do not know where i am, or why i am here. i remember that there was a fray in the street, and i suppose i was hurt. but why was i brought here, instead of being taken to my lodgings?" "because you would be no use to me in your lodging, and you may be a great deal of use to me here," ben soloman said. "you know you endeavoured to entrap me into a plot against the king's life." charlie shook his head, and looked wonderingly at the speaker. "no, no," he said, "there was no plot against the king's life. i only asked if you would use your influence among your friends to turn popular feeling against augustus." "nothing of the kind," the jew said harshly. "you wanted him removed by poison or the knife. there is no mistake about that, and that is what i am going to swear, and what, if you want to save your life, you will have to swear too; and you will have to give the names of all concerned in the plot, and to swear that they were all agreed to bring about the death of the king. now you understand why you were brought here. you are miles away from another house, and you may shout and scream as loud as you like. you are in my power." "i would die rather than make a false accusation." "listen to me," the jew said sternly. "you are weak now, too weak to suffer much. this day week i will return, and then you had best change your mind, and sign a document i shall bring with me, with the full particulars of the plot to murder the king, and the names of those concerned in it. this you will sign. i shall take it to the proper authorities, and obtain a promise that your life shall be spared, on condition of your giving evidence against these persons." "i would never sign such a villainous document," charlie said. "you will sign it," ben soloman said calmly. "when you find yourself roasting over a slow charcoal fire, you will be ready to sign anything i wish you to." so saying, he turned and left the room. he talked for some time to the men outside, then charlie heard him ride off. "you villain," he said to himself. "when you come, at the end of a week, you will not find me here; but, if i get a chance of having a reckoning with you, it will be bad for you." charlie's progress was apparently slow. the next day he was able to sit up and feed himself. two days later he could totter across the room, and lie down before the fire. the men were completely deceived by his acting, and, considering any attempt to escape, in his present weak state, altogether impossible, paid but little heed to him, the peasant frequently absenting himself for hours together. looking from his window, charlie saw that the hut was situated in a thick wood, and, from the blackened appearance of the peasant's face and garments, he guessed him to be a charcoal burner, and therefore judged that the trees he saw must form part of a forest of considerable extent. the weather was warm, and his other guard often sat, for a while, outside the door. during his absence, charlie lifted the logs of wood piled beside the hearth, and was able to test his returning strength, assuring himself that, although not yet fully recovered, he was gaining ground daily. he resolved not to wait until the seventh day; for ben soloman might change his mind, and return before the day he had named. he determined, therefore, that on the sixth day he would make the attempt. he had no fear of being unable to overcome his jewish guard, as he would have the advantage of a surprise. he only delayed as long as possible, because he doubted his powers of walking any great distance, and of evading the charcoal burner, who would, on his return, certainly set out in pursuit of him. moreover, he wished to remain in the hut nearly up to the time of the jew's return, as he was determined to wait in the forest, and revenge himself for the suffering he had caused him, and for the torture to which he intended to put him. the evening before the day on which he decided to make the attempt, the charcoal burner and the jew were in earnest conversation. the word signifying brigand was frequently repeated, and, although he could not understand much more than this, he concluded, from the peasant's talk and gestures, that he had either come across some of these men in the forest, or had gathered from signs he had observed, perhaps from their fires, that they were there. the jew shrugged his shoulders when the narration was finished. the presence of brigands was a matter of indifference to him. the next day, the charcoal burner went off at noon. "where does he go to?" charlie asked his guard. "he has got some charcoal fires alight, and is obliged to go and see to them. they have to be kept covered up with wet leaves and earth, so that the wood shall only smoulder," the man said, as he lounged out of the hut to his usual seat. charlie waited a short time, then went to the pile of logs, and picked out a straight stick about a yard long and two inches in diameter. with one of the heavier ones he could have killed the man, but the fellow was only acting under the orders of his employer, and, although he would doubtless, at ben soloman's commands, have roasted him alive without compunction, he had not behaved with any unkindness, and had, indeed, seemed to do his best for him. taking the stick, he went to the door. he trod lightly, but in the stillness of the forest the man heard him, and glanced round as he came out. seeing the stick in his hand he leaped up, exclaiming, "you young fool!" and sprang towards him. he had scarce time to feel surprise, as charlie quickly raised the club. it described a swift sweep, fell full on his head, and he dropped to the ground as if shot. charlie ran in again, seized a coil of rope, bound his hands and feet securely, and dragged him into the hut. then he dashed some cold water on his face. the man opened his eyes, and tried to move. "you are too tightly bound to move, pauloff," he said. "i could have killed you if i had chosen, but i did not wish to. you have not been unkind to me, and i owe you no grudge; but tell your rascally employer that i will be even with him, someday, for the evil he has done me." "you might as well have killed me," the man said, "for he will do so when he finds i let you escape." "then my advice to you is, be beforehand with him. you are as strong a man as he is, and if i were in your place, and a man who meant to kill me came into a lonely hut like this, i would take precious good care that he had no chance of carrying out his intentions." charlie then took two loaves of black bread and a portion of goat's flesh from the cupboard; found a bottle about a quarter full of coarse spirits, filled it up with water and put it in his pocket, and then, after taking possession of the long knife his captive wore in his belt, went out of the hut and closed the door behind him. he had purposely moved slowly about the hut, as he made these preparations, in order that the jew should believe that he was still weak; but, indeed, the effort of dragging the man into the hut had severely taxed his strength, and he found that he was much weaker than he had supposed. the hut stood in a very small clearing, and charlie had no difficulty in seeing the track by which the cart had come, for the marks of the wheels were still visible in the soft soil. he followed this until, after about two miles' walking, he came to the edge of the wood. then he retraced his steps for a quarter of a mile, turned off, and with some difficulty made his way into a patch of thick undergrowth, where, after first cutting a formidable cudgel, he lay down, completely exhausted. late in the afternoon he was aroused from a doze by the sound of footsteps, and, looking through the screen of leaves, he saw his late jailers hurrying along the path. the charcoal burner carried a heavy axe, while the jew, whose head was bound up with a cloth, had a long knife in his girdle. they went as far as the end of the forest, and then retraced their steps slowly. they were talking loudly, and charlie could gather, from the few words he understood, and by their gestures, something of the purport of their conversation. "i told you it was of no use your coming on as far as this," the jew said. "why, he was hardly strong enough to walk." "he managed to knock you down, and afterwards to drag you into the house," the other said. "it does not require much strength to knock a man down with a heavy club, when he is not expecting it, conrad. he certainly did drag me in, but he was obliged to sit down afterwards, and i watched him out of one eye as he was making his preparations, and he could only just totter about. i would wager you anything he cannot have gone two hundred yards from the house. that is where we must search for him. i warrant we shall find him hidden in a thicket thereabouts." "we shall have to take a lantern then, for it will be dark before we get back." "our best plan will be to leave it alone till morning. if we sit outside the hut, and take it in turns to watch, we shall hear him when he moves, which he is sure to do when it gets dark. it will be a still night, and we should hear a stick break half a mile away. we shall catch him, safe enough, before he has gone far." "well, i hope we shall have him back before ben soloman comes," the charcoal burner said, "or it will be worse for both of us. you know as well as i do he has got my neck in a noose, and he has got his thumb on you." "if we can't find this swede, i would not wait here for any money. i would fly at once." "you would need to fly, in truth, to get beyond ben soloman's clutches," the charcoal burner said gruffly. "he has got agents all over the country." "then what would you do?" "there is only one thing to do. it is our lives or his. when he rides up tomorrow, we will meet him at the door as if nothing had happened, and, with my axe, i will cleave his head asunder as he comes in. if he sees me in time to retreat, you shall stab him in the back. then we will dig a big hole in the wood, and throw him in, and we will kill his horse and bury it with him. "who would ever be the wiser? i was going to propose it last time, only i was not sure of you then; but, now that you are in it as deep as i am--deeper, indeed, for he put you here specially to look after this youngster--your interest in the matter is as great as mine." the jew was silent for some time, then he said: "he has got papers at home which would bring me to the gallows." "pooh!" the other said. "you do not suppose that, when it is found that he does not return, and his heirs open his coffers, they will take any trouble about what there may be in the papers there, except such as relate to his money. i will warrant there are papers there which concern scores of men besides you, for i know that ben soloman likes to work with agents he has got under his thumb. but, even if all the papers should be put into the hands of the authorities, what would come of it? they have got their hands full of other matters, for the present, and with the swedes on their frontier, and the whole country divided into factions, who do you think is going to trouble to hunt up men for affairs that occurred years ago? even if they did, they would not catch you. they have not got the means of running you down that ben soloman has. "i tell you, man, it must be done. there is no other way out of it." "well, conrad, if we cannot find this fellow before ben soloman comes, i am with you in the business. i have been working for him on starvation pay for the last three years, and hate him as much as you can." when they reached the hut they cooked a meal, and then prepared to keep alternate watch. charlie slept quietly all night, and, in the morning, remained in his hiding place until he heard, in the distance, the sound of a horse's tread. then he went out and sat down, leaning against a tree by the side of the path, in an attitude of exhaustion. presently he saw ben soloman approaching. he got up feebly, and staggered a few paces to another tree, farther from the path. he heard an angry shout, and then ben soloman rode up, and, with a torrent of execrations at the carelessness of the watchers, leapt from his horse and sprang to seize the fugitive, whom he regarded as incapable of offering the slightest resistance. charlie straightened himself up, as if with an effort, and raised his cudgel. "i will not be taken alive," he said. ben soloman drew his long knife from his girdle. "drop that stick," he said, "or it will be worse for you." "it cannot be worse than being tortured to death, as you said." the jew, with an angry snarl, sprang forward so suddenly and unexpectedly that he was within the swing of charlie's cudgel before the latter could strike. he dropped the weapon at once, and caught the wrist of the uplifted hand that held the knife. the jew gave a cry of astonishment and rage, as they clasped each other, and he found that, instead of an unresisting victim, he was in a powerful grasp. for a moment there was a desperate struggle. the jew would, at ordinary times, have been no match for charlie, but the latter was far from having regained his normal strength. his fury at the treatment he had received at the man's hands, however, enabled him, for the moment, to exert himself to the utmost, and, after swaying backwards and forwards in desperate strife for a minute, they went to the ground with a crash, ben soloman being undermost. the jew's grasp instantly relaxed, and charlie, springing to his feet and seizing his cudgel, stood over his fallen antagonist. the latter, however, did not move. his eyes were open in a fixed stare. charlie looked at him in surprise for a moment, thinking he was stunned, then he saw that his right arm was twisted under him in the fall, and at once understanding what had happened, turned him half over. he had fallen on the knife, which had penetrated to the haft, killing him instantly. "i didn't mean to kill you," charlie said aloud, "much as you deserve it, and surely as you would have killed me, if i had refused to act as a traitor. i would have broken your head for you, but that was all. however, it is as well as it is. it adds to my chance of getting away, and i have no doubt there will be many who will rejoice when you are found to be missing. "now," he went on, "as your agents emptied my pockets, it is no robbery to empty yours. money will be useful, and so will your horse." he stooped over the dead man, and took the purse from his girdle, when suddenly there was a rush of feet, and in a moment he was seized. the thought flashed through his mind that he had fallen into the power of his late guardians, but a glance showed that the men standing round were strangers. "well, comrade, and who are you?" the man who was evidently the leader asked. "you have saved us some trouble. we were sleeping a hundred yards or two away, when we heard the horseman, and saw, as he passed, he was the jew of warsaw, to whom two or three of us owe our ruin, and it did not need more than a word for us to agree to wait for him till he came back. we were surprised when we saw you, still more so when the jew jumped from his horse and attacked you. we did not interfere, because, if he had got the best of you, he might have jumped on his horse and ridden off, but directly he fell we ran out, but you were so busy in taking the spoil that you did not hear us. "i see the jew is dead; fell on his own knife. it is just as well for him, for we should have tied him to a tree, and made a bonfire of him, if we had caught him." charlie understood but little of this, but said when the other finished: "i understand but little polish." "what are you then--a russian? you do not look like one." "i am an englishman, and am working in the house of allan ramsay, a scotch trader in warsaw." "well, you are a bold fellow anyhow, and after the smart way in which you disposed of this jew, and possessed yourself of his purse, you will do honour to our trade." "i hope you will let me go," charlie said. "my friends in warsaw will pay a ransom for me, if you will let me return there." "no, no, young fellow. you would of course put down this jew's death to our doing, and we have weight enough on our backs already. he is a man of great influence, and all his tribe would be pressing on the government to hunt us down. you shall go with us, and the purse you took from ben soloman will pay your footing." charlie saw that it would be useless to try and alter the man's decision, especially as he knew so little of the language. he therefore shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was ready to go with them, if it must be so. the jew's body was now thoroughly searched. various papers were found upon him, but, as these proved useless to the brigands, they were torn up. "shall we take the horse with us?" one of the men asked the leader. "no, it would be worse than useless in the forest. leave it standing here. it will find its way back in time. then there will be a search, and there will be rejoicing in many a mansion throughout the country, when it is known that ben soloman is dead. they say he has mortgages on a score of estates, and, though i suppose these will pass to others of his tribe, they can hardly be as hard and mercenary as this man was. "i wonder what he was doing in this forest alone? let us follow the path, and see where he is going. "honred, you have a smattering of several languages, try then if you can make our new comrade understand." the man tried in russian without success, then he spoke in swedish, in which language charlie at once replied. "where does this pathway lead to?" "to a hut where a charcoal burner lives. i have been imprisoned there for the last fortnight. it was all the jew's doing. it was through him that i got this knock here;" and he pointed to the unhealed wound at the back of his head. "well, we may as well pay them a visit," the chief said, when this was translated to him. "we are short of flour, and they may have some there, and maybe something else that will be useful." chapter : with brigands. the man who had spoken to charlie drew the long knife from the back of the jew, wiped it on the grass, and handed it to him. "that ought to be your property," he said. "it has done you good service." not sorry to have a weapon in addition to his cudgel, charlie placed it in his belt, and then started with the bandits. he would not have cared to face the charcoal burner alone; but now that the band regarded him as enrolled among their number, he felt no uneasiness respecting him. when they issued from the trees, the jew was seen standing at the door of the hut. he at once ran in on seeing them, and came out again, accompanied by the charcoal burner, who carried his axe on his shoulder. the jew started, on catching sight of charlie among the ranks of the brigands, and said a word or two to his companion. "well, master charcoal burner," the leader of the party said, "how is it that honest woodmen consort with rogues of the town?" "i don't know that they do so, willingly," the man said gruffly. "but some of us, to our cost, have put our heads into nooses, and the rogues of the town have got hold of the other end of the ropes, and we must just walk as we are told to." "well, that is true enough," the brigand said. "and you, jew, what are you doing here?" "i am like conrad," he replied, sulkily. "it is not only countrymen who have their necks in a noose, and i have to do what i am ordered." "by a bigger rogue than yourself?" "that is so; bigger and cleverer." "you are expecting him here now, our new comrade tells us. well, you need expect him no longer. he will not come. if you will go along the path, you will come upon his body, and may bury him if you like to take the trouble." an exclamation of satisfaction broke from the two men. "you have done us a service, indeed," the charcoal burner said. "we had thought to do it for ourselves, this morning, for after the escape of him you call your new comrade, he would have shown us no mercy." "you may thank our new comrade, and not us," the brigand said. "we only arrived on the spot when it was all over." the jew looked at charlie in astonishment. "what! did he kill ben soloman?" "that did he; or rather, the jew killed himself. there was a grapple hand to hand, and a wrestle. the jew fell undermost, and was pierced with his own knife." "but the lad is but just out of a sickbed, and has no strength for a struggle, and ben soloman, though past middle life, was strong and active." "neither strong enough nor active enough," the man laughed. "you have been nicely taken in. who would have thought that two jews and a pole would have been cheated by an english lad? his face shows that he has been ill, and doubtless he has not yet recovered his full strength, but he was strong enough, anyhow, to overthrow ben soloman. "now, what have you in the hut? we are in need of provisions." the hut was ransacked; the flour, two bottles of spirits, and a skin of wine seized, and the meat cut up and roasted over the fire. after the meal was eaten, the captain called upon charlie to tell his story more fully, and this he did, with the aid of the man who spoke swedish; starting, however, only at the point when he was attacked in the street, as he felt it better to remain silent as to his connection with the swedish army. "but what was the cause of ben soloman's hostility to you?" "there are some in warsaw who are of opinion that augustus of saxony has done much harm to poland, in engaging without cause in the war against charles of sweden, and who think that it would be well that he should be dethroned, and some other prince made king in his place. to this party many of the traders belong, and the jew had reason to think that i was acquainted with the design, and could give the names of those concerned in it. there was really no plot against augustus, but it was only intended that a popular demonstration against his rule should be made. but soloman wanted me to give evidence that there was a conspiracy against the king's life, so that he might gain great credit by exposing it, and might at the same time rid himself of many of his rivals in the trade." "he was an artful fox," the leader of the brigands said, when this had been translated to him. "but where is the jew he put over you?" three or four of the men sprang to their feet and ran out, but the jew was nowhere to be seen. the captain was furious, and abused his men right and left, while his anger was in no way mitigated when one of them told him that, if he had wanted the jew kept, he should have given one of them orders to look after him. this was so evident that the chief was silenced for a moment. "how long is it since any of you saw him last?" "he went round with the wineskin, and filled our cups just as we sat down to breakfast," one of the men said. "i have not noticed him since." nor had any of the others. "then it will be no use to pursue. he has had more than half an hour's start, and long before this he will have mounted ben soloman's horse, and have ridden off. "well, comrade," he said, turning to charlie, "this settles your movements. i was but half in earnest before as to your joining us; but it is clear now that there's nothing else for you to do, for the present. this fellow will, directly he gets to warsaw, denounce you as the murderer of his master. that he is sure to do to avert suspicion from himself, and, if you were to return there, it would go hard with you. so, for a time, you must throw in your lot with us." when this was translated to charlie, he saw at once the force of the argument. he could not have denied that the jew had fallen in a hand-to-hand struggle with himself, and, were he to appear in warsaw, he might be killed by the co-religionists of ben soloman; or, if he escaped this, might lie in a dungeon for months awaiting his trial, and perhaps be finally executed. there was nothing for him now but to rejoin the swedes, and it would be some time, yet, before he would be sufficiently recovered to undertake such a journey. "i should not mind, if i could send a letter to allan ramsay, to tell him what has befallen me. he will be thinking i am dead, and will, at any rate, be in great anxiety about me." "i have taken a liking to you, young fellow," the leader said, "and will send in one of my men to warsaw with a letter; that is, if you can write one." "yes, i can write. fortunately there are paper, pen, and an ink horn on that shelf. ben soloman brought them the last time he came, to write down the lies he wanted me to testify to. i am greatly obliged to you, and will do it at once." as he had, only the day before he was attacked, sent off a messenger to count piper, telling him all he had done the previous week, there was no occasion to repeat this, and he had only to give an account of his capture, and the events that had since occurred. "you see," he said, "i cannot return to warsaw. the jew who was here unfortunately heard that it was in a struggle with me ben soloman was killed, and he will, of course, denounce me as his murderer, though the deed was done in fair fight. i should have all his tribe against me, and might be imprisoned for months awaiting trial. i am still very weak, and could not attempt the journey to the frontier. i am, however, gaining strength, and, as soon as i am quite recovered, i shall take the first opportunity of leaving the men i am with, and making for the swedish camp. please forward this news by a sure hand to count piper, and express my sorrow that my mission has not been completed, although, indeed, i do not think that my further stay at warsaw would have been any great service, for it is clear that the great majority of the traders will not move in the matter until the swedes advance, and, from their point of view, it is not to their interest to do so. "i know but little of the men i am with at present, beyond the fact that they are bandits, nor can i say whether they are disbanded soldiers, or criminals who have escaped from justice; but at any rate they show me no ill will. i have no doubt i shall be able to get on fairly with them, until i am able to make my escape. i wish i had poor stanislas with me. only one of the men here speaks swedish, and he does not know very much of the language. i cannot say, at present, whether the twenty men here are the whole of the band, or whether they are only a portion of it. nor do i know whether the men subsist by plundering the peasants, or venture on more serious crimes. thanking you for your great kindness during my stay at warsaw, i remain, yours gratefully-- "charlie carstairs." while he was occupied in writing this letter, an animated conversation was going on between the bandits. charlie gathered that this related to their future operations, but more than this he could not learn. in a postscript to the letter, he requested allan ramsay to hand over to the bearer some of the clothes left in his lodgings, and to pay him for his trouble. "as to the money i left in your hands, i do not think it worth while for you to send it. however much these men may consider me a comrade, i have not sufficient faith in their honesty to believe that money would reach me safely; but, if you send me a suit of clothes, two or three gold pieces might be wrapped up in a piece of cloth and shoved into the toe of a shoe. the parcel must be a small one, or there would be little chance of the man carrying it far. i will ask him, however, to bring me a sword, if you will buy one for me, and my pistols." he folded up the letter and gave it to the captain. there was no means of fastening it, but this mattered little, because, being written in english, there was no chance of its being read. the captain handed it to one of the men, with instructions for its delivery. the messenger started at once. the others, after remaining a short time in the hut, set out through the forest. after an hour's walking, charlie was unable to go further. the captain, seeing this, ordered four of the men to stop with him, and to follow the next morning. as soon as he had gone on with the rest of the band, the men set about collecting sticks and making a fire. charlie, who was utterly exhausted, threw himself on the ground, and was not long before he fell sound asleep. when he awoke, the shades of evening were already falling, and the men were sitting over the fire, roasting a portion of a goat, one of a flock they had fallen in with in the wood, where large numbers roamed about in a semi-wild state. the man who could speak swedish was one of those who had remained with him, and, from him, he learnt that the present headquarters of the band were some six miles farther away. this distance was performed next morning, frequent halts being made to enable him to sit down and rest; and it was not till five hours after the start that they arrived. overgrown as it now was, with trees and undergrowth, he could see that a village once stood there. it must, however, have been abandoned a very long time, as trees of considerable size grew among the low walls and piles of stones that marked where cottages had stood. the place occupied by the brigands had, in former times, been a castellated building of some strength, standing on a knoll in the middle of the village, which had probably been inhabited by the retainers of its owner. part of the wall had fallen, but a large arched room, that had doubtless been the banqueting hall of the castle, remained almost intact, and here the brigands had established themselves. several fires burned on the flagged floors, the smoke finding its way out through holes and crevices in the roof. some fifty men were gathered round these, and were occupied in cooking their midday meal. "i am glad to see that you have arrived," the captain said, coming across to charlie. "i expected you two hours ago, and intended, as soon as we had finished our meal, to send out another four men to meet you and help to carry you in." "thank you," charlie said. "it is not the men's fault we are late, but the last part of the way we came on very slowly. i was getting so exhausted that i had to stop every few hundred yards." "well, you had better eat something, and then lie down for a sleep. meat is plentiful with us, for there are thousands of goats in the forest, and occasionally we get a deer or wild boar. if we had but bread and wine we should live like nobles. our supplies, however, are low at present, and we shall have to make an expedition, tomorrow or next day, to replenish them." charlie ate a few mouthfuls of meat, and then lay down and slept, for some hours, on a bed of leaves. he was awoke by loud and excited talking among the men, and learnt from honred that one of the men, who had been left on watch at the mouth of the path by which he had entered the forest, had just brought in the news that a party of a hundred infantry, led by the jew, had arrived with a cart. in this the body of ben soloman had been sent off, while the troops had established themselves in the little clearing round the hut. "this comes of letting that jew escape," the captain said. "no doubt he told the story his own way, and the jewish traders went to the governor and asked that troops should be sent to root us out. well, they are far enough away at present, and i have sent off to have their movements watched. it is a good nine miles, from here to the hut, and they may look for a week before they find this place, unless that rascally jew has heard of it from the woodman, or they get hold of the fellow himself, though i should think they will hardly do that. i fancy he has some cause of quarrel with the authorities, and will not put himself in the way of being questioned closely, if he can help it." the next morning when charlie awoke, two men were standing beside him. his eyes first fell on the one who had been to the town, and who held a large bundle in his hand. then he turned his eyes to the other, and gave an exclamation of pleasure, as he saw that it was stanislas. he looked pale and weak, and was evidently just recovering from a severe illness. "why, stanislas!" he exclaimed. "this is a pleasure, indeed. i never for a moment dreamt of seeing you. i heard from the jew who guarded me that you got away, but i was afraid that you had been badly wounded. why, my brave fellow, what brings you here?" "i have come to be with your honour," the man said. "it was, of course, my duty to be by your side. i was very ill for a week, for i had half a dozen wounds, but i managed, after the assailants left me, to crawl back to mr. ramsay's to tell him what had happened. i don't remember much about the next few days. since then i have been mending rapidly. none of the wounds were very serious, and it was more loss of blood, than anything else, that ailed me. mr. ramsay searched high and low for you, and we had all given you up for dead, till a few hours before this man arrived with your letter. "we heard you had killed ben soloman. i had a long talk with your messenger, who received a handsome present from mr. ramsay, and he agreed to conduct me here, upon my solemn promise that, if the captain would not receive me, i would not give any information, on my return, as to the whereabouts of the band. mr. ramsay hired a light cart, and that brought us yesterday far into the forest. we camped there, and i had not more than a couple of miles to walk to get here this morning." "have you seen the captain?" charlie asked eagerly. "yes. i was stopped by some sentries, a quarter of a mile away, and was kept there while my guide came on and got permission of the captain for me to be brought in. when i met him, i had no great difficulty in persuading him to let me stop, for mr. ramsay had given me fifty rix-dollars to give him; and so, your honour, here i am, and here is a letter from mr. ramsay himself." "i cannot tell you how glad i am to have you, stanislas. i am getting better, but i am so weak that i took five hours, yesterday, to get six miles. now i have got you to talk to, i shall pick up strength faster than i have been doing, for it has been very dull work having no one who could understand me. there is only one man here who understands a word of swedish." "we will soon get you round, sir, never fear. i have brought with me four casks of wine. they were left at the place where the cart stopped last night, but the captain has sent off men already to bring them in. you will be all the better for a suit of clean clothes." "that i shall. it is a month now since i had a change, and my jerkin is all stained with blood. i want a wash more than anything; for there was no water near the hut, and the charcoal burner used to bring in a small keg from a spring he passed on his way to his work. that was enough for drinking, but not enough for washing--a matter which never seemed to have entered into his head, or that of the jew, as being in the slightest degree necessary." "there is a well just outside," stanislas said. "i saw them drawing water in buckets as we came in. i suppose it was the well of this castle, in the old time." "i will go and have a wash, and change my clothes the first thing," charlie said. "mr. ramsay's letter will keep till after that." they went out to the well together. "so you heard the story, that i had killed ben soloman, before you left?" "yes; before your letter arrived, mr. ramsay sent for me, and told me a jewish trader had just informed him that news had come that ben soloman had been murdered, and the deed had been done by the young scotchman who had been with him. mr. ramsay did not believe the story in the slightest. he admitted that ben soloman might have been murdered, and even said frankly that, hated as he was, it was the most natural end for him to come to; but that you should have done so was, he said, absurd. in the first place, he did not think that you were alive; and in the second, it was far more probable that you had been murdered by ben soloman, than that he should have been murdered by you. "however, even before your letter came, three or four hours later, there seemed no longer any doubt that you had killed the jew. by that time, there was quite an uproar among his people. he was the leader of their community, and had dealings with so many nobles that his influence was great; and, although he was little liked, he was regarded as an important person, and his loss was a very heavy one to the jewish community. a deputation went to the governor, and we heard that troops would be at once sent out to capture you, and the band of brigands you had joined. mr. ramsay told me that it was fortunate, indeed, that you had not returned to the city. but, no doubt, he has told you all that in the letter." "i feel quite another man, stanislas," charlie said, when he had changed his garments. "now i can read the letter you brought me." after expressing the great satisfaction he felt, at the news that charlie was alive, mr. ramsay went on to say that, even were he well, he could not return to warsaw in the present state of public feeling. "your story that you were attacked, grievously wounded, and, after being confined here for some days, carried away and confined in the wood, by order of ben soloman, and that he visited you there, would be treated with derision. the version given by the man who brought in the story of the jew's death was that he himself was staying in the cottage of a charcoal burner, an acquaintance of his, and that a party of brigands, of whom you were one, arrived there, and that they were boasting of having caused the death of ben soloman, who had fallen by your hand. he managed to escape from the brigands, and on the road found the dead body of his employer, who was, he knew, that morning coming out to give him some instructions. my opinion, and that of my friends who knew you, was that the fellow had himself killed and robbed his master; but your letter, of course, showed that his account was true to some extent--that ben soloman had fallen in a struggle with you, and that you yourself were a prisoner in the hands of these bandits. still, as it would be next to impossible for you to prove the truth of your story, and as the jews of the place, who are numerous and influential, are dead against you, your life would certainly be forfeited were you to be captured. "i know your story to be true, but it would appear wildly improbable, to others, that this wealthy jew should have conspired, in the first place, to cause an attack to be made upon an unknown young stranger, still less that he should have had him carried off to the forest, and should have gone to visit him there. the explanation that you were a swedish officer in disguise would not benefit you in any way, while it would involve us who knew you in your danger, and would cause the jew to be regarded as a man who had lost his life in endeavouring to unmask a plot against poland. therefore, i think it is extremely fortunate that you are, for the present, safe in the hands of these brigands, and should certainly advise you to make no attempt to leave them, until you are perfectly well and strong. "i have, as you directed me, hidden a few pieces of gold in your shoe, and have handed the rest of your money to your man, who is starting to join you. he will conceal it about him. i have just heard that a body of troops are starting at once for the forest, and that orders have been sent to other towns, to send detachments into it at different points, so it is evident the authorities are determined to catch you, if possible. if you had killed half a dozen traders in a smaller way, they would have cared little about it; but just at present, pressed as the king is by want of money, he is bound to do everything he can to please the jewish traders, as it is upon them that he must rely for loans for the payment of his troops. "in this matter, then, he will leave no stone unturned to gratify them, and i should strongly advise your band to move away from the neighbourhood, at any rate for a time. they may plunder whole villages with impunity, but what is regarded as the murder of the richest citizen of warsaw, a man mixed up in business and politics with half the principal nobles of the land, is a different matter altogether. do not think of trying to traverse the country until you are perfectly strong. it will be a dangerous business at the best, but with your man with you, to bear the brunt of replying to questions, i have every confidence that you will succeed in making your way through. as to this, i can give no advice, as there is no saying as to the point from which you may start, or the directions in which you may travel. "should you, at any time, find yourself in a town in which there are any of my countrymen established in trade, and you will find them nearly everywhere, use my name. i think it is pretty generally known to scotchmen in poland. you will see i have inclosed a note that will be useful to you." the inclosure contained only a few words: "i, allan ramsay, merchant of warsaw, do declare the bearer of this note to be my friend, and beg any countrymen of mine, to whom he may present himself, to assist him in every way, and, should he require money, to furnish him with it, i undertaking to make myself responsible for the same, and to pay all monies and other charges that he may incur." "the first thing to do," charlie said, as he placed the letters in his doublet, "is to let the leader of our band know that other bodies of troops, besides that at the hut, are about to enter the forest. he may decide that it is necessary to march away at once." as soon, indeed, as the outlaw received the tidings, he issued orders for the band to prepare for instant departure. "a party of five or six men together," he said to charlie, "might hide in this forest for years. but a band of fifty is too large to be long concealed. to begin with, they must get food, and must either buy it or hunt for it; and in the second, there are a considerable number of men living in the forest, charcoal burners and herders of goats and swine, and any of these, if questioned by the troops, might mention that they had seen a considerable number of men passing. as it is, we will break up into parties of seven or eight, and appoint a rendezvous where we may meet again." the band was speedily mustered, for, with the exception of those who were watching the forest through which the troops at the hut must march to reach them, the whole were close at hand. a messenger was sent off to call in the scouts. then the booty that had been taken during their late excursions was brought out, and emptied on the ground. it consisted of money and jewellery. it was divided into equal portions, of which each member took one, the lieutenants of the band two, and the captain three. "you don't share this time," the latter said to charlie; "but next time, of course, you and your comrade will each have your portion." when this was done, the men were told off in parties of six or seven, and instructions given as to the point of rendezvous. each band chose its own leader, and, in an hour from the reception of the news, the place was deserted, and the parties were making their way in different directions through the forest. charlie and stanislas formed part of the captain's own force, which numbered ten in all. "do you think they will all turn up at the meeting place?" charlie asked the leader, whose name he now ascertained was ladislas koffski. "they may," he said. "but it is seldom that bands, when they once disperse like this, ever come together again. it is impossible to content everyone, and any man who is chosen leader of a party may, if he is dissatisfied, persuade those with him to join some other band. even if they do not go in a body, many are sure to break off and make for their homes, to enjoy the booty they have gathered. "but, upon the other hand, as we go we shall gather up fresh recruits. with so many disbanded soldiers and discontented men roaming the country, there is no difficulty in getting as many men as one cares to keep together. "fifty is the outside that is advisable, for with more, even if one makes a good haul, it comes to so little, a head, that the men are dissatisfied. of course they work in small parties, but this does not succeed so well as when a small band are under a single leader." "how long have you been at this work?" "since last autumn." "and you find it pay?" "we do not get much in money. as you saw, there were but four rix dollars a head, and that is the result of a month's work. still, that is not bad for men who might otherwise starve. sometimes we do worse and sometimes better, but that is about the average. still, the life is a pleasant one, and unless we disbanded soldiers took to it, what would there be for us to do? if government would keep us on regular pay, there would soon be no brigands left, except the men who have escaped from justice. but the treasury is empty, and, even at the best of times, the troops are badly and irregularly paid, and are forced to plunder to keep life together. they are almost in rags, and though we poles do not mind fighting, there is generally a difficulty in getting sufficient infantry. as for the cavalry, they are nobles, and draw no pay. "how do you feel today?" "better. the night's rest, and a wash and change of clothes this morning, have made me feel another man. how far do you intend to march?" "we shall go slowly for a day or two. the other parties have all pushed on ahead fast, but by taking matters quietly, and by keeping a sharp lookout, we need have no great fear of being surprised. i know the forest well, and its thickest hiding places, so we can afford to travel slowly, and as you become accustomed to it you will be able to make longer journeys." for ten days they travelled through the forest, increasing their distance daily, as charlie regained his strength. the last day or two they did not make less than twenty miles a day. their faces were turned steadily east. occasionally they passed large tracts of cleared land, villages, and cultivated fields. at some of these they stopped and replenished their stock of flour, which they took without paying for it, but did no farther damage. of meat they had abundance. two or three men started each day as soon as they halted, and, in a short time, returned with a goat or young pig. "we are now close to the bug river," ladislas said at their last halting place. "tomorrow we shall meet some, at least, of our comrades. i do not expect a great many, for we were pretty equally divided as to the direction we should travel in. practically, we were safe from pursuit when we had gone fifteen miles, for the forest there spreads out greatly, and those in search of us would know that further pursuit would be useless. many of my men did not care about going farther, but all this part of the country has been so harried, for the last two or three years, that we thought it best to try altogether new ground. when we have crossed the bug we shall be beyond the forest, but there are great swamps and morasses, and hills with patches of wood. many streams take their rise there, all meeting farther on, and forming the dnieper. we must keep north of that river, for to the south the country is thinly populated, and we should have difficulty in maintaining ourselves." charlie made no comment, but he was glad to hear that the band intended to keep to the north of the dnieper, for that river would have formed a serious obstacle to his making his way to rejoin the swedes. the next day, they reached the bank of the bug, and, following the river down, came after an hour's walking upon a great fire, round which fifteen men were stretched. these, as the captain's party approached, rose to their feet with a shout of welcome. "that is better than i expected," ladislas said, as they came up to them. "five and twenty is quite enough for work here. in the forests one can do with more, but, moving steadily on, as we mean to do, till we get pretty near the eastern frontier, five and twenty is ample. it is enough, when together, to surprise a village; and it is not too many, travelling in twos and threes, to attract attention. things always go on better, too, after a dispersal. many who are discontented, or who want to command a band of their own, break off, and one starts fresh, with just the men one likes best to keep." "we had begun to give you up, captain," one of the men said, as he joined the other party. "we have been here six days." "we travelled but slowly, at first, and it is only the last two days we have really made fair journeys; but there was no reason for any great haste. the world is all our own, and, at any rate, as long as we were in the forest, there was no fear of wanting food. "so i see some of our comrades have left us." "we can do very well without them, captain. there were thirty of us here two days ago. essos and polinski quarrelled, and essos was killed. then polinski wanted us to elect him captain, and to move away at once. four or five, who have always been grumblers, joined him at once, and persuaded some of the others, till we were about equally divided. it came pretty nearly to a fight; but neither liked to begin, and they moved away." "there are quite enough of us left," ladislas said. "as to essos and polinski, i am heartily glad that they have gone. i know they have both been scheming for the leadership for some time. most of the others can be very well spared, too. there are plenty of us here for travel. there is no doubt, as we agreed before starting, that there is not much more to be done in this part of the country. what with the civil wars, and the bands of soldiers without a leader, and others like ourselves who do not mean to starve, the peasants have been wrought up into a state of desperation. they have little left to lose, but what they have got they are ready to fight to the death for, and, lately, at the first alarm they have sounded the bells and assembled for miles round, and, equipped with scythes and flails, routed those who meddled with them. we had more than one hot fight, and lost many good men. besides, many of the nobles who have suffered have turned out, with their followers, and struck heavy blows at some of the bands; so that the sooner we get out of this country, which is becoming a nest of hornets, the better, for there is little booty and plenty of hard blows to be got. "we will go on, as we agreed, till near the eastern frontier. the country is well covered with forest there, and we can sally out on which side we like, for, if there is not much gold to be had in the russian villages, there is plenty of vodka, and sometimes things worth taking in their churches. the priests and headmen, too, have generally got a little store, which can be got at with the aid of a few hot coals, or a string twisted tight enough round a thumb. at any rate we sha'n't starve; but we must move on pretty fast, for we shall have to get up a warm hut in the forest, and to lay in a stock of provisions before the winter sets in. so we must only stop to gather a little plunder when a good opportunity offers." chapter : treed by wolves. charlie and stanislas were, that evening, sitting apart from the rest, at a short distance from the fire, talking over the future. they agreed that it would be comparatively easy to withdraw from the band as they journeyed forward, if, as seemed likely, they travelled in very small parties. if, indeed, they found themselves with two others, they could leave openly, for these would scarcely care to enter upon a desperate struggle, merely for the sake of retaining two unwilling companions in the band. the difficulties would only begin when they started alone. as they were talking, the captain came across to them. "i can guess," he said, "that you are talking together as to the future. i like you, young englishman, and i like your companion, who seems an honest fellow, but i would not keep you with me by force. i understand that you are not placed as we are. we have to live. most of us would live honestly if we could, but at present it is the choice of doing as we do, or starving. we occasionally take a few crowns, if we come across a fat trader, or may ease a rich farmer of his hoard, but it is but seldom such a chance comes in our way. as a rule, we simply plunder because we must live. it is different with you. your friends may be far away, but if you can get to them you would have all that you need. therefore, this life, which is hard and rough, to say nothing of its danger, does not suit you; but for all that, you must stay with us, for it would be madness for you to attempt to escape. "as i told you, the peasants are maddened, and would kill any passing stranger as they would a wild beast. they would regard him as a spy of some band like ours, or of a company of disbanded soldiers, sent forward to discover which houses and villages are best worth plundering. in your case, you have other dangers to fear. you may be sure that news has been sent from warsaw to all the different governors, with orders for your arrest for killing ben soloman, and these orders will be transmitted to every town and village. your hair and eyes would at once betray you as strangers, and your ignorance of the language would be fatal to you. if, therefore, you escaped being killed as a robber by the peasants, you would run the risk of arrest at the first town or village you entered. "translate that to him, stanislas. he is learning our language fast, but he cannot understand all that." "that is just what we were talking about," charlie said, when stanislas had repeated the captain's speech, "and the danger seems too great to be risked. think you, that when we get farther to the east, we shall be able to make our way more easily up into livonia?" "much more easily, because the forest is more extensive there; but not until the winter is over. the cold will be terrible, and it would be death to sleep without shelter. besides, the forests are infested with wolves, who roam about in packs, and would scent and follow and devour you. but when spring comes, you can turn your faces to the north, and leave us if you think fit, and i promise you that no hindrance shall be thrown in your way. i only ask you not to risk your lives by trying now to pass through poland alone." "i think you are right, ladislas, and i promise you that we will not attempt to leave you during our journey east. as you say, it would be impossible for us to travel after winter had once set in. it is now the end of september." "and it will be november before we reach our destination. we shall not travel fast. we have no motive for doing so. we have to live by the way, and to gather a little money to help us through the winter. we may shoot a bear or an elk sometimes, a few deer, and hares, but we shall want two or three sacks of flour, and some spirits. for these we must either get money, or take the goods. the first is the best, for we have no means of dragging heavy weights with us, and it would not do to infuriate the peasants by plundering any of them within twenty miles of the place where we mean to winter. that would set them all against us." "i tell you frankly, ladislas, that we shall not be willing to aid in any acts of robbery. of course, when one is with an army one has to plunder on a large scale, and it has often gone terribly against the grain, when i have had to join parties sent out to forage. but it has to be done. i would rather not join men in taking food, yet i understand that it may be necessary. but as to taking money, i will have nothing to do with it. at the same time, i understand that we cannot share your food, and be with you, without doing something. stanislas has brought me a little money from warsaw, and i shall be ready to pay into the common treasury a sum sufficient to pay for our share of the food. as to money taken, we shall not expect any share of it. if you are attacked, we shall of course fight, and shall be ready to do our full share in all work. so, at any rate, you will not be losers by taking us with you." "that is fair enough," the captain said, when stanislas had translated what charlie said, suppressing, however, his remarks about foraging with the army, as the brigands were ignorant that charlie and he had any connection with the swedes, or that he was not, as he had given out, a young englishman come out to set up as a trader. the band now journeyed slowly on, keeping near the north bank of the dnieper. they went by twos and threes, uniting sometimes and entering a village or surrounding a farmhouse at night, and taking what they wanted. the people were, however, terribly poor, and they were able to obtain but little beyond scanty supplies of flour, and occasionally a few gold or silver trinkets. many other bands of plunderers had passed along, in the course of the summer, and the robbers themselves were often moved to pity by the misery that they everywhere met with. when in small parties they were obliged to avoid entering any villages, for once or twice furious attacks were made upon those who did so, the women joining the men in arming themselves with any weapon that came to hand, and in falling upon the strangers. only once did they succeed in obtaining plunder of value. they had visited a village, but found it contained nothing worth taking. one of the women said: "why do you trouble poor people like us? there is the count's chateau three miles away. they have every luxury there, while we are starving." after leaving the village, the man to whom she had spoken repeated what she had said, and it was agreed to make the attempt. at the first cottage they came to they made further inquiries, and found that the lord of the soil was very unpopular; for, in spite of the badness of the times, he insisted on receiving his rents without abatement, and where money was not forthcoming, had seized cattle and horses, assessing them at a price far below what they would have fetched at the nearest market. they therefore marched to the house. it was a very large one. the captain thoughtfully placed charlie and stanislas among the six men who were to remain without, to prevent any of the inmates leaving the chateau. with the rest, he made a sudden attack on the great door of the house, and beat it down with a heavy sledge hammer. just as it gave way, some shots were fired from the inside, but they rushed in, overpowered the servants, and were soon masters of the place. in half an hour they came out again, laden with booty. each man carried half a dozen bottles of choice wine, from the count's cellar, slung at his belt. on their shoulders they carried bundles containing silver cups and other valuables; while six of them had bags of silver money, that had been extracted from the count by threats of setting fire to the chateau, and burning him and his family. a halt was made two or three miles away, when the silver was divided into shares as usual, the men being well satisfied when they learned that charlie and his companion claimed no part of it. some of the provisions they had also taken were eaten. each man had a flask of wine, with which the count's health was derisively drunk. "this has been a good night's work," the leader said, "and you have each sixty rix dollars in your pockets, which is more than you have had for months past. that will keep us in provisions and spirits all through the winter; but mind, although we took it without much trouble, we have not heard the last of the business. no doubt, by this time, the count has sent off a messenger to the nearest town where there are troops, and, for a day or two, we shall have to march fast and far. it is one thing to plunder villages, and another to meddle with a rich nobleman." for the next forty-eight hours they marched by night instead of by day, keeping always together, and prepared to resist an attack. one morning they saw, from their hiding place among some high reeds near the river, a body of about sixty horsemen ride past at a distance. they were evidently searching for something, for parties could be seen to break off several times, and to enter woods and copses, the rest halting till they came out again. as the band had with them enough food for another three days, they remained for thirty-six hours in their hiding place, and then, thinking the search would by that time be discontinued, went on again. the next day they killed two or three goats from a herd, the boy in charge of them making off with such speed that, though hotly pursued and fired at several times, he made his escape. they carried the carcasses to a wood, lit a fire, and feasted upon them. then, having cooked the rest of the flesh, they divided it among the band. by this time the wine was finished. the next day they again saw horsemen in the distance, but remained in hiding till they had disappeared in the afternoon. they then went into a village, but scarcely had they proceeded up the street when the doors were opened, and from every house men rushed out armed with flails, clubs, and axes, and fell upon them furiously, shouting "death to the robbers!" they had evidently received warning that a band of plunderers were approaching, and everything had been prepared for them. the band fought stoutly, but they were greatly outnumbered, and, as but few of them carried firearms, they had no great advantage in weapons. charlie and stanislas, finding that their lives were at stake, were forced to take part in the fray, and both were with the survivors of the band, who at last succeeded in fighting their way out of the village, leaving half their number behind them, while some twenty of the peasants had fallen. reduced now to twelve men and the captain, they thought only of pushing forward, avoiding all villages, and only occasionally visiting detached houses for the sake of obtaining flour. the country became more thinly populated as they went on, and there was a deep feeling of satisfaction when, at length, their leader pointed to a belt of trees in the distance, and said: "that is the beginning of the forest. a few miles farther, and we shall be well within it." by nightfall they felt, for the first time since they had set out on their journey, that they could sleep in safety. a huge fire was lit, for the nights were now becoming very cold, and snow had fallen occasionally for the last four or five days, and in the open country was lying some inches deep. the next day they journeyed a few miles farther, and then chose a spot for the erection of a hut. it was close to a stream, and the men at once set to work, with axes, to fell trees and clear a space. it was agreed that the captain and two of the men, of the most pacific demeanour, should go to the nearest town, some forty miles away, to lay in stores. they were away five days, and then returned with the welcome news that a cart, laden with flour and a couple of barrels of spirits, was on a country track through the forest a mile and a half away. "how did you manage, captain?" charlie asked. "we went to the house of a well-to-do peasant, about a mile from the borders of the wood. i told him frankly that we belonged to a band who were going to winter in the forest, that we would do him no harm if he would give us his aid, but that if he refused he would soon have his place burnt over his head. as we said we were ready to pay a fair sum for the hire of his cart, he did not hesitate a moment about making the choice. the other two remained at his cottage, so as to keep his family as hostages for his good faith, and i went with him to the town, where we bought six sacks of good flour and the two barrels of spirits. we got a few other things--cooking pots and horns, and a lot of coarse blankets, and a thick sheepskin coat for each man. they are all in the car. i see that you have got the hut pretty nearly roofed in, so, in a day or two, we shall be comfortable." they went in a body to the place where the cart had been left, but it required two journeys before its contents were all transported to the hut. another three days and this was completed. it was roughly built of logs, the interstices being filled in with moss. there was no attempt at a door, an opening being left four feet high and eighteen inches wide for the purpose of an entry. the skin of a deer they had shot, since they arrived, was hung up outside; and a folded rug inside. there was no occasion for windows. a certain amount of light made its way in by an orifice, a foot square, that had been left in the roof for the escape of smoke. the hut itself consisted of one room only, about eighteen feet square. when this was finished, all hands set to work to pile up a great stack of firewood, close to the door, so as to save them from the necessity of going far, until snow had ceased falling, and winter had set in in earnest. the cart had brought six carcasses of sheep, that had been purchased from a peasant; these were hung up outside the hut to freeze hard, and the meat was eaten only once a day, as it would be impossible to obtain a fresh supply, until the weather became settled enough to admit of their hunting. the preparations were but just finished when the snow began to fall heavily. for a week it came down without intermission, the wind howled among the trees, and even charlie, half stifled as he was by the smoke, felt no inclination to stir out, except for half an hour's work to clear away the snow from the entrance, and to carry in wood from the pile. the time passed more cheerfully than might have been expected. he had by this time begun to talk polish with some facility, and was able to understand the stories that the men told, as they sat round the fire; sometimes tales of adventures they themselves had gone through, sometimes stories of the history of poland, its frequent internal wars, and its struggles with the turks. making bread and cooking occupied some portion of the time, and much was spent in sleep. at the end of a week the snow ceased falling and the sun came out, and all were glad to leave the hut and enjoy the clear sky and the keen air. while they had been confined to the hut, two of the men had made a large number of snares for hares, and they at once started into the forest, to set these in spots where they saw traces of the animals' passage over the snow. the rest went off in parties of twos and threes in search of other game. with the exception of charlie, all were accustomed to the woods; but, as stanislas had much less experience than the others, the captain decided to go with them. "it is easy for anyone to lose his way here," he said. "in fact, except to one accustomed to the woods, it would be dangerous to go far away from the hut. as long as it is fine, you will find your way back by following your own tracks, but if the weather changed suddenly, and it came on to snow, your case would be hopeless. one of the advantages of placing our hut on a stream is that it forms a great aid to finding one's way back. if you strike it above, you follow it down; if below, upwards, until you reach the hut. of course you might wander for days and never hit it, still it is much more easy to find than a small object like the hut, though even when found, it would be difficult to decide whether it had been struck above or below the hut. "now, there is one rule if, at any time, you get lost. don't begin to wander wildly about, for, if you did, you would certainly walk in a circle, and might never be found again. sit down quietly and think matters over, eat if you have got any food with you; then examine the sky, and try to find out from the position of the sun, or the direction in which the clouds are going, which way the hut ought to lie. always take with you one of your pistols; if you fire it three times, at regular intervals, it will be a signal that you want help, and any of us who are within hearing will come to aid you." with the exception of hares, of which a good many were snared, the hunting was not productive. tracks of deer were seen not unfrequently, but it was extremely difficult, even when the animals were sighted, to get across the surface of the snow to within range of the clumsy arquebuses that two or three of the men carried. they did, however, manage to shoot a few by erecting a shelter, just high enough for one man to lie down under, and leaving it until the next snowstorm so covered it that it seemed but a knoll in the ground, or a low shrub bent down and buried under the weight of the snow. these shelters were erected close to paths taken by the deer, and, by lying patiently all day in them, the men occasionally managed to get a close shot. several bears were killed, and two elks. these afforded food for a long time, as the frozen flesh would keep until the return of spring. holes were made in the ice on the stream, and baited hooks being set every night, it was seldom that two or three fish were not found fast on them in the morning. altogether, therefore, there was no lack of food; and as, under the teaching of the captain, charlie in time learnt to be able to keep his direction through the woods, he was often able to go out, either with stanislas or alone, thus keeping clear of the close smoky hut during the hours of daylight. upon the whole he found the life by no means an unpleasant one. among the articles purchased by the captain were high boots, lined with sheepskin, coming up to the thigh. with these and the coats, which had hoods to pull over the head, charlie felt the cold but little during the day; while at night he found the hut often uncomfortably warm, sleeping, as they all did, in the same attire in which they went out. in february the weather became excessively severe, more so, the peasants and charcoal burners they occasionally met with declared, than they ever remembered. the wild animals became tamer, and in the morning when they went out, they frequently found tracks of bears that had been prowling round the hut in search of offal, or bones thrown out. they were now obliged to hang their supply of meat, by ropes, from boughs at some distance from the ground, by which means they were enabled to prevent the bears getting at it. they no longer dared to venture far from the hut, for large packs of wolves ranged through the forest, and, driven by hunger, even entered villages, where they attacked and killed many women and children, made their entrance into sheds, and tore dogs, horses, and cattle to pieces, and became at last so dangerous that the villagers were obliged to keep great fires burning in the streets at night, to frighten them away. several times the occupants of the hut were awakened by the whining and snarling of wolves outside. but the walls and roof were alike built of solid timber, and a roughly-made door of thick wood was now fastened, every night, against the opening, and so stoutly supported by beams behind it as to defy assault. beyond, therefore, a passing grumble at being awakened by the noise, the men gave themselves no trouble as to the savage animals outside. "if these brutes grow much bolder," the captain said one day, "we shall be prisoners here altogether. they must have come down from the great forest that extends over a large part of russia. the villages are scarce there, and the peasants take good care to keep all their beasts in shelter, so no doubt they are able to pick up more at the edge of the forest here." "how far are we from the russian frontier?" "i do not think anyone could tell you. for aught i know, we may be in russia now. these forests are a sort of no man's land, and i don't suppose any line of frontier has ever been marked. it is russia to the east of this forest, some thirty miles away, and it is poland to the west of it. the forest is no good to anyone except the charcoal burners. i have met both russians and poles in the wood, and, as there is plenty of room for all--ay, and would be were there a thousand to every one now working in it--they are on friendly terms with each other, especially as the two nations are, at present, allied against sweden." in spite of the wolves, charlie continued his walks in the forest, accompanied always by stanislas. both carried axes and pistols, and, although charlie had heard many tales of solitary men, and even of vehicles, being attacked by the wolves in broad daylight, he believed that most of the stories were exaggerations, and that the chances of two men being attacked in daylight were small, indeed. he had found that the track, by which the cart had brought the stores, was a good deal used, the snow being swept away or levelled by the runners of sledges, either those of peasants who came into the forest for wood or charcoal, or of travellers journeying between russia and poland. he generally selected this road for his walk, both because it was less laborious than wading through the untrodden snow, and because there was here no fear of losing his way, and he was spared the incessant watchfulness for signs that was necessary among the trees. at first he had frequently met peasants' carts on the road, but, since the cold became more severe and the wolves more numerous and daring, he no longer encountered them. he had indeed heard, from some of the last he saw, that they should come no more, for that the charcoal burners were all abandoning their huts, and going into the villages. one afternoon, when they had, on their return, nearly reached the spot where they left the road to strike across the forest to the hut, they heard a noise behind them. "that is a pack of wolves, in full cry!" stanislas exclaimed. "you had better get up into a tree. they are after something." they hastily clambered into a tree, whose lower branches were but six or seven feet from the ground. a moment later two horses, wild with fright, dashed past, while some twenty yards behind them came a pack of fifty or sixty wolves. they were almost silent now, with their red tongues hanging out. "the brutes have been attacking a sledge," stanislas said in a low tone. "you saw the horses were harnessed, and their broken traces were hanging by their side. it is easy to read the story. the sledge was attacked; the horses, mad with fear, broke their traces and rushed off, or perhaps the driver, seeing at the last moment that escape was impossible, slashed the ropes with his knife, so as to give the horses a chance. i expect they got a start, for the wolves would be detained a little at the sledge." "do you think the poor beasts will get safe out of the forest, stanislas?" "i don't think so, but they may. the chase has evidently been a long one, and the wolves have tired themselves with their first efforts to come up to them. it did not seem to me that they were gaining when they passed us. it is simply a question of endurance, but i fancy the wolves will last longest. "see, here is a party of stragglers. i suppose they stopped longer at the sledge." "it seems to me they are on our scent, stanislas. do you see, they are coming along at the side of the road where we walked, with their heads down." "i am afraid they are. well, we shall soon see. yes, they are leaving the road where we did." a moment later a dozen wolves ran up to the trunk of the tree, and there gathered snuffing and whining. presently one caught sight of the two figures above them, and with an angry yelp sprang up in the air, and immediately all were growling, snarling, and leaping. charlie laughed out loud at their impotent efforts. "it is no laughing matter, sir," stanislas said gravely. "they cannot climb up here, stanislas." "no, but they can keep us here. it will be dark in an hour, and likely enough they will watch us all night." "then we had better shoot two of them, and jump down with our hatchets. keeping back to back, we ought to be able to face ten wolves." "yes, if that were all; but see, here come three or four more, and the dozen will soon swell to a score. no, we shall have to wait here all night, and probably for some time tomorrow, for the men are not likely to find us very early, and they will hardly hear our pistols unless some of them happen to come in this direction." "do you think, if we shoot two or three of them, the rest will go?" "certainly not. it will be all the worse. their comrades would at once tear them to pieces and devour them, and the scent of blood would very soon bring others to the spot." "well, if we have got to wait here all night, stanislas, we had better choose the most comfortable place we can, at once, before it gets dark. we must mind we don't go to sleep and tumble off." "there will be no fear of our sleeping," stanislas said. "the cold will be too great for that. we shall have to keep on swinging our hands and feet, and rubbing our noses, to prevent ourselves from getting frostbitten." "well, i have never felt the cold in these clothes," charlie said. "no, sir, but you have never been out at night, sitting cramped on a tree." hour after hour passed. even in the darkness they could see the wolves lying in the snow below them, occasionally changing their position, keeping close together for warmth, and often snarling or growling angrily, as one or two shifted their position, and tried to squeeze in so as to get into a warm spot. the cold was intense and, in spite of swinging his legs and arms, charlie felt that his vital heat was decreasing. "this is awful, stanislas. i do not think we can last on till morning." "i begin to have doubts myself, sir. perhaps it would be better to leap down and make a fight of it." "we might shoot some of them first," charlie said. "how many charges have you?" "i have only two, besides one in the barrel." "and i have only three," charlie said. "powder has run very short. the captain was saying, yesterday, that we must send to the village and try to get some more. still, six shots will help us." "not much, sir. there must be thirty or forty of them now. i have seen some come from the other way. i suppose they were part of the pack that followed the horses." charlie sat for some time thinking. then he exclaimed: "i think this is a dead tree." "it is, sir. i noticed it when we climbed up. the head has gone, and i think it must have been struck with lightning last summer." "then i think we can manage." "manage what, sir?" the man asked in surprise. "manage to make a fire, stanislas. first of all, we will crawl out towards the ends of the branches as far as we can get, and break off twigs and small boughs. if we can't get enough, we can cut chips off, and we will pile them all where these three big boughs branch off from the trunk. we have both our tinderboxes with us, and i see no reason why we should not be able to light a fire up here." "so we might," stanislas said eagerly. "but if we did, we might set the whole tree on fire." "no bad thing, either," charlie rejoined. "you may be sure the fire will keep the wolves at a respectful distance, and we could get down and enjoy the heat without fear." "i believe your idea will save our lives, sir. ten minutes ago i would not have given a crown for our chances." they at once crawled out upon two of the great branches, and a renewed chorus of snarls from below showed that their foes were watchful. the snapping of the small branches excited a certain amount of uneasiness among them, and they drew off a short distance. in ten minutes charlie and his companion worked themselves back to the main trunk, each carrying an armful of twigs. they first cut off a number of small dry chips, and made a pile of these at the junction of one of the branches with the trunk. they then got out their tinderboxes and bunches of rags, shook a few grains of powder from one of the horns among the chips, and then got the tinder alight. a shred of rag, that had been rubbed with damp powder, was applied to the spark and then placed among the shavings. a flash of light sprang up, followed by a steady blaze, as the dried chips caught. one by one at first, and then, as the fire gained strength, several sticks at a time were laid over the burning splinters, and in five minutes a large fire was blazing. charlie and his companion took their seats where the other two big branches shot out from the trunk. these were two or three feet higher than that on which the fire had been lighted, and, ere long, a sensation of genial warmth began to steal over them. fresh sticks were lighted as the first were consumed, and before long the trunk, where the flames played on it, began to glow. light tongues of flame rose higher and higher, until the trunk was alight ten or twelve feet up. "the wolves are all gone," charlie said, looking down. "i don't suppose they have gone very far, sir. but when the tree once gets fairly alight, you may be sure they won't venture anywhere near it." they had already been forced to move some little distance away from the trunk, by the heat, and as the flames rose higher and higher, embracing in the course of half an hour the whole of the trunk and upper branches, they felt that it was perfectly safe to drop off into the snow beneath them. blazing brands soon began to fall. they stood a short distance away, so as to be beyond the risk of accident, but, at charlie's suggestion, they ran in from time to time, gathered up the brands and laid them at the foot of the trunk, and in a short time a second fire was kindled here. the tree was now a pyramid of fire, lighting up the snow for a long distance round. outside this circle the wolves could be heard whining and whimpering, occasionally uttering a long-drawn howl. "they know that they are baulked of their prey," stanislas said. "we shall have some of the big branches falling soon, and shall be able to keep up a roaring fire, that will last until daylight. i should think by that time the wolves will be tired of it, and will make off; but if not, the captain will be sure to send men out to search for us. he will guess we have been treed by wolves, and we have only to get into another tree, and fire our pistols, to bring them in this direction." "but they may be attacked, too," charlie remarked. "there are ten of them, and they are sure to come armed with axes and swords. they ought to be able to fight their way through a good-sized pack. besides, the wolves will be so cowed by this great fire, that i don't think they will have the courage to meddle with so strong a party." one by one the arms of the tree fell, burnt through at the point where they touched the trunk. they would have been far too heavy to be dragged, but three or four of them fell across the lower fire, and there lay blazing. not knowing which way the tree itself would fall, charlie and his companion were obliged to remain at some distance off, but the heat there was amply sufficient for them. at last the trunk fell with a crash, and they at once established themselves as near the fire as they could sit, without being scorched, and there chatted until morning began to break. they felt sure that some, at least, of the wolves were around them, as they occasionally caught sight of what looked like two sparks among the undergrowth; these being, as they knew, the reflection of the fire in the eyes of a wolf. there was a tree hard by in which they could, if necessary, take refuge, and they therefore resolved to stay near the fire. fortunately the night had been perfectly still, and, as the tree they had fired was a detached one, the flames had not spread, as charlie had at one time been afraid they would do. half an hour after daylight had fairly broken, they discharged three shots at regular intervals with their pistols, then they waited half an hour. "shall we fire again?" "no. not until we hear shots from them," charlie replied. "we have but four charges left, and if the wolves made a sudden rush, we might want to use them." after a time, both thought they heard the distant report of a musket. stanislas looked at charlie inquiringly. the latter shook his head. "no, no! stanislas. that gun would be heard twice as far as one of these pistols. let us wait until we are pretty sure that they are near. i don't like leaving ourselves without other protection than our axes." chapter : a rescued party. after a considerable pause, a gun was again fired, this time much nearer to them. charlie drew out his pistol and was about to reply, when his companion touched his arm. "look!" he said. charlie turned in time to see several gray forms flit rapidly between the bushes. he stepped to the edge of the road, and saw some wolves spring out through the bushes, and go straight along the road. "what can have scared them?" he asked, in surprise. "the gun was not near enough for that." "no, besides they would have fled deeper into the forest, instead of taking to the road. perhaps they hear something coming." almost at the same moment, two shots were heard in the direction towards which the wolves were making. "that is it!" charlie excitedly exclaimed. "another body of wolves have attacked a passing traveller. heap the wood on, stanislas. if we make a great fire, and they get as far as this, possibly they could spring off and take refuge here. at any rate, the brands will be better weapons even than our axes." the ends of such branches as they were able to move were brought together, and a few blows with their axes speedily broke off several of the outer ends of charred wood. these were thrown on, and the fire soon blazed up high again. two more shots were heard, this time close at hand. they ran into the road. a sledge, with several figures in it, was coming along at full speed. it was almost surrounded by wolves, and, as they looked, two of them sprang at the horses' heads; but two shots again rung out, and they dropped backwards among their companions, many of whom threw themselves at once upon their bodies, while the sledge continued on its headlong course. "here! here!" charlie shouted at the top of his voice, waving his hands to show the direction which they were to take. a moment later the sledge dashed past them, and swept up to the fire. "seize the blazing brands!" charlie shouted, as those in the sledge threw themselves out. he and stanislas rolled the two first wolves over with their pistols, and then joined the others. the driver had run at once to the horses, and had muffled them, by throwing his coat over the head of one, and a rug over the head of the other, and, though snorting and trembling in every limb, they stood quiet until he had thrown a head rope round each of their necks, and fastened them to the heaviest of the branches. then he seized a handful of fallen leaves, which were exposed by the melting of the snow above them, and threw them into the fire, whence a dense smoke poured out. the wolves had again stopped to devour the two animals that had been shot, and this gave time to the men, by their united efforts, to move a heavy branch and place it across two others, whose ends lay in the fire, so as to form with them a sort of triangular breastwork, the face of which, next to them, was manned by the two travellers, their servants, charlie, and stanislas, with blazing brands. charlie and his companion hastily loaded their pistols again. the two gentlemen had each rifles and a brace of pistols, as had their servants. a lady and child had been lifted from the sledge, and these crouched down at the angle by the fire. the sledge and the two horses protected one of the faces of the position, and the driver, at his master's orders, took his position on the front seat again, so as to shoot down any wolf that might try to attack the flank of the outside horse. the wolves looked doubtful at the appearance of the dense smoke rising up, but, after a little hesitation, they rushed to the attack. four were rolled over by bullets from the rifles, and, as they came within a few yards, the pistols cracked out in rapid succession. as soon as these were all emptied, the six men caught up the blazing brands, and struck full in the faces of the wolves, shouting loudly as they did so. seized with a momentary panic, the animals turned and fled, and then a fierce fight took place between the injured wolves and their companions. there was but just time to recharge the rifles and pistols, when they came on again. although the fire of the defenders was as deadly as before, the wolves seemed this time determined to get at their victims. in vain were blows showered on their heads, while those who first sprang on the tree were stabbed with the knives the defenders held in their left hands. the contest could have had but one termination, when suddenly two shots were heard, and then, with loud shouts, a party of men burst through the forest, and with pistol and axe fell on the wolves. this unexpected onslaught had a decisive effect, and, with loud howls and yelps, the wolves turned and fled. up to this time, not a word had been exchanged by the defenders, beyond charlie's first shout of "lay this branch across those two," and the order of one of the gentlemen to the coachman to take his place in the sledge--where he had done his work well, for four wolves lay dead by the flank of the outside horse. several of those that had sprung at the heads of the horses had been shot or cut down by the master, who had placed himself close to them, and the horses' thick mufflings had saved them from any serious injury. as soon as the wolves fled, the gentleman turned to charlie, and, flinging down his weapons, threw his arms round his neck. "you have preserved us from death, sir. you have saved my wife and child from being torn to pieces. how can i express my thanks to you?" "it was fortunate that we happened to be here," charlie said, "and that we had this fire handy." a cry from the child called off the gentleman's attention, and he ran to his wife, who had sunk fainting on the ground; and charlie, not a little pleased at this diversion, turned to ladislas and his men, who were looking on with the most intense astonishment at the scene. charlie leapt over the branch, and grasped ladislas by the hand. "you have arrived at the nick of time, ladislas. another three minutes, and it would have been all over with us." "yes, i could see it was a close thing as soon as i caught sight of you. we have been wondering all night what became of you, and set out as soon as it was light. we fired a shot occasionally, but we listened in vain for your three shots." "we fired them half an hour after daylight," charlie said; "but, as we had then only five charges left between us, and there were wolves all round, we dared not waste them." "we heard firing at last," the captain went on. "first two shots faintly, then two nearer, and a minute later two others. we knew then that you must be engaged with wolves, and we were running as hard as we could in the direction of the shots, when we heard a number fired close together. of course we could make nothing of it, but on we ran. then there was another outbreak of firing, this time quite close. a moment later we caught sight of a confused mass. there was a fire, and a sledge with two horses, and a man standing up in it shooting; and we could see a desperate fight going on with the wolves in front, so alexander and hugo fired their pieces into the thick of them. we set up a yell, and went at them with our axes, yet i did not feel by any means sure that they would not be too many for us. "but what on earth does it all mean? and how is it that you have lived through the night? we had no expectation of finding you alive. however, that fire tells its own tale, as though nothing less than burning up a big tree would content you." "i will tell you all, presently. it is too long a story now. let us help these travellers to go their way, before the wolves rally again." "they will not do that," the captain said confidently. "if it was night, they might hang about the neighbourhood, but they are cowardly beasts in the daytime, and easily scared. they are still going away at their best pace, i will be bound." while charlie was speaking to ladislas, one of the travellers had been talking to stanislas, who, in answer to his question, had informed him that he was in charlie's service, and that the latter was an english gentleman, who had, from a variety of circumstances, especially the suspicion with which all strangers were regarded, been unable to travel through the country, and had therefore been passing the winter hunting, with this company of disbanded soldiers who had so opportunely arrived to their assistance. the other traveller had, by this time, carried his wife beyond the heat of the fire, and had applied some snow to her forehead, pouring a little brandy from the flask between her lips. she had now begun to revive, and, leaving her, he approached the party. his brother met him, and in a few words told him what he had learned from stanislas. "my friends," he said, "my brother tells me that you are a party of discharged soldiers, who are passing the winter in a hut here in the forest, supporting yourselves by shooting and fishing. i have to thank providence for the thought that sent you here. i have to thank you for your prompt assistance, to which we are indebted for our lives. "i am count nicholas staroski, and can at least make a substantial return for the service you have done me. my estates lie some sixty miles to the north. you will have no difficulty in finding me. present yourselves there at easter. i shall certainly be at my chateau then. i will then talk over what can be done for you. those who like to settle down on land shall have land, those who would like employment in my household shall have it, those who would prefer money to go their own way and settle in their own villages shall each have a heavy purse." then he turned to charlie. "you, sir, as my brother has learned from your brave follower here, are an english gentleman. to you i owe far heavier obligation than to these soldiers, for you and your man incurred a terrible risk, and well-nigh sacrificed your lives for ours. i pray you come with us, and stay with us for a time. i shall then hear your plans, and your object in visiting this country, and if i can in any way further them, you may be sure i will do so to the utmost; for the present, i can promise you at least excellent hunting, and the heartiest welcome." "i thank you very heartily, count staroski, and accept gladly your invitation; but i must first speak to the captain of these men, to whom i am much beholden for the kindness he has shown me." he went across to ladislas, who had heard what was said. "you will not think it ungrateful for me to quit you so suddenly, ladislas," he said in a low voice. "assuredly not. you have done us a service, indeed, in thus enabling us to obtain favour with the count. he is one of our richest and most powerful nobles, and our fortunes are as good as made." "i will introduce you to him personally," charlie said. "this, count, is the leader of the party. he has shown me very great kindness, and has proved a true friend. from what i have seen of him, i have no doubt whatever that, in spite of certain acts of lawlessness to which he and his friends have been driven of late, you will find him, in any position you may be good enough to give him, an honest and thoroughly trustworthy man." "i will bear it in mind," the count said. "now, the sooner we are off, the better. how far is it to the next village?" "about seven miles, count." the count gave orders for the sledge to be taken on to the road again. "one moment," the captain said, taking charlie aside. "pray tell us, in a few words, what has happened. the burning of the tree is a mystery to us, and we shall die of curiosity if we have to remain here for another two months with the matter unexplained." in as few words as possible, charlie related to the men the story of the preceding night, which was greeted with exclamations of surprise and admiration. "truly, you have your wits about you," the captain said. "i should have been frozen to death, if i had been in your position, for i should certainly never have thought of lighting a fire up in a tree. "well, goodbye, if we do not see you again, may all good fortune attend you, and may the saints protect you from all danger." charlie shook hands with the men all round, and then hurried down to the sledge. the coachman was already in the front seat, the countess and her child had taken their places, and the two armed servants and stanislas were standing behind, in readiness to jump on to a board fastened above the runners. "i must apologize for keeping you waiting, countess," charlie said as he ran up. "i had to explain to my friends, in a few words, how this had all come about." "we are also longing to know," the count said. "but i have not yet introduced you to my wife, nor have i learned the name of the gentleman to whom i owe so much." "ah, sir," the young countess said, holding out her hand after charlie had given his name, "what do we not owe you? i shall never forget it all, never." "we will talk when we have started, feodora. let us get out of this forest as soon as we can." he took his place beside his wife, and set the child on his knees; his brother and charlie sitting opposite to him. the servants spread a bearskin rug over their knees, and then jumped into their places, as the driver cracked his whip, and the horses started. "you must think us almost mad to be driving through the forest, at this time of the year," the count said to charlie. "but the countess is a russian. we have been staying two months at her father's place, a hundred miles to the east. my two youngest children are at home, and two days since a message arrived, saying that one of them was dangerously ill. we had heard, of course, many tales of the numbers and fierceness of the wolves, but we hoped that, by travelling only by day and with excellent horses, there was not much to fear, especially as we were five armed men. "we fell in with a few wolves yesterday, but beat them off easily enough. last night, we stopped at a little village in the forest. they certainly made me feel uneasy there, with their tales about the wolves, but there was no help for it. we started as soon as day broke, and had driven some fifteen miles, before we came up to you. we had not gone five when the wolves began to show themselves. "at first, they kept well behind us, but presently we came upon a large number, who joined in near where we saw an overturned sledge, with the snow stained with blood all round it. from there we kept up a running fight, and must have killed a score; but their numbers increased, rather than diminished, and when a fresh pack came up from ahead, a quarter of a mile before we saw you, it looked as if our case was hopeless; for the horses, which had been going at the top of their speed from the time we started, were beginning to flag, while the wolves were fast closing in upon us, and were just beginning to attack the horses, when i saw you in the road. "and now, pray tell us how you came to be there so opportunely, and how it was that you had that great fire blazing." charlie gave the full history of the previous night's adventure. "wonderful!" the count and his brother exclaimed; and the former went on: "i have heard many stories of escapes from wolves, but never one like yours. it was an admirable thought, indeed, that of at once obtaining heat and frightening the wolves away, by setting the tree on fire. that thought saved our lives as well as your own, for our fate would have been the same as those unfortunate travellers, whose horses you saw, and who brought the wolves upon you. "and now, sir, would it be impertinent to ask for what purpose you have come to poland? believe me, i only put the question in order to see if i can in any way be of assistance to you." "i do not know, count, whether my avowal will affect you unfavourably, but i know that it will make no difference in your conduct towards me. i am, as my servant told you, an englishman by birth; but i and my father were obliged, in consequence of political opinions, to leave the country, and i am now a captain in the service of charles of sweden." exclamations of surprise broke from his hearers. "well, sir," the count said, smiling, "as his majesty king charles, although not yet one-and-twenty, is one of the greatest generals in europe, i cannot consider it strange that you, who appear to me to be no older, should be a captain in his service. but i own that i pictured, to myself, that the officers of these wonderful soldiers were fierce-looking men, regular iron veterans." "i am but eighteen," charlie said, "and i myself feel it absurd that i should be a captain. it is but two years since i was appointed an ensign, and the king happening to be with my company, when we had a sharp fight with the russians, he rewarded us by having us made into a regiment; so each of us got promotion. i was appointed captain last may, as a reward for a suggestion that turned out useful." "may i ask what it was, captain carstairs, for it seems to me that you are full of happy ideas?" "king charles, as you may have heard, speaks freely to officers and soldiers as he moves about the camp. i was standing on the edge of the river, looking across at the saxons, on the day before we made the passage, when the king came up and spoke to me. he said there was no hope of our passage being covered--as our advance against the russians at narva had been--by a snowstorm; and i said that, as the wind was at our backs, if we were to set fire to the great straw stacks the smoke would hide our movements from the saxons. the idea was a very simple one, and would no doubt have occurred to the king himself; however, he put it into execution with success, and was good enough, afterwards, to promote me to the rank of captain." "so it was owing to you that our army--or rather the saxon army, for but few poles were engaged in the battle--was defeated," the count said, smiling. "well, sir, it will do you no harm with us, for personally we are entirely opposed to augustus of saxony. but you have not yet explained how you, an officer in the swedish service, came to be here." "i was sent by king charles to warsaw, to ascertain the feeling of the trading classes there. i had an introduction to a scottish merchant, and i passed as a countryman of his, who had come out to enter his business. one of the objects of my mission was to endeavour to induce the foreign merchants in warsaw to do what they could to promote a feeling in favour of peace with the swedes, and the substitution of another king in place of augustus." "it is not very clear, captain carstairs, how you can be fulfilling that object by passing your winter with a party of robbers--for i suppose your disbanded soldiers were little better--in a forest on the confines of russia." charlie laughed. "it is rather a long story, count. perhaps you will kindly tell me the news about public affairs, first." "by no means," the count said. "that is a long story, too, and my wife would much rather hear yours than listen to it. she has not yet recovered from the events of this morning. but we will wait until we are at the village. we have left the forest behind us, and another half hour will take us to stromoff, where we can get pretty good accommodation." the horses, a splendid pair of animals, had, during their passage through the forest, shown every sign of fear; starting nervously, swerving, and going in sharp, sudden rushes, and always needing a constant strain on the reins to keep them from bolting. once away from the trees, however, they settled down into a fast trot, and the seven miles to stromoff were done in less than half an hour. no sooner did the landlord of the inn learn the name of his guest, than he, his wife, and sons bustled about in the greatest haste to make things comfortable for them. huge fires were lighted in the guest rooms, and the common room was cleared of the other customers, until the chamber should be sufficiently warmed for occupation; while in the kitchen preparations were made for a meal, to which, in half an hour from their arrival, the party in the sledge sat down. when this was over, settles were placed round the fire, and charlie then gave a full account of his adventures, from the time he was attacked in the streets of warsaw. "so it was you, captain carstairs, after whom there was so keen a search in september. the death of ben soloman made a great stir, and i can assure you that there are a great many people who owe you a debt of gratitude. the man had no sons, and all his property passed to his widow, whom he had, it seems, treated harshly during his lifetime. she was from holland, and wished to return to her people, so, as his means were very large, she made the easiest terms with all those on whose estates her husband had held mortgages, in order to wind up her affairs as soon as possible. thus, his death was the subject of wide rejoicings. however, if you had been caught at the time, i fear it would have gone hard with you; for the jews were all very keen about it--as the man, rascal though he was, was one of the chief heads of their religion--and were you to fall into their hands in any of the towns, they would either kill you or send you to warsaw." "and now, sir, will you tell me what has taken place since september?" "things have moved slowly. augustus endeavoured, after his defeat on the dwina, to make peace with charles on his own account, and without the knowledge of the diet, but charles refused to give audience to any of his agents, and would not even see the beautiful countess of konigsmark, who is, you know, herself a swede, and whom augustus sent, thinking that her blandishments might win over the young king. it was useless. charles maintained the ground that he took up from the first--namely, that he would treat with the diet, but would have nothing whatever to say to augustus. so the diet sent an embassy of four senators. "instead of receiving them with every pomp and ceremony, as they expected, the king met them on horseback. he demanded that, as a first condition, they should dethrone augustus. parties in the diet were pretty equally divided; but the proposal was rejected, for even those most hostile to augustus resented the proposal that we, a free and unconquered people, should be ordered by a foreign prince to change our king. so nothing came of it. "the swedish army advanced a certain distance into poland, and there were a great number of skirmishes, but there has been no serious fighting, nor is there much chance of any, until the snow has gone and the country dried up in the spring. at present, augustus is quarrelling with the diet, who still set themselves against the importation of more saxon troops. but doubtless, before the campaign begins in earnest, he will have settled matters with the senators, and will have his own way in that respect. there is, however, little chance of the diet agreeing to call out the whole forces of the country, and the next battle will, like the last, be between the swedes and the saxons, who may have with them perhaps a few thousand poles, belonging to the king's party." "you don't belong to the king's party, count?" "no. i, like the majority of our nobles, have no interest whatever in the war, for we were never consulted before it began. it is an affair between saxony and the swedes. let them fight it out. it would be a bad day for poland, if augustus and the russians were to overcome and despoil sweden. we want no addition of territory, for that would be to strengthen our kings against us. we see the trouble caused by augustus having saxony at his command, and if he had other territory, the country would be divided into two parts, one of which would have nothing in common with the other. "still less do we wish to see russia gain territory to the north of us. hitherto we have thought but little of the muscovites, but this war has shown that they can put great armies into the field, and the czar is making them into a nation which may some day be formidable to us. "charles has sent every assurance that he has no ill will towards poland, and is an enemy not of the country but of its king--who had formed a coalition against him in a time of profound peace--and that his hostility will altogether cease with the overthrow and expulsion of augustus. so you see, we who live at a distance from the capital, and hold ourselves altogether aloof from the intrigues of court, look on at the fray as if it were one in which we have no part or lot. if augustus drives out the swedes, we shall probably have trouble with him afterwards. if charles drives out augustus, we shall have a fresh king, and shall no doubt choose one upon the recommendation of charles, who will then march away again, leaving us to manage our own affairs. therefore, we have no animosity whatever against you as a swedish officer, but for comfort's sake it is better that nothing should be said of this, and that i should introduce you to my friends simply as an english gentleman, who has rendered me the greatest possible service." the countess retired to bed, a short time after they had finished their meal, and the others sat up talking until late in the evening. charlie learnt that the country was still in a greatly disturbed state. parties of disbanded soldiers and others, rendered desperate by cold and hardship, were everywhere plundering the peasantry, and many encounters had taken place between them and the nobles, who, with their retainers, had marched against them. travel would be dangerous for a long time to come. "therefore, until the spring, you must not think of moving," the count said. "indeed, i think that your best plan, when you start, will be to work due north, and join the swedish forces near narva. it will be shorter as well as less dangerous. still, we can talk of that later on." the next morning they started early, and arrived in the afternoon at the chateau of the count. it was not a fortified building, for the poles differed from the western nations, abstaining from fortifying their towns and residences, upon the ground that they were a free people, capable of defending their country from foreign invasion, and therefore requiring no fortified towns, and that such places added to the risks of civil war, and enabled factions to set the will of the nation at defiance. the building was a large one, but it struck charlie as being singularly plain and barn-like in comparison with the residences of country gentlemen in england. a number of retainers ran out as they drove up into the courtyard, and exclamations of surprise and dismay rose, as the wounds on the horses' flanks and legs were visible; and when, in a few words, the count told them that they had been attacked by wolves, and had been saved principally by the english gentleman and his follower, the men crowded round charlie, kissed his hands, and in other ways tried to show their gratitude for his rescue of their master and mistress. "come along," the count said, taking his arm and leading him into the house. "the poor fellows mean well, and you must not be vexed with them." the countess's first question had been for her child, and with an exclamation of thankfulness, when she heard that it was better, she had at once hurried into the house. as soon as they had entered, the count left charlie in charge of his brother, and also hurried away. he was not long before he returned. "the child is doing well," he said, "and now that it has got its mother again, it will, i think, improve rapidly. the doctor said this morning that he considered it out of danger, but that it needed its mother sorely, to cheer and pet it." in a very short time the tables were laid. the count, his brother, and charlie sat at an upper table, and the hall was filled with the various officers and retainers. the count's arrival was expected, for a horseman had been sent forward on their arrival at the inn the evening before. the dinner had therefore been cooked in readiness, and charlie was astonished at the profusion with which it was served. fish, joints, great pies, and game of many kinds were placed on the table in unlimited quantities; the drink being a species of beer, although excellent wine was served at the high table. he could now understand how often the polish nobles impoverished themselves by their unbounded hospitality and love of display. "i suppose, for tomorrow, you will like to remain quiet," the count said, "but after that we will try to amuse you. there is game of all sorts to be shot, or if you have had enough sport, lately, there will be a sledge and horses at your disposal, whenever you choose to ride or drive, and in a few days we will give an entertainment, in honour at once of our return, your visit, and the child's restoration to health. then you will have an opportunity of seeing our national dances." charlie had had enough shooting, but he greatly enjoyed the drives in the sledges, behind the spirited horses. the entertainment came off a fortnight after his arrival at the chateau. the guests, for the most part, arrived early in the afternoon, many having driven in from great distances. the preparations had been on an immense scale, and the scene at night was a brilliant one. never had charlie seen anything like the magnificence of the dresses, not of the ladies only, but also of the gentlemen; the poles having the true oriental love for rich costumes, a taste that their national dress permitted them to gratify to the utmost. next to the splendour of the dresses, charlie was surprised at the grace and spirit of the dancing, which was far more vivacious than that of western nations. the poles were long considered to be the best dancers in the world. it was their great national amusement; and all danced, from noble to peasant, entering into it with spirit and enthusiasm, and uniting the perfection of rhythmical motion with the grace and ease peculiar to them, and to their kinsmen the hungarians. the dancing was kept up, with unflagging energy, during the whole night; and then, after a substantial breakfast, the men and women were muffled up in furs, and took their places in the sledges. the count would gladly have had charlie remain with him until spring began, but he was anxious to rejoin the army; and, seeing that this was so, the count did everything in his power to facilitate his journey, which, after talking it over, had been decided should be direct towards the royal camp. the count's brother insisted upon accompanying him on the journey, as in this way many of the difficulties would be avoided. two sledges were prepared, the one for the use of charlie and count john, and the other for the two servants and baggage. both were horsed by the fastest animals in the count's stables. charlie himself had been loaded with presents, which he had been obliged somewhat reluctantly to accept, as he saw that a refusal would hurt and mortify his kind hosts. he had, on his arrival, been provided with an ample wardrobe of clothes of all kinds, and to these were now added dolmans, cloaks, rugs, and most costly furs. a splendid gun, pistols, and a sword, with the hilt studded with gems, completed his outfit; while stanislas had been presented with a heavy purse of money. the whole of the retainers of the castle were assembled to see them start, and the count and countess, at parting, made him promise to come and pay them another visit, if the fortune of war should bring him within the possibility of reaching them. the journey was a delightful one. each night they put up at the chateau of some nobleman. to many of these count john staroski was personally known; at the others, his name secured at once a hearty welcome for himself and his companion. travelling only by day, and at the full speed of the horses, they escaped interruption by the marauding bands, and in fourteen days after starting they drove into the town where charles of sweden had his headquarters, after being twice stopped and questioned by bodies of swedish horse. the town was crowded with troops, and they had some difficulty in finding a lodging for themselves, and stabling for the horses. as soon as this was done, charlie proceeded alone to the quarters of count piper. chapter : the battle of clissow. charlie sent in his name, and was shown in at once. "i am glad, indeed, to see you, captain carstairs," the minister said, as he entered. "we had given you up for lost. we heard first that you had been murdered in the streets of warsaw. a month later, a man brought a letter to me from your scotch friend ramsay, to say that you were accused of the murder of a jew trader, a man, it seems, of some importance in warsaw. ramsay said that you were in the company of a band of brigands, and that the man who went with you as your servant had joined you, and had taken you some money. he forwarded the letter you had sent him explaining your position, and said he thought that, upon the whole, it was the best thing you could have done, as a vigorous search had been set on foot, at the instance of the jews, and there would have been but little chance of your making your way through the country alone. he added that he felt confident that, if alive, you would manage somehow to rejoin us before the campaign opened in the spring. "i am glad that you have been able to do so, but your appearance, at present, is rather that of a wealthy polish noble, than of a companion of brigands." "i was able to do some service to count staroski, as, when travelling with his wife and child, and his brother, count john, he was attacked by a pack of wolves. i have been staying with him for some weeks, and his brother has now had the kindness to accompany me here. he has thereby made my passage through the country easy, as we have travelled with fast horses in his sledge, and have always put up at the chateaux of nobles of his acquaintance. i have, therefore, avoided all risk of arrest at towns. in the letter forwarded to you i explained the real circumstances of the death of the jew." "yes, we quite understood that, captain carstairs. you had a very narrow escape from death at his hands, and, as the danger was incurred purely in the king's service, it will not be forgotten. up to the time when the jew organized the attack upon you in warsaw, i was well satisfied with your reports of your work. so far nothing has come of it, as augustus has been too strong for any movement against him, but we hope, ere long, to defeat him so decisively that our friends will be able to declare against him. i will inform the king of your return, and i have no doubt he will be glad to hear your story from your own lips. he loves tales of adventure, and time hangs somewhat heavily on hand, as, until the frost breaks, nothing can be done in the field." on the following day, indeed, charlie was sent for to the royal quarters, and had to recount the story of his adventures in full to the king, who was highly interested in them, and at the conclusion requested him to introduce count john staroski, in order that he might express to him his obligation for the service he had rendered to one of his officers. this done, charlie drove out with the count to the village where colonel jamieson's regiment was quartered, and where his return was received with delight by harry, and with great pleasure by major jervoise and his fellow officers. he was obliged to give a short outline of what he had been doing since he left, but put off going into details for a future occasion. "and are you coming back to us now, charlie?" harry asked. "certainly. my success in the diplomatic way was not sufficiently marked for them to be likely to employ me in that line again. we must return this afternoon, as the king has invited us both to sup with him tonight." two days later, count john staroski started upon his return journey, much pleased with the reception he had met with from the king of sweden, and determined to work vigorously, among the nobles of his acquaintance, to bring about the dethronement of augustus of saxony. charlie had already seen count piper, who had told him that, although the king and himself were both well satisfied with the work he had done, there was not at present any mission of the same sort on which he could be employed. indeed, it was evident that, until the saxons had been decisively defeated, political action would be useless, and that, therefore, for the present he could either remain at headquarters, or rejoin his regiment. charlie at once chose the latter alternative. "very well, captain carstairs, you can rejoin when you like, but remember i may claim your services again. you see, now that you have acquired a knowledge of polish, your value for this sort of work is largely increased." as soon as the frost had broken, the swedish army commenced its advance. skirmishes frequently took place, but augustus had, as yet, no army with which he could meet them in the field, and he summoned a diet at warsaw, in hopes of persuading the poles to decide upon calling out the whole national force. in this he failed altogether. the citizens, led by the foreign traders, were already openly opposed to him, and their attitude so encouraged his opponents in the diet, that many of these rose and openly denounced the government, and the conduct of the king, that had brought the country into its present difficulties. as the swedish army advanced, they were joined by the duke of holstein, and, in spite of the efforts of a considerable body of the enemy, under prince wisniowiski, progressed steadily, crossed the river memel, and, when near grodno, were met by an embassy sent by the diet, to endeavour to persuade charles not to advance further. an interview took place between the king, the poles, and his ministers, the conversation on both sides being in latin. but as the ambassadors had no definite plans to propose, and their leaders were wholly devoted to augustus, the king refused to allow his advance to be arrested, and continued his march. when near praga they crossed the plain where charles gustavus, king of sweden, had defeated the polish army in a great battle, that had lasted for three days. the city was occupied, and a contribution of , crowns imposed upon it, in addition to food for the army while it remained there. plundering, however, was strictly forbidden, and, as the king issued a proclamation declaring that he was no enemy of the polish republic, but simply of their king, the inhabitants were, on the whole, well satisfied with the conduct of the invaders. a halt was made here for some time, and a bridge was thrown across the vistula, while the army rested after the long and fatiguing marches it had made. a fresh attempt was made to arrest the advance of the swedes, and the cardinal primate, himself, met the king; but nothing came of the negotiations, and the army entered warsaw. here they were warmly received, and great entertainments were given to the king. towards the end of june, they again advanced to meet the force that augustus had gathered, and on the th of july the swedes arrived within a few miles of clissow. the next day some reinforcements arrived, and the king decided to give battle on the following day, which was the anniversary of the victory on the dwina, the previous year. his army was twelve thousand strong, while that of augustus was nearly double that strength, and was very strongly posted, his camp being surrounded by morasses, although situated on rising ground which commanded the whole of the country round it. the bogs in the front were found to be so impassable, that the swedes were forced to make a circuit to the left, where the ground was firmer. this movement obliged the enemy also to change front, a movement that caused considerable confusion, as they themselves were forced to traverse boggy ground, to take up a new position facing that by which the swedes would now advance. the attack was commenced by the division commanded by the duke of holstein, but, scarcely had he set his troops in motion than he was mortally wounded, by a ball from a falconet. his troops, however, pushed forward vigorously. the polish division opposed to them resisted the two first assaults bravely, but gave way at the third attack, and were driven from the ground, in such confusion that they took no further part in the engagement. while this was going on, the saxon cavalry had been repulsed by that of charles, and, passing in their retreat under the fire of three infantry regiments, suffered so heavily that they left the field. the swedish foot now advanced all along the line, and in the centre destroyed several battalions of saxons. but the swedish right was attacked so vigorously by the saxon left, under field marshal steinau, that for a time the conflict was doubtful. the swedish horse guards and other cavalry, however, charged with such determination that the saxon horse on this flank were also defeated, and driven off the field, while the swedish infantry, advancing without firing, drove several battalions of saxon foot into a village, where, being surrounded, almost all were killed or taken prisoners. the saxon horse, gathering once more, attempted bravely to retrieve the fate of the day, and engaged the swedish horse with such desperate valour, that a considerable portion of the saxon infantry were enabled, under cover of the conflict, to draw off, cross the morasses, and make their escape. the battle lasted four hours, and had been, throughout, severely contested. the saxons lost four thousand killed and wounded, and three thousand taken prisoners, while the swedes had eleven hundred killed and wounded. forty-eight cannon were captured by the victors, together with all the baggage and waggons. the death of the duke of holstein, a gallant prince who was exceedingly popular with the army, and beloved by the king, cast a gloom over this great victory, which virtually laid poland at the feet of the victors, and insured the fulfilment of the object for which charles had persisted in the war. jamieson's regiment had been on the left wing, but, as it had been held in reserve, to strengthen the line at any point at which it might give way, the scotch had taken but a small share in the fighting, and had but thirty men killed and wounded by the shot and bullets that passed over the heads of the fighting line. the captain of one of the companies was among those killed, and charlie, who had, since he rejoined the regiment, been doing duty as lieutenant, now took the vacant place. the army still advanced. augustus sent in several proposals for peace, but these were all rejected. the saxons had speedily rallied after the battle, but were not in a position to oppose the advance of the victorious swedes, who occupied cracow without meeting with any resistance. seeing that augustus would not be strong enough to hazard another pitched battle, charles had, on the morning after the victory, ordered three of his regiments, of which jamieson's was one, to march with all speed to reinforce major general schlippenbach, who had sent an urgent request for aid, as he heard that the russian army, fifty thousand strong, was preparing to cross the frontier; and as he had but six thousand, he could not hope to oppose their advance successfully. as the king's orders enjoined the troops to march with the greatest possible speed, they performed the journey back to warsaw in four days, although the distance exceeded a hundred miles. mounted messengers had been sent on before them, and, on reaching the town, they found boats already prepared to take them down the river to danzic, where orders had already been sent for ships to be in readiness to convey them to revel. the fatigues since the campaign opened had been severe, and the troops all enjoyed the long days of rest, while the craft that conveyed them dropped quietly down the vistula. then came the short sea passage. on their arrival at revel, bad news met them. they had come too late. on the th of july the russian army had passed the frontier, and the swedes had tried to oppose them at the passage of the river embach; but the water was low, from the effects of a long drought, and the russians were enabled to ford it at several points. the swedes fell upon those who first crossed, and for two hours repulsed their attacks, obtaining at some points considerable advantage, and capturing some guns, but, as fresh reinforcements poured across the river, the tide of battle turned. the russian cavalry drove back the swedish horse, who, as they retreated, rode through the infantry and threw them into disorder. these were attacked by the russians before they could recover from their confusion, and were almost entirely destroyed or taken prisoners. the general, and many of the mounted officers, effected their escape, rallied the broken cavalry, and fell back towards revel. the russians spread over the country and plundered it, burning the little town of valk, murdering its inhabitants, and carrying off into slavery the whole of the population who fell into their hands. the arrival of the three regiments was hailed with much satisfaction by the people of revel, who feared that the russians might besiege the town. they did not, however, approach within many miles, but, after completely wasting the country, retired across the frontier. the victory that had been gained over the swedes at embach, and the destruction of the greater part of general schlippenbach's force, enabled the czar to turn his arms against ingria, the extreme eastern province of sweden, which included the shores of lake ladoga and the whole of the coast of the baltic between narva and finland. urgent messages were sent by the governor of that province to general schlippenbach, requesting him to send him aid, as he had not even sufficient men to garrison the walled towns. the general was, however, afraid that narva would be again besieged, and he therefore dared not reduce his small force to any considerable degree, but drew one company from each of the three regiments, and embarked them on board a ship for the mouth of the neva. as there seemed little prospect of service, for a time, near revel, all the officers were eager that their company should be chosen for the service in ingria. colonel jamieson therefore said: "i do not wish to choose one company more than another; all can equally be depended upon. therefore, i think the fairest way will be to draw lots as to which shall go." the lot fell upon charlie's company, which therefore formed part of the expedition. on reaching the mouth of the neva, they heard that the town of notteburg, situated at the point where the neva issues from the lake, was already besieged by the russians, and that the swedish vessels on the lake had been obliged to come down the river. a fort had been raised by the russians on the bank, to prevent succour being conveyed into the town, and two thousand men had crossed the river and occupied a small redoubt on the northern side, so that the town was completely invested. the newly-arrived force was ordered to march, at once, with a hundred horse and four field pieces, the whole under the command of major sion, who was well acquainted with the country. "what do you think of this expedition, captain carstairs?" his lieutenant, john bowyer, asked him. "i would rather be back with king charles," charlie replied. "of course, i don't know the geography of the place, but if the russians keep their eyes at all open, i don't see how a force like ours, with cavalry and guns, can hope to enter the town unnoticed. the addition of the horsemen seems to me altogether ridiculous, as they could be no good whatever, if they did enter the town. as for those four field pieces, they will hamper our march; and as they say the russians have already some forty cannon in position about the town, those little pieces would be useless. "four hundred infantry, making the attempt at night under good guidance, might manage to slip into the place, but this procession of ours is, to my mind, tempting destruction, for we certainly cannot hope to cut our way, by force, through the whole russian army. "but even if we do get inside the town, our plight can be no better. the russians' cannon are bombarding it, night and day, and more batteries are in course of erection, and schlippenbach the governor, who is, i believe, a brother of the general, has but a few pieces to reply to them. "were there an army advancing to the relief of the place, it would be different altogether, for our reinforcement might be of vital importance in repelling assaults, until aid arrived. but there is no hope of aid. the king's army is some nine hundred miles away, and his hands are full. general schlippenbach has sent as many men as he could spare. they say there are at least twenty thousand russians round the town, and where is an army to come from that can compel them to raise the siege? to my mind, we shall either be destroyed making our way into the town, or, if we do get in, shall be made prisoners of war, if not massacred--for the russians have but vague ideas as to giving quarter--when the town falls, which may be a fortnight hence." "it seems a bad lookout, altogether," the lieutenant remarked. "very much so. the best possible thing that could befall us would be for the russians to make us out, before we get too far into their lines, in which case we may be able to fall back before they can gather in overwhelming strength, and may thus draw off without any very great loss." major sion called the captains of the infantry companies, and the troop of horse, to a sort of council of war, when the little force halted for an hour at three o'clock in the afternoon. "we have another ten miles to march, gentlemen, and i should like to ask your opinion as to whether it would be best to try to force our way in as soon as we get there, or to halt at a distance of three or four miles from the russians, and make our effort at daybreak before they are fairly afoot." the other three officers gave their opinion in order of seniority, and all advocated the plan of falling upon the muscovites at daybreak. "and what do you think, captain carstairs?" major sion asked charlie. "i regret to say, major, that my opinion differs from that of the other gentlemen, and this for several reasons. in the first place, if we halt so near the russians, our presence in their neighbourhood may be betrayed by a peasant, and we may be surprised in the night. if no such mishap should take place, we should have to be on foot two hours before sunrise. i in no way doubt your knowledge of the road, but it is at all times difficult to make out a mere track, like that we are following, at night, and in the morning we might well find ourselves involved in the russian intrenchments, from which we could not extricate ourselves before a large force had gathered round us, in which case we must be all either killed or taken prisoners. my own suggestion would be that we should remain here another two hours, and then continue our march so as to reach the spot, where we are to endeavour to break through their line, about sunset. should we be observed, as we most likely should be, we might at that hour be taken for a freshly-arrived body of russian troops. there would be no risk of losing our way, and we might hope to be close upon them before we were discovered to be enemies. if we succeed, as i trust we shall, in breaking our way through and reaching the town, well and good. if, on the other hand, we find greater obstacles than we expect, and are forced to fall back fighting, we shall have the advantage that darkness will be setting in. the russians, the greater part of whom will be ignorant of our strength, will lose time before they move, fearing they may be assaulted in other quarters, and in the darkness we might be able to make good our escape, which it is certain none of us would do, should we meet with a repulse at daybreak." "your reasons are very just, captain carstairs. though certainly my opinion was in accordance with that given by your fellow officers, i am bound to say that your argument seems unanswerable. "what say you, gentlemen? i have two objects in view--the first to reinforce the garrison of notteburg, the second to save the troops under my command, if i should fail in doing so. i know the country well, but its features will be considerably altered. trees will have been cut down, houses levelled, intrenchments thrown up, camps scattered here and there, and i own that in the dark, i might, as captain carstairs says, very easily miss my way. i think his proposal therefore unites the greatest chances of getting through their line and entering the town, with a possibility of drawing off the troops without great loss, in case of failure." the other three officers at once agreed, and orders were issued for the men to lie down until five o'clock and rest themselves before pursuing their march. it was past that hour before they were in motion again. major sion, with a peasant from the neighbourhood of notteburg, rode ahead. then came the troop of cavalry, with the guns close behind them, followed by the infantry. as they approached the russian lines, the peasant several times went on in advance, and presently a trooper rode down the line, with the order that the troops with firearms were to light their matches, and the spearmen to keep in a compact body. they were now not far from the russian lines, and the destruction that had been wrought during the last ten days was visible to them. every tree and bush had been felled, for use in the intrenchments or for the erection of shelters. a few blackened walls alone showed where houses had stood. gardens had been destroyed, and orchards levelled. light smoke could be seen rising at many points from the russian fires, and, when the troops were halted, they were but half a mile from the intrenchments. word was passed down that the rapid swedish march was to be moderated, and that they were to move carelessly and at a slow rate, as if fatigued by a long march, and that the spears were to be carried at the trail, as they were so much longer than those used by the russians that their length would, if carried erect, at once betray the nationality of the troops. there was no attempt at concealment, for the cavalry would be visible for a considerable distance across the flat country. considerable bodies of men could be seen, gathered round fires at a distance of not more than a quarter of a mile on either hand, but, as the column passed between them, there was no sign of any stir. in a short time, the order was passed for the troops to form from column into line, and the cavalry officer who brought it said that there was a russian battery erected right across the road, a little more than a quarter of a mile ahead. "things look better, captain carstairs," the lieutenant said, as the company, which happened to be leading, fell into line. "yes, i have no doubt we shall take their battery, coming down, as we do, upon its rear. the question is, are there any intrenchments ahead? major sion told us, when we halted, that the peasant assured him that there were no works beyond it, and that it was the weakest point of the line; but it is three days since he came out from notteburg, and, working hard as the russians evidently do, they may have pushed on their intrenchments far in advance of the battery by this time." the force halted for a moment. the guns were unlimbered, turned round, and loaded. then the line of cavalry opened right and left, the four pieces poured a discharge of grape into the russians, clustered thickly in the battery four hundred yards away, and then, with a shout, the swedish cavalry charged, the infantry coming on at a run behind them. the surprise was complete. with cries of terror, the russians for the most part leapt from the battery and fled, and the few who attempted to defend their guns were sabred by the cavalry. "there are other works ahead!" major sion exclaimed, as, sitting on his horse, he looked over the parapet, "and bodies of troops scattered all about. push forward, men, at a double, and do you, captain sherlbach, cut a way for us with your cavalry." the sun had set a few minutes before the guns were fired, and charlie, as he led his men over the earthwork, and saw the russian lines in front, congratulated himself upon the fact that, in another half hour, it would be quite dark. as they approached the next line of works, a scattering fire of musketry opened upon them, but the aim was wide, and without loss they reached the work. the russians, though inferior in numbers, defended themselves obstinately, and continually received reinforcements of bodies of men, running up from all sides. in five minutes the swedes cleared the works of them, but, as they prepared to advance again, they saw a large body of horse riding down to bar their advance, while numbers of footmen were running to occupy some intrenchments ahead of them. trumpets were sounding to the right, left, and rear. "we cannot force our way farther," the major said to charlie. "we knew nothing of these works, and they are fatal to our enterprise. we must retreat while we can. do you not think so?" "yes, sir, i think the enterprise is quite hopeless." the order was given. the troops faced about, formed into closer order, and at the double retraced their steps, the spearmen of each company forming its front line, and the musketeers the second. already it was growing dusk. the cavalry, riding ahead, scattered the small bodies of men who threw themselves in their way, and the battery they had first taken was entered without loss. there was a momentary halt here, for the men to recover their wind. then the musketeers poured a volley into a dark line advancing upon them, the horsemen charged in among them, the long pikes of the front line cleared the way, and, with a shout, the swedes passed through their foes and pressed forward. but more troops were gathering to bar their way, and the major changed the line of march sharply to the right, sweeping along by the side of the force through which they had just cut their way, the musketeers on the flank firing into them as they passed. the movement was an adroit one, for in the gathering darkness the enemy in front would not be able to distinguish friends from foes, or to perceive the nature of the movement. for a few minutes they were unmolested, then the course was again changed, and charlie was beginning to think that, in the darkness, they would yet make their escape, when a dull heavy sound was heard in their rear. "that's the russian cavalry, bowyer. take the musketeers on with you, and keep close to the company ahead. i will break them up with the pikemen. if they do come up to you, give them a volley and then continue your retreat with the rest." while the captains of the other two companies had placed their pikemen in the front line, charlie had placed his in the rear, in order to repel any attack of cavalry from that direction. he now formed them in a close clump, taking his place among them. the russian squadrons came along with a deep roll like that of thunder. they were but thirty yards away when they perceived the little cluster of men with levelled lances. a few, unable to check their horses, rushed upon the points, but most of them reined in their little steeds in time. in a moment, the swedes were surrounded by a wall of yelling horsemen, some of whom tried to break through the hedge of spears, while others discharged their pistols. charlie listened anxiously for the roll of a volley of musketry, but no sound came, and he felt sure that the whole body of cavalry had halted round him, and that his movement had saved the rest, who would now, if fortunate, be able to make their way off in the darkness. but the men were falling now from the pistol fire of the cossacks, and, feeling that the work had been done, he determined to make one effort to save the men with him. "level your spears, and charge through them shoulder to shoulder," he said. "it is your only chance. once through, throw away your spears, and break up in the darkness. most of you may escape. "now!" with a shout, the swedes rushed forward in a body. horses and riders went down before them. there was a rush from behind. charlie shouted to the rear rank, to face about, but in the confusion and din his words were unheard. there was a brief struggle in the darkness. charlie emptied his pistols, and cut down more than one of his opponents, then a sword fell on his shoulder, while at the same moment he was ridden over by a cossack, and was stunned by the force of his fall. when he recovered consciousness, several men with torches were moving about him, and, at the orders of an officer, were examining the bodies of the fallen. he saw them pass their swords through the bodies of three of his own men, who were lying near him, and as they came up to him he closed his eyes, expecting a similar fate. "this is an officer, captain," one of the torch bearers said in russian. "very well. carry him to the camp, then. if he is alive, the general may want to question him." seeing that he breathed, four of the russian soldiers took him upon their shoulders, and carried him away. the pain of his wound, caused by the movement, was acute, but he retained consciousness until, after what seemed to him a journey of immense length, he was again laid down on the ground, close to a large fire. several officers stood round him, and he asked, first in polish and then in swedish, for water, and at the orders of one who seemed of superior rank to the others, some was at once brought to him. "your king treats his prisoners well," the officer said. "we will do everything we can for you." half an hour later, a doctor came to his side, and cutting open his coat, applied a bandage to his shoulder. "is it a serious wound?" charlie asked in swedish. "it might be worse, but it will be a troublesome one; it is a sabre cut, and has cleft right through your shoulder bone. are you hurt anywhere else?" "no, i do not think so. i was knocked down in the dark, and i believe stunned, though i have a sort of recollection of being trampled on, and i feel sore all over." the surgeon felt his ribs and limbs, repeatedly asking him if it hurt him. when he finished the examination, he said: "you are doubtless badly bruised, but i don't think anything is broken. our cossack horses are little more than ponies. had they been heavy horse, they would have trod your life out." a few moments later there was a sound of trampling horses. they halted close by. the officers drew back, and a moment later marshal scheremetof, the commander of the russian army, came up to charlie's side. "which of you speaks swedish?" he asked the officers, and one of them stepped forward. "ask him what force was this that attacked us, and with what object." as charlie saw no reason for concealment, he replied that it was a body of four hundred swedish infantry, and a troop of horse, with four guns, and that their object was to enter the town. "they must have been mad to attempt to cut their way through our whole army," the general said, when the answer was translated to him; "but, by saint paul, they nearly succeeded. the swedes are mad, but this was too much even for madmen. ask him whence the force came. it may be that a large reinforcement has reached vyburg, without our knowing it." "we arrived two days since," charlie replied, when the question was put to him. "we came in a ship together from revel." "did others come with you?" was next asked, at the general's dictation. "no other ship but ours has arrived." "but others are coming?" as charlie had no doubt that great efforts would be made to send further reinforcements, he replied: "many more troops are coming, but i cannot say when they will arrive." "will it be soon?" "that i cannot say, but i don't think they will come from revel. there was a talk of large reinforcements, but whether from sweden or from the king's army, i cannot say." "are you a swede?" the general asked. "i am an englishman in the swedish service, general." "we have many of your countrymen with us," the general said. "it would have been better for you, had you come to the czar. "see that he is well treated," he said to the officers, and then mounted and rode away. chapter : an old acquaintance. the next morning charlie was placed in a tent, in which lay several officers who had been wounded, either the night before or by shots from the town. he learned with great pleasure, upon questioning the doctor, that the swedes had got off safely in the darkness. some eight or ten men only had straggled and been made prisoners, and not more than twenty had been left dead on the field. he had the satisfaction, therefore, of knowing that the defence made by his own pikemen had been the means of saving the whole force. in other respects he had nothing to complain of, for he was well attended to, and received the same treatment as the russians. for another ten days the roar of the cannon continued, some seventy guns keeping up an incessant fire on the town. at the end of that time the governor capitulated, and was allowed to march out with the honours of war. only forty out of the brave garrison remained unwounded at the end of the siege. they, as well as such of their comrades as were strong enough to travel, passed through the lines of the russians, and marched to vyburg. three weeks after being made a prisoner, charlie's wound was so far healed that the surgeon pronounced him able to sit a horse, and, under the escort of an officer and four cossacks, he was taken by easy stages to bercov, a prison fortress a short distance from moscow. he had inquired from the surgeon who attended him for doctor kelly. the doctor knew him, but said that he was not with the army, but was, he believed, away visiting some towns on the volga, where a serious pestilence was raging. charlie remained but a short time at bercov. his wound was healing rapidly, and the surgeon who attended him assured him that there was every prospect of his making a complete cure, if he would but keep his arm, for some weeks, in a sling. he had nothing to complain of, either as to his comfort or food. the governor, who spoke a little polish, visited him every day, and asked many questions as to his native country. on one of these visits he said to him: "you asked me yesterday if i knew doctor kelly, one of the chief surgeons of the army, who, as you had heard, was at present on the volga. you mentioned that he was a friend of yours, and that you had made his acquaintance, when you were unlucky enough before to be a prisoner in our hands. i am sorry to say that i have today seen an official report, in which his name appears among the list of those who have fallen victims to the pestilence." "i am sorry to hear that," charlie exclaimed; "both because he was very kind to me, and i liked him much, and because, in the second place, i was sure that he would have used his influence, with the czar, to obtain my exchange as soon as possible." "it is very unfortunate," the governor said, "especially as these exchanges are of rare occurrence. a few officers may be taken prisoners on each side in the skirmishes, but the numbers are too small to make the loss of any importance, either to russia or sweden, and it is months since either have taken any steps to bring about exchanges. i myself have no influence. my appointment here is a sort of punishment, for having offended the czar by not having brought up my regiment in time to take part in the fight, when you attacked us at narva. i saved the regiment, but that was not regarded as any excuse for having been three days longer on the march than the czar expected; so i was sent here, as a sort of dismissal from active service. "you know no one else who could move in your matter?" "no one. the governor of the castle at plescow was a surly fellow, and was reprimanded by the czar, at least so i heard, for not having treated me sufficiently well. i was only three or four days there, and the only officer i saw besides doctor kelly was a friend of his, another doctor. he was at the table when i dined with kelly. he seemed to me to be a fine fellow, and, by the by, he did say jokingly that, if i was ever made prisoner again, i was to ask for him, and that he would do anything he could for me." "what was his name?" the governor asked. "peter michaeloff. "do you know him?" he added, as he saw a look of surprise in the governor's face. "i know one of that name," the governor said doubtfully, "i don't know that he is a doctor; though he may be, for he knows something of many things." "oh, he was a doctor," charlie said confidently. "i know kelly said he could take off a limb as well as he could do it, himself." "what sort of man was he?" "he was a tall, strong man, with black hair and gray eyes. he has rather a positive way of talking, and seemed to have very strong opinions about things. he looked good tempered, but i should say that he could be passionate enough, if he were put out." "that might be the peter michaeloff i know," the governor said. "you are sure he said that you were to ask for him, if you were a second time taken prisoner?" "i am quite certain he said so, though i don't know whether the promise meant much. but he certainly spoke as if he thought he might be able to help me, and, though it did not seem likely that i could have such bad luck twice, i think he meant at the time what he said, and i should think he was the sort of man who would keep his word." "i will make some inquiries," the governor said, "and find out, if i can, where he is at present. yes, i should think that he would be able to assist you, if he chose to interest himself in the matter." ten days later, the governor came into charlie's room. "an officer has arrived, with an order for your removal," he said. "you are to be taken up again to notteburg." "i am very sorry," charlie said. "i have been very comfortable here. you have been very kind to me, and i feel sure the change will not be for the better. besides, we are nearly into september now, and in that marshy country round the lake and river, the winter will be even more severe than it is here. the only thing i can think of is that the swedes at vyburg may have taken a russian captain prisoner, and that they are going to exchange us." the governor shook his head. "there are no longer any swedes at vyburg. all ingria is in our hands and the swedes have retired into finland. it may be that it is the work of your friend. i sent a message to peter michaeloff, should he be found in that neighbourhood, by an officer who was going there, telling him that you were here, and that, having met him when a prisoner at plescow, you relied on his good offices. should the officer have found him there, and have given him my message, he may probably have begged the field marshal to order you to be taken to the prison there, where he could be near you, and visit you sometimes." "your doctors must have a good deal more influence in your army than they have among the swedes," charlie remarked, "if that is how it has come about." "it would be a matter of favour," the governor said. "if michaeloff is acquainted with the field marshal, or had attended him when unwell, he could ask a little favour of that sort. if the field marshal sent you here, he could send for you again without more trouble than signing his name to the order." "well, if it is michaeloff who has done this," charlie grumbled; "no doubt he meant it kindly, but i would much rather that he left me here. a ride of two hundred and fifty miles, in august, is not pleasant to begin with, and the thought of winter in those swamps is enough to make one shiver." "with a comfortable room and a warm stove, you will not find much to complain of, captain carstairs," the governor said with a smile; "and, no doubt, michaeloff may be enabled to obtain leave for you to go out with him on parole. i was about myself to ask you, now that you are strong and well again, whether you would like to give your parole, and offer you the use of my horse for a ride, when inclined for it." "thank you, governor. if michaeloff can do that, it will certainly be a boon, but i am not disposed to agree that the change can be his work. in the first place, we don't know that he is there. in the second, i can hardly think that he could have managed it; and, most of all, i do not see he could possibly have had a hand in the matter, for, even supposing the officer had found him directly he arrived, and then given him the message, and he had acted upon it at once, there would have been no time for the order to get here. it would have needed a messenger riding night and day, with frequent relays of horses, to have got to notteburg and back since the day i spoke to you about the matter. "when am i to start?" "as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. the order says 'send at once,' and field marshals expect their orders to be attended to promptly." on descending to the courtyard after breakfast, charlie was surprised to see that, instead of a horse as he had expected, a well-appointed carriage, with an ample supply of rugs, was standing there. the governor was there to see him off. "well, sir," charlie said. "if this is the way in which you convey prisoners from one place to another in russia, i shall certainly be able, when i meet king charles, to report to him most favourably as to the treatment of his officers who have fallen into the czar's hands. this will make the journey a very much more pleasant one than i had expected." "i am glad you are pleased," the governor said, "and that you have no unpleasant recollection of your stay here." a minute later, the carriage dashed out through the gate of the prison. an officer was seated by charlie's side, two cossacks galloping in front, while two others rode behind. "it was worth making the change, if only for this drive," charlie thought cheerfully, as the dust flew up in a cloud before the horses' hoofs, and he felt a sense of exhilaration from the keen air that blew in his face. the journey was performed with great rapidity. one of the cossacks galloped ahead, as soon as they arrived at the station where they changed horses, and had fresh ones in readiness at the next post house. the cossacks themselves were changed at every other station, fresh relays from the men stationed there taking their place. excellent meals were served three times a day, and each night a comfortable bed was provided, at the last post house where they stopped. the officer was a pleasant fellow, but he spoke nothing except russian, and, although charlie fancied he understood him to some extent when he spoke to him in polish, he shook his head and gave no answers in that language. late in the evening of the third day, they arrived at notteburg. the building at which the carriage stopped was of considerable size. it stood in the heart of the town, and had no outward appearance of a prison. it was apparently at a side entrance at which they stopped. on the officer knocking at the door, it was opened by two cossacks, who, after exchanging a few words in russian with the officer, led charlie along a passage and up a narrow staircase, which led into a somewhat spacious corridor. they opened a door, and he found himself in a comfortable room. a table laid for dinner with handsome silver and appointments stood in the middle of the room, which was carpeted with tartar rugs. one of the cossacks opened an inner door, which led into a bedroom, snugly furnished. "it must be the doctor, after all," charlie murmured to himself, in great surprise. "i see now that there was plenty of time for a letter to come up here and have gone back again, and i suppose the good fellow has got leave for me to stay for a night in his quarters, before i am handed over to the prison. well, for the last three days i have travelled like a prince, and this is the closing act of it." he enjoyed a good wash, then returned to the other room, and sat down in a comfortable chair to wait for his host. he was on the point of dozing off, when the door opened, and peter michaeloff entered. charlie sprang to his feet. "well, captain carstairs," the russian said, holding out his hand, "so it seems you had bad luck again. you must have quite an affection for our prisons." "i shall have, at least, a pleasant remembrance of the kindness shown to me as a prisoner," charlie said; "and i am sure it is you that i have to thank for my transfer here, and for the pleasant journey i have had. i could not have travelled more comfortably, if i had been a russian grandee." "well, i am glad to meet you again," the doctor said heartily. "let me see, it is some twenty months since we supped together last at kelly's quarters. poor fellow! i shall miss him greatly. you have heard of his death?" "the governor of bercov told me of it, a fortnight ago. i was indeed sorry to hear it. i shall never forget his kindness to me." "yes, he was a good man, skilful in his profession, and full of zeal and energy. the blood runs faster somehow, in the veins of you islanders, than of us sluggish muscovites. if we could but at one sweep banish every russian official, from the highest to the lowest, and fill their places with men from your islands, what progress we should make, what work could we get done, what reforms could be carried out! "however, at present," he went on, changing the subject abruptly, "the point is supper. i am as hungry as a bear, for i have been at work since daylight, and have eaten nothing since i broke my fast." he rang a handbell placed on the table. two cossacks entered bearing dishes, and the doctor and his guest at once fell to on the supper, which was excellent. "hard work deserves good food," the russian said, in reply to a remark of charlie's as to the excellence both of the food and wine. "your charles does not think so, i hear, and lives on the roughest of food. what will be the consequence? he will wear himself out. his restless activity will exhaust his powers, and weaken his judgment. i can eat rough food if i can get no better, but i take the best, when opportunity offers. "what have you been doing ever since you left plescow? i inquired after you the other day, when our troops broke up schlippenbach's force on the embach. i found you were not among the prisoners, and i wondered if you were among the killed." "i was not in livonia at the time. i was with the king's army at warsaw. three regiments were sent off, the day after the battle of clissow, by boats down the vistula, and then by ship to revel. mine was one of them, but we arrived a fortnight too late." "then you were present at charles' third victory? how that young fellow handles his troops, and what wonderful troops they are! now we will get into our easy chairs again, and you shall tell me something about what you have been doing, since we last met." charlie gave a sketch of his adventures. "so you fought at the dwina, too? you have had luck in going through three battles without a wound." when charlie stated that he had gone to warsaw on a private mission, whose nature was immaterial to the story, the doctor broke in: "you need not tell me what it was, it was of course something to do with augustus. the way charles is hunting down that unfortunate king is shocking, it is downright malignity. why, he has wasted fifteen months over it already, and it has cost him ingria. he could have made any terms with poland he liked, after his victory on the dwina, and would then have been free to use all his forces against us. as it is, he has wasted two summers, and is likely to waste another, and that not for any material advantage, but simply to gratify his hatred against augustus; and he has left us to take ingria almost without a blow, and to gain what russia has wanted for the last hundred years, a foothold on the baltic. he may be a great general, but he is no politician. no real statesman would throw away solid advantages in order to gratify personal pique." "he considers augustus the author of this league against him," charlie said. "he and the czar had no grounds at all of quarrel against him." "we talked over that, the last time we met," the doctor said with a laugh, "and i told you then that a foothold on the baltic was so necessary to russia, that she would have accepted the alliance of the prince of darkness himself to get it. as to augustus, i don't defend him. he was ambitious, as i suppose most of us are. he thought he saw an opportunity of gaining territory. he has found that he has made a mistake, and will of course lose a province. but charles' persecution of him goes beyond all bounds. never before did a sovereign insist upon a nation consenting to dethrone its king at his dictation. "but go on with your story." he listened without remark, until charlie concluded. "i wish you had been in our service," he said, "instead of that of sweden. you would have mounted fast. you have all the requisites for success, above all, promptitude of decision and quickness of invention. you did well in getting away from that jewish scoundrel in the hut, and in killing his master, but it was your adventure with the wolves that showed your quality. that idea of setting fire to the tree in which you were sitting, in order at once to warm yourself and to frighten away the wolves, would never have occurred to a russian, and the quickness with which you formed, with three logs, a redoubt against the wolves, showed a quick military eye, and the ability to think and act in a moment of danger. "now tell me how it was that you were the only officer captured the other day." charlie briefly related how he, with the pikemen of his company, had stayed behind to check the pursuit of the russian horse, and to gain time for the main body to lose themselves in the darkness. the russian struck his fist on the arm of his chair. "it was well done," he said. "there is the difference. a russian captain would have done it, if he had been ordered, and he and his men would, without a question, have sacrificed themselves to cover the retreat of the rest, but he would never have done it on his own initiative. the idea would never have struck him. he would have plodded along until the enemy's cavalry came up and annihilated them all. by the way, why did you not ask for me at once?" "i had asked for doctor kelly the day after i was taken prisoner, and was told that he had gone to the volga. i thought that he would be back before long, and it was only when i heard of his death that it occurred to me to endeavour to find one who had kindly promised, after a few hours' acquaintance only, to befriend me should i ever find myself in a similar scrape." "it would have saved you the journey down to moscow. i heard, of course, that a swedish captain had been made prisoner that night, but i was myself at moscow at the time, and did not happen to notice the name of the officer taken. were you well treated at bercov?" "the governor there was most kind, and all the arrangements of the prison seem excellent. i had no reason whatever to complain. the governor was good enough to come frequently himself to talk to me. he is a fine soldierly man, and though he did not say much, i think he is eating his heart out at being laid on the shelf there, instead of aiding to fight the battles of his country." the russian took out a pocketbook and made a note, then he rose. "it is time for bed," he said. "i am up at daybreak." "i hope i shall see you often in the prison," charlie said. "i suppose i shall go in there tomorrow morning. i am indebted to you, indeed, for the very great kindness you have shown me." "no, you will not go in early. i have got leave for you for another day, and i am going to take you for a drive in the morning. you will be called an hour before sunrise. take your breakfast as soon as you are dressed. do not wait for me. i have work to do before i start, and shall breakfast elsewhere." as soon as charlie had breakfasted the next morning, a cossack told him that the carriage was below, and he followed him to the door where he had entered on the previous evening. the carriage was a simple one, but the three horses harnessed abreast to it were magnificent animals. charlie stood admiring them for some little time. "i should think," he said to himself, "the doctor must be a man of large property, and most likely of noble family, who has taken up his profession from pure love of it. he is evidently full of energy, and has an intense desire to see russia greater and higher in the rank of nations. i suppose that, like kelly, he is one of the principal medical officers in the army. certainly he must be a man of considerable influence to obtain my transfer here so easily, and to see that i travelled so comfortably. i wonder where he is going to take me this morning." four or five minutes later charlie's friend appeared at the door. he was evidently out of temper. he sprung hastily into the vehicle, as if he had altogether forgotten that he had asked charlie to accompany him. then, as his eye fell on him, he nodded and said briefly, "jump in." a little surprised at the unceremonious address, charlie sprang into the seat beside him without hesitation, seeing that his companion was evidently so much out of temper that he was not thinking of what he was doing at the moment. the coachman cracked his whip, and the spirited horses went off, at a rate of speed that threatened danger to persons traversing the narrow streets of the town. the cracking of the coachman's whip, and an occasional loud shout and the jangling of the bells, gave, however, sufficient warning of their approach. charlie smiled at the alacrity with which every one sprang out of the way, and either leapt into doorways or squeezed themselves against the wall. he was surprised, however, to see that not only did the townspeople show no resentment, at the reckless pace at which the carriage was driven, but that the soldiers, officers as well as men, cleared out as quickly, and without any expression of indignation or anger. indeed, most of them, as soon as they gained a place of safety, saluted his companion. "these russians have evidently a higher respect for their doctors than have the swedes," he said to himself. "i am sure that not even the chief surgeon of the army would be treated with anything like the same respect, and, indeed, no one would recognize him at all, if he were not in uniform." the doctor seemed to pay no attention to what was passing round him, but was muttering angrily to himself. it was not until they dashed out into the open country that he seemed to remember charlie's presence at his side. "these people are enough to vex one of the saints, by their stupidity," he said. "unless they have some one standing behind them with a whip, they cannot be trusted to do what they are told. it is not that they are not willing, but that they are stupid. no one would believe that people could be so stupid. they drive me well nigh to madness sometimes, and it is the more irritating because, against stupidity, one is powerless. beating a man or knocking him down may do him good if he is obstinate, or if he is careless, but when he is simply stupid it only makes him more stupid than before. you might as well batter a stone wall. "you slept well and breakfasted well, captain carstairs?" "excellently well, thank you. what superb horses you have, doctor." "yes. i like travelling fast. life is too short to throw away time in travelling. a busy man should always keep good horses." "if he can afford to do so," charlie said with a laugh. "i should say that every one, busy or not, would like to sit behind such horses as these, and, as you say, it would save a good deal of time to one who travelled much. but three such horses as these would only be in the reach of one with a very long purse." "they were bred here. their sire was one of three given by the king of england to the czar. the dams were from the imperial stables at vienna. so they ought to be good." charlie guessed that the team must have been a present from the czar, and, remembering what doctor kelly had said of the czar's personal communications with him, he thought that the ruler of russia must have a particular liking for doctors, and that the medical profession must be a more honoured and profitable one in russia than elsewhere. after driving with great rapidity for upwards of an hour along the banks of the neva, charlie saw a great number of people at work on an island in the middle of the river, some distance ahead, and soon afterwards, to his surprise, observed a multitude on the flat, low ground ahead. "this is what i have brought you to see," his companion said. "do you know what they are doing?" "it seems to me that they are building a fortress on that island." "you are right. we have got a footing on the sea, and we are going to keep it. while charles of sweden is fooling away his time in poland, in order to gratify his spite against augustus, we are strengthening ourselves here, and never again will sweden wrest ingria from our hands." "it is marvellous how much has been done already," charlie said, as he looked at the crowd of workmen. "everything was prepared," his companion said. "while the army was invading livonia, and driving the remnant of the swedes into revel, thousands of carts laden with piles of wood, stone, and cement were moving towards ingria. tens of thousands of workmen and peasants were in motion from every part of russia towards this point, and, the day after notteburg surrendered, they began their work here. it was the opportunity in the lifetime of a nation, and we have seized it. the engineers who had, in disguise, examined it months ago, had reported that the island was covered at high tides, and was unfit to bear the foundations of even the slightest buildings. piles are being driven in, as close as they will stand, over every foot of ground in it. over this a coating of concrete many feet thick will be laid, and on this the fortress, which is to be the centre and heart of russia, will rise. in the fort will stand a pile, which will be the tomb of the future czars of russia, and there in front of us, where you see fifty thousand peasants at work, shall be the future capital of the empire." "but it is a swamp," charlie said in astonishment, alike at the vastness of the scheme, and the energy with which it was being prosecuted. "nature has made it a swamp," his companion said calmly, "but man is stronger than nature. the river will be embanked, the morass drained, and piles driven everywhere, as has been done in the island, and the capital will rise here. the fort has already been named the fortress of saint peter and saint paul. the capital will be named alike after the patron saint and its founder--petersburg." they had now reached the spot. the carriage stopped and they alighted. charlie saw, with astonishment, that a wide deep cut had been driven, between the road and the river, in a straight line. looking down into it, he saw that it was paved with the heads of piles, and that carts were already emptying loads of concrete down upon it. "every bag of cement, every stone that you see, has been brought from a great distance," his companion said. "there is not a stone to be had within fifty miles of this spot. the work would seem well-nigh impossible, but it is the work of a nation. in another month, there will be a hundred and fifty thousand peasants at work here, and well nigh as many carts, bringing materials for the work and provisions for the workers." "it is stupendous! but it will take years to complete, and it will surely be terribly unhealthy here?" "i calculate the work will occupy ten years, and will cost a hundred thousand, maybe two hundred thousand lives," the other said calmly; "but what is that to the making of a nation? before, russia was stifled, she could not grow. now we have a communication with the world. the island that lies at the mouth of the neva will be fortified, and become a great naval arsenal and fort. along the walls which will rise here will be unloaded the merchandise of europe, and in exchange the ships will carry away our products. some day we shall have another port on the south, but for the present this must suffice. you will say that this is dangerously near our frontier, but that will soon be remedied. as we have pushed the swedes out of ingria, so in time shall we drive them from livonia on the west, and from finland on the north. "but i must to work." and he motioned to a group of five or six officers, who had been standing a short distance away, to approach him. charlie was struck with the air of humility with which they saluted his companion, who at once asked a number of questions as to the supplies that had arrived, the progress that had been made, at a point where they had met with a deep slough into which the piles had penetrated without meeting with any firm ground, the number of huts that had been erected during the past three days for the reception of labourers, the state of stocks of meat and flour, and other particulars. to each he gave short, sharp orders. when they had left, he turned to charlie. "you guess who i am, i suppose?" "i guess now, your majesty," charlie said respectfully, "but until now the idea that my kind friend was the czar himself never entered my mind. i understood, from doctor kelly, that you were a surgeon." "i don't think he said so," the czar replied. "he simply said that i could perform an amputation as well as he could, which was not quite true. but i studied surgery for a time in holland, and performed several operations under the eyes of the surgeons there. "i saw that you did not recognize my name. it is known to every russian, but doubtless you never heard of me save as peter the czar. directly you mentioned it to the commandant at bercov, and described my appearance, he knew who it was you were speaking of, and despatched a messenger at once to me. he will be here in the course of a week or so. upon your report of the state of the prison, i at once despatched an order for him to hand over his command to the officer next in rank, and to proceed hither at once. he is evidently a good administrator, and heaven knows i have need of such men here. "i was pleased with you, when i saw you with my friend doctor kelly. it was pleasant not to be known, and hear a frank opinion such as you gave me, and as you know, i sent you back on the following morning. i certainly told kelly, at the time, not to mention who i was, but i did not intend that he should keep you in ignorance of it after i had left, and it was not until i heard, from your jailer at bercov, that you were ignorant that peter michaeloff was the czar, that i knew that he had kept you in ignorance of it until the end. "i should have liked to have kept you as my guest for a time, but winter comes on early and suddenly, and if you did not go now you might be detained here until the spring. i have therefore given orders that one of the swedish vessels we captured on the lake should be got in readiness, and its crew placed on board again. you shall embark in an hour, and it shall carry you to any port in sweden you may choose. the wind is from the east, and you have every chance of a quick run thither." charlie expressed his warm thanks to the czar for his thoughtful kindness. "i have much to do now," the czar said, "and must hand you over to the care of one of my officers. he will accompany you, in my carriage, to the spot where the vessel is lying, near the mouth of the river, and will there see you on board. should the fortune of war again throw you into our hands, do not lose an hour in sending a message to peter michaeloff." so saying, the czar shook hands with charlie, beckoned an officer to him and gave him instructions, and then moved away among the workmen, while charlie, with his conductor, took their places in the vehicle and drove rapidly off. an hour later, he was on board the swedish vessel, whose master and crew were delighted at their sudden and unlooked for release. the former was overjoyed, for the vessel was his own property. "you will find your things in your cabin, sir," he said. "they were sent on board this morning, together with food and wine sufficient for a month's voyage, whereas, with this wind, we ought not to be more than four days. at which port will you land?" "i would rather go to gottenburg, captain, though it is farther for you than stockholm." "it shall be gottenburg, sir. it is thanks to you that i have got my liberty and my ship, and a day or two can make no difference to me." charlie, indeed, had thought the matter over as he drove along. he would not be able to rejoin the army until it had gone into winter quarters, and therefore decided that he would go to gottenburg, apply for six months' leave, and spend the winter with his father. somewhat puzzled at the mention of his things having gone on board, he went into the cabin, and found there a handsome pelisse trimmed with costly furs, two robes composed of valuable skins, and a change of clothes. the wind held fair, blowing strongly, and four days later he arrived at gottenburg. chapter : in england again. charlie was received with delight by his father, whom he had not seen since the spring of the previous year. "then you got my letter, charlie?" sir marmaduke asked, when the first greetings were over. "and yet, i do not see how you could have done so. it is little over a fortnight since i wrote, and i had not looked for you for another month yet." "i have certainly received no letter, father. a fortnight ago i was in a russian prison, and my arrival here, in so short a time, seems to me almost miraculous;" and he then briefly related his singular experiences. "now about the letter, father," he said, as he concluded. "i suppose you must have written to ask me to get leave for a time, as it seems that you were expecting me shortly. i suppose you felt that you would like me with you, for a time." "so i should, lad, of that you may be sure, but i should not have called you away for that. no, i had this letter the other day from old banks. you know he writes to me once a year. his letters have been only gossip so far, for you know my precious cousin kicked him out of the house, as soon as he took possession; but this is a different matter. read it for yourself." charlie took the letter, and with some trouble spelt through the crabbed handwriting. it began: "honoured sir and master, i hope that this finds you and captain charles both well in health. i have been laid up with rhematis in the bones, having less comfort in my lodgings than i used to have at lynnwood. your honour will have heard that king william has fallen from his horse, and broken his collarbone, and died. may the lord forgive him for taking the place of better men. anne has come to the throne, and there were some hopes that she would, of herself, step aside and let him to whom the throne rightly belongs come to it. such, however, has not been the case, and those who know best think that things are no forwarder for william's death, rather indeed the reverse, since the princess anne is better liked by the people than was her sister's husband. "there is no sure news from lynnwood. none of the old servants are there; and i have no one from whom i can learn anything for certain. things however are, i hear, much worse since young mr. dormay was killed in the duel in london, of which i told you in my last letter. "dame celia and mistress ciceley go but seldom abroad, and when seen they smile but little, but seem sad and downcast. the usurper has but small dealing with any of the gentry. there are always men staying there, fellows of a kind with whom no gentleman would consort, and they say there is much drinking and wild going on. as captain charles specially bade me, i have done all that i could to gather news of nicholson. till of late i have heard nothing of him. he disappeared altogether from these parts, just after your honour went away. news once came here from one who knew him, and who had gone up to london on a visit to a kinsman, that he had met him there, dressed up in a garb in no way according with his former position, but ruffling it at a tavern frequented by loose blades, spending his money freely, and drinking and dicing with the best of them. "a week since he was seen down here, in a very sorry state, looking as if luck had gone altogether against him. benjamin haddock, who lives, as you know, close to the gate of lynnwood, told me that he saw one pass along the road, just as it was dusk, whom he could swear was that varlet nicholson. he went to the door and looked after him to make sure, and saw him enter the gate. next day nicholson was in lancaster. he was spending money freely there, and rode off on a good horse, which looked ill assorted with his garments, though he purchased some of better fashion in the town. it seemed to me likely that he must have got money from the usurper. i do not know whether your honour will deem this news of importance, but i thought it well to write to you at once. any further news i may gather, i will send without fail. "your humble servant, "john banks." "there is no doubt that this is of importance," charlie said, when he had read the letter through. "it is only by getting hold of this villain that there is any chance of our obtaining proof of the foul treachery of which you were the victim. hitherto, we have had no clue whatever as to where he was to be looked for. now, there can be little doubt that he has returned to his haunts in london. i understand now, father, why you wanted me to get leave. you mean that i shall undertake this business." "that was my thought, charlie. you are now well-nigh twenty, and would scarce be recognized as the boy who left four years ago. the fellow would know me at once, and i might be laid by the heels again under the old warrant; besides being charged with breaking away from the custody of the soldiers. besides, in this business youth and strength and vigour are requisite. i would gladly take the matter in my own hands, but methinks you would have a better chance of bringing it to a favourable issue. now that anne is on the throne, she and her advisers will look leniently upon the men whose only fault was devotion to her father; and if we can once get this foul charge of assassination lifted from our shoulders, i and jervoise and the others who had to fly at the same time, may all be permitted to return, and obtain a reversal of the decree of the act of confiscation of our estates. "i have no friends at court, but i know that jervoise was a close acquaintance, years ago, of john churchill, who is now duke of marlborough, and they say high in favour with anne. i did not think of it when i wrote to you, but a week later it came to my mind that his intervention might be very useful, and i took advantage of an officer, leaving here for the army, to send by him a letter to jervoise, telling him that there was now some hope of getting at the traitor who served as john dormay's instrument in his plot against us. i said that i had sent for you, and thought it probable you would take the matter in hand; and i prayed him to send me a letter of introduction for you to the duke, so that, if you could by any means obtain the proof of our innocence of this pretended plot, he might help you to obtain a reversal of the act of confiscation against us all. i have asked him to write at once, and i will send the letter after you, as soon as i get it. "i know nothing of london, but i have heard of the bull's head, in fenchurch street, as being one frequented by travellers from the country. you had best put up there, and thither i will forward the note from jervoise." "the letter will be a useful one, indeed, father, when i have once wrung the truth from that villain nicholson. it will be an expedition after my own heart. there is first the chance of punishing the villain, and then the hope of restoring you to your place at dear old lynnwood." "you must be careful, charlie. remember it would never do to kill the rascal. that would be the greatest of misfortunes; for, with his death, any chance of unmasking the greater villain would disappear." "i will be careful, father. i cannot say how i shall set about the matter, yet. that must depend upon circumstances; but, as you say, above all things i must be careful of the fellow's life. when is there a ship sailing, father?" "the day after tomorrow, charlie. you will want that time for getting clothes, suitable to a young gentleman of moderate condition, up from the country on a visit to london. you must make up your mind that it will be a long search before you light on the fellow, for we have no clue as to the tavern he frequents. as a roistering young squire, wanting to see london life, you could go into taverns frequented by doubtful characters, for it is probably in such a place that you will find him. "however, all this i must leave to you. you showed yourself, in that polish business, well able to help yourself out of a scrape, and if you could do that among people of whose tongues you were ignorant, you ought to be able to manage on english soil." "at any rate, i will do my best, father, of that you may be sure. i have the advantage of knowing the fellow, and am pretty certain that he will not know me." "not he, charlie," his father said confidently. "even in the last two years, since you were here with jervoise and the others, you have changed so much that i, myself, might have passed you in the street without knowing you. "now, you had better go off and see about your things. there is no time to be lost. i have drawn out a hundred guineas of my money, which will, i should say, serve you while you are away; but don't stint it, lad. let me know if it runs short, and i will send you more." "i have money, too, father. i have four months' pay due, besides money i have in hand, for there was but little need for us to put our hands in our pockets." ten days later, charlie arrived in the port of london, and took up his abode at the bull's head, where he found the quarters comfortable, indeed, after the rough work of campaigning. the next morning he took a waiter into his confidence. "i have come to london to see a little life," he said, "and i want to be put into the way of doing it. i don't want to go to places where young gallants assemble. my purse is not deep enough to stand such society. i should like to go to places where i shall meet hearty young fellows, and could have a throw of the dice, or see a main fought by good cocks, or even sally out and have a little fun with the watch. my purse is fairly lined, and i want some amusement--something to look back upon when i go home again. what is the best way to set about it?" "well, sir, if that is your humour, i have a brother who is one of the mayor's tipstaffs. he knows the city well, ay, and westminster, too, and the purlieus of saint james's, and whether you want to meet young gallants or roistering blades, or to have a look in at places where you can hire a man to cut another's throat for a few crowns, he can show you them. he will be on duty now, but i will send him a message to come round this evening, and i warrant me he will be here. he has showed young squires from the country over the town before this, and will guess what is on hand when he gets my message." having nothing to do, charlie sauntered about the town during the day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen eye on passers by, with the vague hope that he might be lucky enough to come across his man. after he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and told him that his brother was outside. "i have spoken to him, sir, and he warrants that he can take you into the sort of society you want to meet, whatever it may be." charlie followed him out. a man was standing under the lamp that swung before the door. "this is the gentleman i was speaking to you of, tony." as the man took off his cap, charlie had a good view of his face. it was shrewd and intelligent. "you understand what i want?" he asked, as the waiter ran into the house again, to attend to his duties. "yes, sir. so far as i understood him, you wish to go to taverns of somewhat inferior reputations, and to see something of that side of london life. if you will pardon my boldness, it is somewhat of a dangerous venture. in such places brawls are frequent, and rapiers soon out. "you look to me like one who could hold his own in a fray," he added, as his eye ran over the athletic figure before him, "but it is not always fair fighting. these fellows hang together, and while engaged with one, half a dozen might fall upon you. as to your purse, sir, it is your own affair. you will assuredly lose your money, if you play or wager with them. but that is no concern of mine. neither, you may say, is your life; but it seems to me that it is. one young gentleman from the country, who wanted, like you, to see life, was killed in a brawl, and i have never forgiven myself for having taken him to the tavern where he lost his life. thus, i say that, though willing enough to earn a crown or two outside my own work, i must decline to take you to places where, as it seems to me, you are likely to get into trouble." "you are an honest fellow, and i like you all the more, for speaking out frankly to me," charlie said, "and were i, as i told your brother, thinking of going to such places solely for amusement, what you say would have weight with me. but, as i see that you are to be trusted, i will tell you more. i want to find a man who did me and mine a grievous ill turn. i have no intention of killing him, or anything of that sort, but it is a matter of great importance to lay hand on him. all i know of him is that he is a frequenter of taverns here, and those not of the first character. just at present he is, i have reason to believe, provided with funds, and may push himself into places where he would not show himself when he is out of luck. still, it is more likely he is to be found in the lowest dens, among rascals of his own kidney. i may lose a little money, but i shall do so with my eyes open, and solely to obtain a footing at the places where i am most likely to meet him." "that alters the affair," the man said gravely. "it will add to your danger; for as you know him, i suppose he knows you, also." "no. it is four years since we met, and i have so greatly changed, in that time, that i have no fear he would recognize me. at any rate, not here in london, which is the last place he would suspect me of being in." "that is better. well, sir, if that be your object, i will do my best to help you. what is the fellow's name and description?" "he called himself nicholson, when we last met; but like enough that is not his real name, and if it is, he may be known by another here. he is a lanky knave, of middle height; but more than that, except that he has a shifty look about his eyes, i cannot tell you." "and his condition, you say, is changeable?" "very much so, i should say. i should fancy that, when in funds, he would frequent places where he could prey on careless young fellows from the country, like myself. when his pockets are empty, i should say he would herd with the lowest rascals." "well, sir, as you say he is in funds at present, we will this evening visit a tavern or two, frequented by young blades, some of whom have more money than wit; and by men who live by their wits and nothing else. but you must not be disappointed, if the search prove a long one before you run your hare down, for the indications you have given me are very doubtful. he may be living in alsatia, hard by the temple, which, though not so bad as it used to be, is still an abode of dangerous rogues. but more likely you may meet him at the taverns in westminster, or near whitehall; for, if he has means to dress himself bravely, it is there he will most readily pick up gulls. "i will, with your permission, take you to the better sort to begin with, and then, when you have got more accustomed to the ways of these places, you can go to those a step lower, where, i should think, he is more likely to be found; for such fellows spend their money freely, when they get it, and unless they manage to fleece some young lamb from the country, they soon find themselves unable to keep pace with the society of places where play runs high, and men call for their bottles freely. besides, in such places, when they become unable to spend money freely, they soon get the cold shoulder from the host, who cares not to see the money that should be spent on feasting and wine diverted into the pockets of others. "i shall leave you at the door of these places. i am too well known to enter. i put my hand on the shoulder of too many men, during the year, for me to go into any society without the risk of someone knowing me again." they accordingly made their way down to westminster, and charlie visited several taverns. at each he called for wine, and was speedily accosted by one or more men, who perceived that he was a stranger, and scented booty. he stated freely that he had just come up to town, and intended to stay some short time there. he allowed himself to be persuaded to enter the room where play was going on, but declined to join, saying that, as yet, he was ignorant of the ways of town, and must see a little more of them before he ventured his money, but that, when he felt more at home, he should be ready enough to join in a game of dice or cards, being considered a good hand at both. after staying at each place about half an hour, he made his way out, getting rid of his would-be friends with some little difficulty, and with a promise that he would come again, ere long. for six days he continued his inquiries, going out every evening with his guide, and taking his meals, for the most part, at one or other of the taverns, in hopes that he might happen upon the man of whom he was in search. at the end of that time, he had a great surprise. as he entered the hotel to take supper, the waiter said to him: "there is a gentleman who has been asking for you, in the public room. he arrived an hour ago, and has hired a chamber." "asking for me?" charlie repeated in astonishment. "you must be mistaken." "not at all, sir. he asked for mr. charles conway, and that is the name you wrote down in the hotel book, when you came." "that must be me, sure enough, but who can be asking for me i cannot imagine. however, i shall soon know." and, in a state of utter bewilderment as to who could have learnt his name and address, he went into the coffee room. there happened, at the moment, to be but one person there, and as he rose and turned towards him, charlie exclaimed in astonishment and delight: "why, harry, what on earth brings you here? i am glad to see you, indeed, but you are the last person in the world i should have thought of meeting here in london." "you thought i was in a hut, made as wind tight as possible, before the cold set in, in earnest. so i should have been, with six months of a dull life before me, if it had not been for sir marmaduke's letter. directly my father read it through to me he said: "'get your valises packed at once, harry. i will go to the colonel and get your leave granted. charlie may have to go into all sorts of dens, in search of this scoundrel, and it is better to have two swords than one in such places. besides, as you know the fellow's face you can aid in the search, and are as likely to run against him as he is. his discovery is as important to us as it is to him, and it may be the duke will be more disposed to interest himself, when he sees the son of his old friend, than upon the strength of a letter only.' "you may imagine i did not lose much time. but i did not start, after all, until the next morning, for when the colonel talked it over with my father, he said: "'let harry wait till tomorrow. i shall be seeing the king this evening. he is always interested in adventure, and i will tell him the whole story, and ask him to write a few lines, saying that harry and carstairs are young officers who have borne themselves bravely, and to his satisfaction. it may help with the duke, and will show, at any rate, that you have both been out here, and not intriguing at saint germains.' "the colonel came in, late in the evening, with a paper, which the king had told count piper to write and sign, and had himself put his signature to it. i have got it sewn up in my doublet, with my father's letter to marlborough. they are too precious to lose, but i can tell you what it is, word for word: "'by order of king charles the twelfth of sweden. this is to testify, to all whom it may concern, that captain charles carstairs, and captain harry jervoise--'" "oh, i am glad, harry!" charlie interrupted. "it was horrid that i should have been a captain, for the last year, and you a lieutenant. i am glad, indeed." "yes, it is grand, isn't it, and very good of the king to do it like that. now, i will go on-- "'have both served me well and faithfully during the war, showing great valour, and proving themselves to be brave and honourable gentlemen, as may be seen, indeed, from the rank that they, though young in years, have both attained, and which is due solely to their deserts.' "what do you think of that?" "nothing could be better, harry. did you see my father at gottenburg?" "yes. the ship i sailed by went to stockholm, and i was lucky enough to find there another, starting for england in a few hours. she touched at gottenburg to take in some cargo, and i had time to see sir marmaduke, who was good enough to express himself as greatly pleased that i was coming over to join you." "well, harry, i am glad, indeed. before we talk, let us go in and have supper, that is, if you have not already had yours. if you have, i can wait a bit." "no; they told me you had ordered your supper at six, so i told them i would take mine at the same time; and, indeed, i can tell you that i am ready for it." after the meal, charlie told his friend the steps he was taking to discover nicholson. "do you feel sure that you would know him again, harry?" "quite sure. why, i saw him dozens of times at lynnwood." "then we shall now be able to hunt for him separately, harry. going to two or three places, of an evening, i always fear that he may come in after i have gone away. now one of us can wait till the hour for closing, while the other goes elsewhere." for another fortnight, they frequented all the places where they thought nicholson would be most likely to show himself; then, after a consultation with their guide, they agreed that they must look for him at lower places. "like enough," the tipstaff said, "he may have run through his money the first night or two after coming up to town. that is the way with these fellows. as long as they have money they gamble. when they have none, they cheat or turn to other evil courses. now that there are two of you together, there is less danger in going to such places; for, though these rascals may be ready to pick a quarrel with a single man, they know that it is a dangerous game to play with two, who look perfectly capable of defending themselves." for a month, they frequented low taverns. they dressed themselves plainly now, and assumed the character of young fellows who had come up to town, and had fallen into bad company, and lost what little money they had brought with them, and were now ready for any desperate enterprise. still, no success attended their search. "i can do no more for you," their guide said. "i have taken you to every house that such a man would be likely to use. of course, there are many houses near the river frequented by bad characters. but here you would chiefly meet men connected, in some way, with the sea, and you would be hardly likely to find your man there." "we shall keep on searching," charlie said. "he may have gone out of town for some reason, and may return any day. we shall not give it up till spring." "well, at any rate, sirs, i will take your money no longer. you know your way thoroughly about now, and, if at any time you should want me, you know where to find me. it might be worth your while to pay a visit to islington, or even to go as far as barnet. the fellow may have done something, and may think it safer to keep in hiding, and in that case islington and barnet are as likely to suit him as anywhere." the young men had, some time before, left the inn and taken a lodging. this they found much cheaper, and, as they were away from breakfast until midnight, it mattered little where they slept. they took the advice of their guide, stayed a couple of nights at islington, and then went to barnet. in these places there was no occasion to visit the taverns, as, being comparatively small, they would, either in the daytime or after dark, have an opportunity of meeting most of those living there. finding the search ineffectual, charlie proposed that they should go for a long walk along the north road. "i am tired of staring every man i meet in the face, harry. and i should like, for once, to be able to throw it all off and take a good walk together, as we used to do in the old days. we will go eight or ten miles out, stop at some wayside inn for refreshments, and then come back here for the night, and start back again for town tomorrow." harry at once agreed, and, taking their hats, they started. they did not hurry themselves, and, carefully avoiding all mention of the subject that had occupied their thoughts for weeks, they chatted over their last campaign, their friends in the swedish camp, and the course that affairs were likely to take. after four hours' walking they came to a small wayside inn, standing back twenty or thirty yards from the road. "it is a quiet-looking little place," charlie said, "and does but a small trade, i should say. however, no doubt they can give us some bread and cheese, and a mug of ale, which will last us well enough till we get back to barnet." the landlord placed what they demanded before them, and then left the room again, replying by a short word or two to their remarks on the weather. "a surly ill-conditioned sort of fellow," harry said. "it may be, harry, that badness of trade has spoiled his temper. however, so long as his beer is good, it matters little about his mood." they had finished their bread and cheese, and were sitting idly, being in no hurry to start on their way back, when a man on horseback turned off from the road and came up the narrow lane in which the house stood. as charlie, who was facing that way, looked at him he started, and grasped harry's arm. "it is our man," he said. "it is nicholson himself! to think of our searching all london, these weeks past, and stumbling upon him here." the man stopped at the door, which was at once opened by the landlord. "all right, i suppose, landlord?" the man said, as he swung himself from his horse. "there is no one here except two young fellows, who look to me as if they had spent their last penny in london, and were travelling down home again." he spoke in a lowered voice, but the words came plainly enough to the ears of the listeners within. another word or two was spoken, and then the landlord took the horse and led it round to a stable behind, while its rider entered the room. he stopped for a moment at the open door of the taproom, and stared at the two young men, who had just put on their hats again. they looked up carelessly, and harry said: "fine weather for this time of year." the man replied by a grunt, and then passed on into the landlord's private room. "that is the fellow, sure enough, charlie," harry said, in a low tone. "i thought your eyes might have deceived you, but i remember his face well. now what is to be done?" "we won't lose sight of him again," charlie said. "though, if we do, we shall know where to pick up his traces, for he evidently frequents this place. i should say he has taken to the road. there were a brace of pistols in the holsters. that is how it is that we have not found him before. well, at any rate, there is no use trying to make his acquaintance here. the first question is, will he stay here for the night or not--and if he does not, which way will he go?" "he came from the north," harry said. "so if he goes, it will be towards town." "that is so. our best plan will be to pay our reckoning and start. we will go a hundred yards or so down the road, and then lie down behind a hedge, so as to see if he passes. if he does not leave before nightfall, we will come up to the house and reconnoitre. if he does not leave by ten, he is here for the night, and we must make ourselves as snug as we can under a stack. the nights are getting cold, but we have slept out in a deal colder weather than this. however, i fancy he will go on. it is early for a man to finish a journey. if he does, we must follow him, and keep him in sight, if possible." two hours later they saw, from their hiding place, nicholson ride out from the lane. he turned his horse's head in their direction. "that is good," charlie said. "if he is bound for london, we shall be able to get into his company somehow; but if he had gone up to some quiet place north, we might have had a lot of difficulty in getting acquainted with him." as soon as the man had ridden past they leapt to their feet, and, at a run, kept along the hedge. he had started at a brisk trot, but when, a quarter of a mile on, they reached a gate, and looked up the road after him, they saw to their satisfaction that the horse had already fallen into a walk. "he does not mean to go far from barnet," charlie exclaimed. "if he had been bound farther, he would have kept on at a trot. we will keep on behind the hedges as long as we can. if he were to look back and see us always behind him, he might become suspicious." they had no difficulty in keeping up with the horseman. sometimes, when they looked out, he was a considerable distance ahead, having quickened his pace; but he never kept that up long, and by brisk running, and dashing recklessly through the hedges running at right angles to that they were following, they soon came up to him again. once, he had gone so far ahead that they took to the road, and followed it until he again slackened his speed. they thus kept him in sight till they neared barnet. "we can take to the road now," harry said. "even if he should look round, he will think nothing of seeing two men behind him. we might have turned into it from some by-lane. at any rate, we must chance it. we must find where he puts up for the night." chapter : the north coach. barnet was then, as now, a somewhat straggling place. soon after entering it, the horseman turned off from the main road. his pursuers were but fifty yards behind him, and they kept him in sight until, after proceeding a quarter of a mile, he stopped at a small tavern, where he dismounted, and a boy took his horse and led it round by the side of the house. "run to earth!" harry said exultantly. "he is not likely to move from there tonight." "at any rate, he is safe for a couple of hours," charlie said. "so we will go to our inn, and have a good meal. by that time it will be quite dark, and we will have a look at the place he has gone into; and if we can't learn anything, we must watch it by turns till midnight. we will arrange, at the inn, to hire a horse. one will be enough. he only caught a glimpse of us at that inn, and certainly would not recognize one of us, if he saw him alone. the other can walk." "but which way, charlie? he may go back again." "it is hardly likely he came here merely for the pleasure of stopping the night at that little tavern. i have no doubt he is bound for london. you shall take the horse, harry, and watch until he starts, and then follow him, just managing to come up close to him as he gets into town. i will start early, and wait at the beginning of the houses, and it is hard if one or other of us does not manage to find out where he hides." they had no difficulty in arranging with the landlord for a horse, which was to be left in a stable he named in town. they gave him a deposit, for which he handed them a note, by which the money was to be returned to them by the stable keeper, on their handing over the horse in good condition. after the meal they sallied out again, and walked to the tavern, which was a small place standing apart from other houses. there was a light in the taproom, but they guessed that here, as at the other stopping place, the man they wanted would be in a private apartment. passing the house, they saw a light in a side window, and, noiselessly opening a little wicket gate, they stole into the garden. going a short distance back from the window, so that the light should not show their faces, they looked in, and saw the man they sought sitting by the fire, with a table on which stood a bottle and two glasses beside him, and another man facing him. "stay where you are, harry. i will steal up to the window, and find out whether i can hear what they are saying." stooping close under the window, he could hear the murmur of voices, but could distinguish no words. he rejoined his companion. "i am going to make a trial to overhear them, harry, and it is better that only one of us should be here. you go back to the inn, and wait for me there." "what are you going to do, charlie?" "i am going to throw a stone through the lower part of the window. then i shall hide. they will rush out, and when they can find no one, they will conclude that the stone was thrown by some mischievous boy going along the road. when all is quiet again i will creep up to the window, and it will be hard if i don't manage to learn something of what they are saying." the plan was carried out, and charlie, getting close up to the window, threw a stone through one of the lowest of the little diamond-shaped panes. he heard a loud exclamation of anger inside, and then sprang away and hid himself at the other end of the garden. a moment later he heard loud talking in the road, and a man with a lantern came round to the window; but in a few minutes all was quiet again, and charlie cautiously made his way back to the window, and crouched beneath it. he could hear plainly enough, now, the talk going on within. "what was i saying when that confounded stone interrupted us?" "you were saying, captain, that you intended to have a week in london, and then to stop the north coach." "yes, i have done well lately, and can afford a week's pleasure. besides, jerry skinlow got a bullet in his shoulder, last week, in trying to stop a carriage on his own account, and jack mercer's mare is laid up lame, and it wants four to stop a coach neatly. jack ponsford is in town. i shall bring him out with me." "i heard that you were out of luck a short time ago." "yes, everything seemed against me. my horse was shot, and, just at the time, i had been having a bad run at the tables and had lost my last stiver. i was in hiding for a fortnight at one of the cribs; for they had got a description of me from an old gentleman, who, with his wife and daughter, i had eased of their money and watches. it was a stupid business. i dropped a valuable diamond ring on the ground, and in groping about for it my mask came off, and, like a fool, i stood up in the full light of the carriage lamp. so i thought it better, for all reasons, to get away for a month or so, until things quieted down. i wanted to visit my banker, and it was a good many miles to tramp." "oh, you have got a banker, captain?" "i have one who is just as good, though i cannot say he shells out his money willingly--in fact he was rude enough to say, when i called this time, that if i ever showed my face to him again he would shoot me, even if he were hung for it. bad taste, wasn't it? at any rate, i mustn't call on him again too soon." "you haven't settled on the night yet, i suppose, captain?" "about the end of next week. friday will be a full moon, i think, and i like a moon for the work. it gives light enough to see what you are doing, and not light enough for them to see much of you. so i suppose i may as well fix friday. i will send up a message for jack mercer and jerry skinlow to be here on thursday evening. i will be here that afternoon, and settle matters with them as to where they shall meet me, and what each man shall do. then i will ride back to town, and come out again just as it gets dark, with jack ponsford." "i suppose you will do it north of here?" "no, i will do it a mile or two out of town. the road north of this is getting rather a bad reputation, and in going out of barnet the guard now looks to his blunderbuss, and the passengers get their pistols ready. it isn't once in a hundred times they have pluck enough to use them, but they always think they will, until the time comes. near town we shall take them by surprise, and stop them before they have time to think of getting out their arms. "confound that window. shove something into the hole, johnson. i can feel the cold right down my back." a cloth was pushed into the broken pane, and charlie could hear no more of what was said inside. he had heard, indeed, enough for his purpose, but he had hoped to gather the name of the place at which the man would put up in london. however, he was well satisfied with his success, and at once made his way back to the inn. "well, charlie, how have you succeeded?" harry asked, as he sat down at the table. "could not be better, harry, though i did not find out where he puts up in london. however, that is of small consequence. in the first place, i found out that our suspicions were right, and that the fellow is a highwayman, and seems to be captain of a gang consisting anyhow of three, and perhaps of more, fellows like himself. in the second place, he intends, with his three comrades, to attack the coach on friday week, two or three miles out of town. nothing could better suit our purpose, even if we had planned the affair ourselves. of course, we will be there. if we can capture him while engaged in that work, we can get anything out of him. he has either got to confess or be hanged." "that is a stroke of good luck, indeed," harry exclaimed. "it will be rather difficult to manage, though. the fellows will be sure to be masked; and, if we were to shoot him instead of one of the others, it would be fatal." "yes, that would be awkward. besides," charlie said, "even if we did recognize him and shot his horse, he might jump up behind one of the other men, or might make off across the country, and we might lose sight of him before we could get down from the top of the coach to pursue." "it might be better if we were mounted, instead of being on the coach." "better in some ways, harry; but if they heard two mounted men coming along beside the coach, they would probably take the alarm and not attack at all; while, if we were to keep a bit behind, and ride up as soon as we heard the firing--for they generally shoot one of the horses to bring the coach to a standstill--they might ride off as soon as they heard the sound of the horses on the road. those fellows are splendidly mounted. their lives depend upon it, and nothing we should be able to hire would be likely to have a chance with them." "well, we shall have plenty of time to think this over, charlie. i suppose we shall carry out our plan tomorrow, as we arranged." "certainly. it is as important to find out where he lives in london as it was before, for if he gets away, we can then look him up there. we may as well go to bed at once, for i shall start at four, so as to get to town before him, however early he may be off. but as we know, now, he is going up on pleasure and not on business, i don't suppose he will be in any hurry in the morning." charlie arrived in town about eight o'clock, and, having breakfasted at the first tavern he came to, walked along for some distance, to decide upon the spot where he should take up his position. as nicholson was going up, as he said, to enjoy himself, it was not likely that he would put up at islington, but would take up his quarters in the centre of the town. he therefore decided to walk on, until he came to some junction of important roads; and there wait, as the man might make either for the city or westminster, though the latter appeared the more probable direction. here he walked up and down for an hour, and then, entering a tavern, took his place at the window, where he could see up the street, called for a stoup of wine, and prepared for a long wait. it was not, indeed, until three o'clock that he saw nicholson coming along. he was more gaily dressed than he had been on the previous day. he had on a green cloth coat with gold braid round the cuffs, an embroidered waistcoat, yellow breeches, top boots, and three-cornered hat. he was riding at foot pace. charlie went to the door as soon as he passed, and saw that, as he expected, he took the road to westminster. looking round, he saw harry riding about a hundred yards behind. charlie had no difficulty in keeping up with nicholson, and traced him to a house in a quiet street lying behind the abbey. a boy came out and held the horse, while its rider dismounted, and then led it away to the stable of an inn a short distance away. charlie turned at once, and joined harry. "i need not have taken all the trouble i have, harry, still there was no knowing. evidently the fellow has no fear of being detected, and is going to pass, for a week, as a gentleman from the country. i suppose he is in the habit of stopping at that house whenever he comes up with his pockets lined, and is regarded there as a respectable gentleman by the landlord. now you had better take your horse to the stable, where you agreed to hand it over, and we will meet at our lodgings and plan what to do next." the discussion did not lead to much. there did not seem, to them, anything to do until the day when the coach was to be attacked, but they agreed it would be well to take the advice of their friend the tipstaff. hitherto, they had not told him more of their motive for desiring to find nicholson, than charlie had said at his first interview with him. they thought it would be better, now, to make him more fully acquainted with the facts, for they had found him shrewd, and eager to assist them to the best of his power. they therefore sent a boy with a note to him, at the court, and at seven o'clock he came to their lodgings. "we have found our man," charlie said as he entered. "i am very glad to hear it, gentlemen. i had quite given up all hopes that you would be able to do so, and thought he must have left town altogether for a time." "sit down and take a glass of wine. we want your advice in this matter, and unless you know how much there is at stake, you will not be able to enter fully into the affair. "some four years ago, this fellow was concerned in a plot by which six gentlemen, among whom were our friends, were brought to ruin. they were in the habit of meeting together, being all of similar political opinions, and advantage was taken of this by a man, who hoped to profit largely by their ruin, especially by that of my father. in order to bring this about, he recommended this fellow we are in search of to my father, who happened, at the time, to be in want of a servant. "the fellow undoubtedly acted as a spy, for i once caught him at it. but spying alone would have been of no use, for there was nothing at any time said that would have brought harm upon them. they simply discussed what thousands of other people have discussed, the measures that should be taken on behalf of the stuarts, if one of them came over from france supported by a french force. the fellow, however, swore that the object of these meetings was to arrange for an assassination of william. he gave full details of the supposed plot, and in order to give substance to his statements, he hid, in a cabinet of my father's, a number of compromising papers, professing to be letters from abroad. "these were found by the officers sent to arrest my father. he and his five friends managed to escape, but their estates were forfeited. of course, what we want to prove is the connection between this spy and his employer, who, for his services in bringing this supposed plot to light, received as a reward my father's estates. there is no way of doing this, unless this man can be brought to confess his own villainy in the matter of the letters, and to denounce the scoundrel whose agent he was. probably, by this time, he has got nearly all he can expect from his employer, and will at least feel no scruples in exposing him, if by so doing he can save his own neck. "now, we have not only discovered the man, but have found out that he is a notorious highwayman, and the leader of a gang; but more, i have found out the day and hour on which he proposes to stop and rob the north coach." "well, mr. carstairs, if you have done that," the man said, "you have done marvels. that you should find the man might be a piece of good luck, but that you should have learned all this about him seems to me wonderful." "it was a lucky accident, altogether. we saw him, watched him, and managed to overhear a conversation from which we gathered these facts. it was all simple enough. of course, our idea is that we should, if possible, catch him in the act of robbing the coach, bind and take charge of him, saying that we should hand him over to justice, when the coachman and passengers would, of course, appear to testify against him. instead of doing this, we should take him somewhere, and then give him the option of either making a clean breast of the whole story, and remaining in our custody until called upon to testify to his statement in a court of justice, whenever required; or of being handed over to the authorities, to be tried and hung as a highwayman. "one of our greatest difficulties is how to effect his capture. the attack will be made at night on the coach, and in the darkness we might shoot him, or he might get away. he is at present in london, at a lodging in a street behind the abbey, where, doubtless, his real profession is altogether unsuspected by the people of the house. "now you know the whole affair. let us have your opinion as to the manner in which we had best set about the business." the man sat for some time, in silence. "i can think of no better plan than yours, sir, and yet it seems to me that there is scarcely any chance of your catching him at the coach. of course, it would be easy enough if you did not care whether you killed or caught him. all you would have to do would be to get half a dozen stout fellows, armed with pistols, on the coach with you instead of passengers, and then you would be pretty certain to kill some of them, perhaps all; but, as you can't do that, and are afraid to shoot lest you should kill him, it seems to me that you have a very small chance of catching him that way." charlie and his friend so thoroughly saw this, that they sat silent when he ceased speaking. "we could not arrest him now, i suppose?" harry said at last. "well, you see, you have got nothing against him. he may have been a knight of the road for the last five years, but you have no witnesses to prove it, and it is not much use to accuse him of intending to rob the north mail. you have no proofs, even of that. it is only your word against his. "there is no doubt that, after they have robbed the coach, they will separate. they may go away in twos, or singly. now, you see, we know three of this fellow's hiding places. he would hardly choose the one at barnet. it is too close. it is more likely he would choose the next place, the little inn in which you saw him first; but i think it more likely still that he and his mates will divide the plunder, half a mile or so from the place where they stopped the coach, and will then separate, and i am inclined to think his most likely course is to strike off from the main road, make a long round, and come down before morning to where he is now. he may take his horse into its stable, or, more likely, he may leave it at some place he may know of on the road leading out through putney, and then arrive at his lodgings just about daybreak. he would explain he had been at a supper, and had kept it up all night, and no one would even have a suspicion he had been engaged in the affair with the coach. i am sure that is his most likely plan." "then, what would you do?" harry asked. "what i should do is this. i will get two sharp active boys. i know of two who would just do, they have done jobs for us before now. i will give them the exact description of those two taverns, and send them down the day before the coach is to be attacked, and tell them that, that night, they are each to keep watch over one of them, see who goes in, watch till they come out, and then follow them, for days if necessary, and track them down. then they can send word up by the guard of the coach, each day; so that, if we find our man does not come back here by saturday morning, we shall have news that will put us on his track again, before long. "however, i think he is sure to come back here. you had better point out to me, this evening, where he lodges, and i shall be able to find out, before long, whether they are respectable people, or whether they are likely to be pals of his. "if they are respectable, i will see them on friday evening, show them my badge, and tell them that the man who has been lodging here is a notorious highwayman, and that i am going to arrest him. to prevent any chance of a mistake, i will put three or four of my mates round the house, to see that no one goes out to give him the alarm. i will come down and open the door for you, at two o'clock in the morning. you can then come up with me into his bedroom, and as he comes in, i will nab him. "if, on the other hand, i find the people of the house have a doubtful reputation in the neighbourhood, we must simply hide in doorways, make a rush upon him as he goes up to the house, and overpower him there. if one stands in his doorway, and leaps out on him as he comes up, he won't have much chance of using a pistol. i will have a cart ready, close by. we will truss him up tightly, gag him and put him into it, and i will have some place ready for us to drive him to, if you think that plan is as good as any other." "i think it is an excellent plan, and could not be better," charlie exclaimed, and his friend heartily agreed with him. "i think you will be able to get anything out of him, when you get him there," said the tipstaff. "he is sure to have some of the swag about him, and, even if none of the passengers of the coach are able to swear to him, that and the talk you overheard would be sufficient to hang him." "can those boys you speak of write?" "not they, sir." "there might be a difficulty about a verbal message." "the guard will give it, all right, if he gets half a crown with it. you need not trouble about that, sir. i will have a man to meet each coach, as it comes in. "and now we have arranged matters, sir, i will go with you to see the house, and will send a sharp fellow down tomorrow, to make inquiries about the people of the place." when they returned, the friends sat for a long time, talking together. the suggested plan looked so hopeful that they felt confident of its success. "i think, charlie," harry said, "it would be a good thing for us to present ourselves to the duke of marlborough. then we shall see if he is disposed to take an interest in us, and help us. if he is, he will tell us what had best be done towards getting nicholson's statement made in the presence of some sort of official who will act on it. if he gives us the cold shoulder, we shall have to do as best we can in some other direction, and it will be well to have the matter settled, if possible, before we catch the fellow." "i think that will be a very good plan, harry. i know where he lives. i inquired directly i came over. tomorrow morning we can go there and inquire, at the door, at what hour he receives callers." the next day at eleven o'clock the young men, dressed in their best attire, called at the duke's. they were informed that the great man was at home, and would be as likely to see them then as at any other hour. accordingly they entered, and were shown into an anteroom, and sent their names in by a footman. he returned with a request that they would follow him, and were shown into a library, where a singularly handsome man, in the prime of life, was sitting at a desk. he looked at them in some surprise. "is there not some mistake, young gentlemen?" he asked. "my servant gave the names as captain jervoise, and captain carstairs. i do not recall the names as those of officers in her majesty's service." "no, my lord, we have the honour to be captains in the service of king charles of sweden, as this document, signed both by his minister, count piper, and by the king himself, will testify." the duke took the paper, and read it. "the king of sweden speaks very highly of you both, gentlemen," he said cordially. "it is no mean credit to have gained such warm praise from the greatest general of his time. what can i do for you? do you wish to be transferred from the service of sweden to that of her majesty? we have need of good officers, and i can promise that you shall receive the same rank that you now hold, and it is likely that, before long, you will have an opportunity of seeing some service under your national flag." "i thank you warmly for your kindness, my lord, but it is not with that view that we have now come to you, though i am sure that we both should prefer to fight under our own flag, rather than under that of a foreign king, however kindly he may be disposed to us, personally. we have called upon a private matter, and i am the bearer of this letter from my father, who had once the honour of your lordship's friendship." "jervoise," the duke repeated, as he took the letter. "not mat jervoise, surely?" "that is my father's name, sir." "do i remember him? why, he was one of my closest friends when i was a lad, and i once stayed with him at his father's place, for a fortnight, on a journey i took to the north. but i will read his letter-- "what changes happen," he said, as he laid it down. "to think that mat jervoise should be an exile, his old home in the hands of strangers, and he a major in the swedish service; and that i should never have heard a word about it! "well, young sir," and he held out his hand to harry, "i can promise you my aid and protection, to the utmost, in whatever matter you may be concerned. i seem to remember the name of your companion, too." "his father, sir marmaduke, was a neighbour of ours. there has always been great friendship between the two families." "of course, i remember him now. he was some fifteen or twenty years older than your father. i remember that i went over with your father and grandfather, and dined at his place. he is still alive and well, i hope?" "he is both, sir," charlie said; "but, like major jervoise, an exile." "you amaze me, but i will not ask you to tell me more, now. i have to be at saint james's at twelve. "let me see, this evening i shall be engaged. come tomorrow morning, at half past eight, and i shall then be able to give you an hour, or maybe two, if necessary, and will then hear the whole story fully." the young men, on presenting themselves the next morning, at the hour named, were at once ushered in. "now, let us lose no time," the duke said, after shaking hands heartily. "which of you will tell the story?" "carstairs will do so, my lord," harry replied. "the mischief was hatched in his house, and my father, and six other gentlemen, were the victims of the treachery of a kinsman of his." charlie told the story of the events that had brought about the ruin of his father and friends. "it is monstrous!" the duke exclaimed indignantly, when he had brought this part of his story to a conclusion. "that my old friend, mat jervoise, should be concerned in a plot for assassination, is, i would pledge my life, untrue; and sir marmaduke carstairs was, i know, an honourable gentleman, who would be equally incapable of such an act. that they were both jacobites, i can well believe, for the jacobites are strong everywhere in the north, but, as half of us are or have been jacobites, that can scarcely be counted as an offence. at any rate, a stuart is upon the throne now, and, as long as she reigns, there is no fear that a civil war will be set up by another of the race. the story, as you have told it, sir, is, i doubt not for a moment, true, but at present it is unsupported; and though, on my assurance of their loyalty, i think i can promise that her majesty would extend a pardon to the gentlemen who have been so unjustly accused, i fear that she could not, by her own act, restore the estates that have been confiscated, unless you can bring some proof that this fellow you speak of was suborned to get up false evidence against them." "that, sir, is what i shall have the honour to inform you now." and charlie then related the story of their quest for the man nicholson, and its result. "rarely devised and carried out," the duke said warmly. "do you lay the knave by the heels, and frighten him into confessing the truth, and i will see to the rest of the matter. i do not know that i ought to let the north coach be robbed, after the information you have given me, but, as we will hunt down all the other fellows, and shall probably recover the booty they carry off, the passengers will have no reason to grumble. "well, young sirs, the king of sweden has given you a testimonial as to your bravery and conduct. if necessary, i will give you one for your ingenuity in planning and carrying out a difficult scheme. "so you have both been with the swedes through their campaign against the russians and poles. i envy you. king charles' service is a grand school for soldiers, and that victory of narva is the most extraordinary one ever seen. had you the honour of any personal intercourse with the king?" "only during three days, when our company formed part of his escort at a hunting expedition," harry, whom he addressed, replied. "but carstairs spoke to him more frequently. he has been a captain nearly two years, while i only had my promotion two months ago. we were in the same regiment, and of the same rank, but carstairs was promoted by the king, after the battle at the passage of the dwina, as a reward for the suggestion he made in conversation with him, that the passage might be made under the screen of smoke caused by the lighting of the forage stacks." "i must have a long talk with you both. it is certain that, next spring, the campaign with france will re-open, and your experience in the field will be very useful to me. the swedes are wonderful soldiers. the muscovites, at present, are little better than barbarians carrying european arms, but the saxons are good troops, and the swedes have twice beaten them heavily, and they evidently retain the fighting qualities that, under gustavus adolphus, shook the imperial power to its centre. "the trouble is to find time. i am pestered with men desirous of employment in the army, with persons who want favours at court, with politicians of both parties, with people with schemes and intrigues of all kinds. i have to be in attendance at the palace, and to see into the whole details of the organization of the army. i have no doubt that, at present, my antechamber is crowded with people who want to see me." he looked at his tablets. "next wednesday evening i am free, except for a reception at lord godolphin's, but i can look in there late. i will not ask you here, because i want you to myself. i will have a private room at parker's coffee house in covent garden. we will sup at seven. when you go there, ask for mr. church's room, and make yourself comfortable there until i come, for i can never answer for my own hours. in that way, we shall be free from all chance of interruption, and i can pick your brains undisturbed. you will remember the day and hour. should there be any change in this private matter of yours, do not hesitate to come to me here." tony peters, their guide and adviser, reported favourably as to the people with whom the highwayman was lodging. "the house is kept by the widow of an usher at the palace. she entertains gentlemen from the country, who come up on business at the courts of justice, or with people of influence at court. i have ascertained that our man passes as a well-to-do trader of salisbury, who comes up, two or three times a year, to transact business, and to enjoy for a short time the pleasures of town. he is liberal in his payments, and is held in high respect by the woman, whose only objection to him, as a lodger, is the late hours he keeps. he is a crafty fellow this, for by always going to the same house, and comporting himself with moderation, he secures a place of retirement, where, however close the quest after him, there will be no suspicion whatever, as to his profession, on the part of the people he is with. "my man found out all these matters from the servant wench. we shall have no difficulty in taking him quietly. the woman will be so terrified, when i tell her what he is wanted for, that she will do anything rather than have a scandal that would damage the reputation of the house." he assured charlie that he need give the matter no further thought. all the arrangements would be made, and, unless he heard farther from him, he and harry would only have to present themselves, at the door of the house in question, at two o'clock on the morning of saturday. the evening with the duke passed off pleasantly. the general's questions turned, not so much upon the actual fighting, as upon the organization of the swedes, their methods of campaigning, of victualling the army, of hutting themselves in winter, the maintenance of discipline in camp, and other military points that would be of service to him in his next campaign. "your king is very wise, in so strictly repressing all plundering and violence," he said. "only so can a general maintain an army in an enemy's country. if the peasantry have confidence in him, and know that they will get a fair price for their produce, they will bring it into the market gladly, in spite of any orders their own government may issue to the contrary. i am determined that, if i again lead an english army in the field, i will follow king charles' example; though i shall find it more difficult to enforce my orders than he does, for he is king as well as general, and his swedes are quiet, honest fellows, while my army will be composed of ne'er-do-wells--of men who prefer to wear the queen's uniform to a prison garment, of debtors who wish to escape their creditors, and of men who find village life too quiet for them, and prefer to see the world, even at the risk of being shot, to honest labour on the farms. it requires a stern hand to make a disciplined army out of such materials, but when the time of fighting comes, one need wish for no better." before parting with them, the duke inquired farther into their arrangements for the arrest of the highwayman, and said he should expect to see them on saturday, and that, if he heard that all had gone well, he would at once take steps for bringing the matter before a court that would deal with it. the young men felt restless, as the day approached. they had seen no more of tony, but they felt complete confidence in him, and were sure that they would hear if any difficulties arose; but though, throughout friday, they did not quit their lodging, no message reached them. chapter : a confession. at the appointed hour, as the clock of the abbey was striking, they gave three gentle knocks at the door of the house. it was immediately opened by tony, who held a candle in his hand, closed the door quietly behind them, and then led them into a parlour. "well, tony, i suppose all has gone well, as we have not heard from you." "there was nothing to tell you, sir, and, indeed, i have been mightily busy. in the first place, i got two days' leave from the courts, and went down myself, in a light cart, with the boys and two men. that way i made sure that there should be no mistake as to the houses the boys were to watch. the two men i sent on, ten miles beyond the farthest tavern there to watch the road, and if any horseman goes by tonight, to track him down. "this evening i came here. i brought with me one of my comrades from the courts, and we told the good woman the character of the lodger we had seen leave the house a quarter of an hour before. she almost fainted when we showed her our badges, and said we must arrest him, on his return, as a notorious highwayman and breaker of the laws. she exclaimed that her house would be ruined, and it took some time to pacify her, by saying that we would manage the job so quietly that no one in the house need know of it, and that we would, if possible, arrange it so that the place of his arrest should not be made public. "at that, she at once consented to do all that we wished her. we searched his room carefully, and found some watches, rings, and other matters, that answered to the description of those stolen from a coach that was stopped near dorking, three weeks ago. my mate has taken them away. as she was afraid that a scuffle in the bedroom might attract the attention of the four other gentlemen who are lodging here, i arranged that it should be done at the door. in that case, if there was any inquiry in the morning, she could say that it was some drunken fellow, who had come to the house by mistake, and had tried to force his way in. "so she put this parlour at our disposal, and, as i have got the shutters up and the curtains drawn, there is no fear of his noticing the light, for, as we may have some hours to wait, it is more pleasant to have a candle, than to sit in the dark." "does she come down to let him in?" harry asked. "no, sir, the door is left on the latch. she says he finds his way up to his room, in the dark, and the candle and a tinderbox are always placed handy for him there. we will take our shoes off presently, and, when we hear footsteps come up to the door and stop, we will blow out the candle and steal out into the passage, so as to catch him directly he closes the door. i have got handcuffs here, some rope, and a gag." "very well, then. i will undertake the actual seizing of him," charlie said. "you slip on the handcuffs, and you, harry, if you can find his throat in the dark, grip it pretty tightly, till tony can slip the gag into his mouth. then he can light the candle again, and we can then disarm and search him, fasten his legs, and get him ready to put in the cart." the hours passed slowly, although tony did his best to divert them, by telling stories of various arrests and captures in which he had been concerned. the clock had just struck five, when they heard a step coming up the quiet street. "that is likely to be the man," tony said. "it is about the hour we expected him." he blew out the candle and opened the door quietly, and they went out into the passage. a moment later the step stopped at the door, the latch clicked, and it was opened. a man entered, and closed the door behind him. as he did so charlie, who had marked his exact position, made a step forward and threw his arms round him. the man gave an exclamation of surprise and alarm, and then struggled fiercely, but he was in the hands of one far stronger than himself. a moment later, he felt that his assailant was not alone, for he was grasped by the throat, and at the same time he felt something cold close round his wrists. there was a sharp click, and he knew that he was handcuffed. then a low voice said, "i arrest you, in the name of the queen, for being concerned in the robbery of the portsmouth coach at dorking." then a gag was forced between his teeth. bewildered at the suddenness of the attack, he ceased to struggle, and remained quiet, in the grasp of his captors, till there was the sound of the striking of flint and steel hard by. then tony came out of the parlour with a lighted candle, the highwayman was lifted into the room, and the door was shut. he then saw that his captors were three in number. there were two young gentlemen, and a smaller man, who, as he looked at him, held out a badge, and showed that he was an officer of the law. his pistols and sword were removed, then his pockets were searched, and two watches and three purses, with some rings and bracelets, were taken out and laid on the table. "it came off, you see," tony said to charlie. "well, master nicholson, to use one of your aliases, of which you have, no doubt, a score or more, you may consider yourself under arrest, not only for the robbery of the portsmouth coach three weeks ago, but of the north coach last evening." the prisoner started. it seemed impossible to him that that affair should be known yet, still less his connection with it. "you know what that means?" tony went on grimly. "tyburn. now i am going to make you a little safer still. you have been a hard bird to catch, and we don't mean to let you slip through our fingers again." so saying, he bound his arms closely to his side with a rope, and then, with a shorter piece, fastened his ankles securely together. "now i will fetch the cart." he had been gone but five minutes, when they heard a vehicle stop at the door. the others lifted the highwayman by his shoulders and feet, carried him out, and laid him in the cart. tony closed the door quietly behind them, and then jumped up by the side of the driver, who at once started the horse at a brisk trot. they crossed westminster bridge, and, after another ten minutes' drive, stopped at a small house standing back from the road, in a garden of its own. "we will carry him in, tony," charlie said, "if you will get the door open." they carried him in through the door, at which a woman was standing, into a room, where they saw, to their satisfaction, a blazing fire. the prisoner was laid down on the ground. leaving him to himself, charlie and his friends sat down to the table, which was laid in readiness. two cold chickens, and ham, and bread had been placed on it. "now, tony, sit down. you must be as hungry as we are." "thank you, gentlemen. i am going to have my breakfast in the kitchen, with my wife." as he spoke, the woman came in with two large tankards full of steaming liquid, whose odour at once proclaimed it to be spiced ale. "well, wife, we have done a good night's work," tony said. "a good night's work for all of us," charlie put in. "your husband has done us an immense service, mrs. peters, and, when our fathers come to their own again, they will not forget the service he has rendered us." when they had made a hearty meal, tony was called in again. "now, tony, we will proceed to business. you have got pen and ink and paper, i suppose?" "i have everything ready, sir. i will clear away this table, so as to have all in order." when this was done, the highwayman was lifted up and placed in a chair, and the gag removed from his mouth. "you don't remember us, i suppose, my man?" charlie began. "the last time i saw you was when i brought my stick down on your head, when you were listening outside a window at lynnwood." an exclamation of surprise broke from the prisoner. "yes, i am charlie carstairs, and this gentleman is harry jervoise. by the way, i have made a mistake. i have seen you twice since then. the first time was in a wayside tavern, some twelve miles beyond barnet, nine days ago. the second time was at another tavern in barnet. you will remember that a mischievous boy threw a stone, and broke one of the lattice panes of the window, where you were sitting talking over this little affair of the north coach." a deep execration broke from the lips of the highwayman. "now you see how we know all about it," charlie went on. "now, it entirely depends on yourself whether, in the course of another hour, we shall hand you over to a magistrate, as the leader of the gang who robbed the north coach, and took part in the robbery near dorking--we have found some of the watches and other plunder in your bedroom--or whether you escape trial for these offences. you may be wanted for other, similar affairs." "yes, sir," tony put in. "now i see him, he answers exactly to the description of a man the officers have been in search of, for a long time. he goes by the name of dick cureton, and has been engaged in at least a dozen highway robberies, to my knowledge." "you see," charlie went on, "there is no doubt whatever what will happen, if we hand you over to the officers. you will be hung at tyburn, to a moral certainty. there is no getting out of that. "now, on the other hand, you have the alternative of making a clean breast of your dealings with john dormay, of how he put you at lynnwood to act as a spy, how you hid those two letters he gave you in my father's cabinet, and how he taught you the lying story you afterwards told before the magistrates at lancaster. after having this story written down, you will sign it in the presence of this officer and his wife, and you will also repeat that story before any tribunal before which you may be brought. "i don't know whether this is a hanging matter, but, at any rate, i can promise that you shall not be hung for it. the duke of marlborough has taken the matter in hand, and will, i have no doubt, be able to obtain for you some lesser punishment, if you make a clean breast of it. i don't say that you will be let free. you are too dangerous a man for that. but, at any rate, your punishment will not be a heavy one--perhaps nothing worse than agreeing to serve in the army. you understand that, in that case, nothing whatever will be said as to your being dick cureton, or of your connection with these last coach robberies. you will appear before the court simply as robert nicholson, who, having met captain jervoise and myself, felt constrained to confess the grievous wrong he did to our fathers, and other gentlemen, at the bidding of, and for money received from, john dormay." "i do not need any time to make up my mind," the highwayman said. "i am certainly not going to be hung for the advantage of john dormay, who has paid me poorly enough, considering that it was through me that he came into a fine estate. i take it that you give me your word of honour, that if i make a clean breast of it, and stick to my story afterwards, this other business shall not be brought up against me." "yes, we both promise that on our word of honour." "very well then; here goes." the story he told was in precise accordance with the suspicions that his hearers had entertained. he had been tramping through the country, sometimes pilfering, sometimes taking money as a footpad. he had, one day, met john dormay and demanded his money. he was armed only with a heavy cudgel, and thought dormay was defenceless. the latter, however, produced a pistol from his pocket, and compelled him to drop his stick; and then, taking him by the collar, made him walk to his house. he had asked him questions as to his previous life, and had then given him the choice of going to jail, or of acting under his instructions, in which case he would be well rewarded. naturally, he had chosen the second alternative. and, having him completely under his thumb, john dormay had made him sign a paper, acknowledging his attempt at highway robbery upon him. the rest of the story was already known to his hearers. he had, several times, overheard the conversations in the dining room, but had gathered nothing beyond talk of what would be done, if the pretender came over. john dormay had taught him the story of the assassination plot, and had given him the letters to hide. he now swore that the whole story was false, and had been told entirely at the dictation of john dormay, and from fear of the consequence to himself, if he refused to obey his orders. when he had finished, tony's wife was called in, and she made her mark, and her husband signed his name, as witnesses to the signature of robert nicholson. "now, i hope i may have something to eat," the man said, recklessly. "i am ready to tell my story to whomsoever you like, but am not ready to be starved." "give him food, tony," charlie said, "and keep a sharp lookout after him. we will go across, and show this paper to the duke." "i will bring the matter, at once, before the council," the general said, when charlie gave him the document, and briefly stated its contents. "there is a meeting at three o'clock today. i shall see the queen previously, and will get her to interest herself in the matter, and to urge that justice shall be done without any delay. i will arrange that the man shall be brought before the council, at the earliest date possible. if you will come here this evening, i may be able to tell you more. come at eight. i shall be in then to dress, as i take supper at the palace, at nine." "i have ventured to promise the man that he shall not be hung, my lord." "you were safe in doing so. the rogue deserves the pillory or branding, but, as he was almost forced into it, and was the mere instrument in the hands of another, it is not a case for hanging him. he might be shipped off to the plantations as a rogue and a vagabond. "what are you smiling at?" "i was thinking, sir, that, as you said there were a good many of that class in the army, the man might have the option of enlisting given him." "and so of getting shot in the netherlands, instead of getting hung at tyburn, eh? well, i will see what i can do." at eight o'clock, they again presented themselves. the duke looked at them critically. "you will do," he said. "put your cloaks on again, and come with me. where do you suppose that you are going?" "before the council, sir," harry suggested. "bless me, you don't suppose that your business is so pressing, that ministers have been summoned in haste to sit upon it. no, you are going to sup with the queen. i told her your story this afternoon. she was much interested in it, and when i informed her that, young as you both were, you had fought behind charles of sweden, in all his desperate battles, and that he had not only promoted you to the rank of captain, but that he had, under his own hand, given you a document expressing his satisfaction at your conduct and bravery, she said that i must bring you to supper at the palace. i told her that, being soldiers, you had brought with you no clothes fit for appearance at court; but, as at little gatherings there is no ceremony, she insisted that i should bring you as you are. "my wife sarah went on half an hour ago, in her chair. there will probably be two others, possibly godolphin and harley, but more likely some courtier and his wife. "you do not feel nervous, i hope? after being accustomed to chat with charles of sweden, to say nothing of the czar of russia, carstairs, you need not feel afraid of queen anne, who is good nature itself." nevertheless, both the young men felt nervous. after being conducted up some private stairs, the duke led them into an oak-panelled room, of comparatively small size, lighted by numerous tapers, which displayed the rich hangings and furniture. a lady was sitting by the fire. a tall, handsome woman, with a somewhat imperious face, stood on the rug before her, talking to her, while a pleasant-looking man, who by his appearance and manner might have been taken for a country squire, was sitting opposite, playing with the ears of a spaniel lying on his knee. the tall lady moved aside, as they entered, and charlie noticed a little glance of affectionate welcome pass between her and the duke--for the pair were devotedly attached to each other--then he bowed to the seated lady. "madam," he said, "allow me to present to you the two young officers, of whose bravery charles of sweden has written so strongly, and whose parents have, with other gentlemen, been driven from the land by villainy." the young men bowed deeply. anne held out her hand, and each in turn, bending on one knee, raised it to his lips. "there," she said, "let that be the beginning and end of ceremony. this is not a court gathering, but a family meeting. i want to hear your stories, and i want you, for the time, to forget that i am anne of england. i know that your fathers have always been faithful to our house, and i hope that their sons will, ere long, do as good service for me as they have done for a foreign prince. "you have not seen these gentlemen yet, sarah?" "no, my husband has kept them to himself." "i have had but little time to give them, sarah, and wanted it all, to question them on the swedish modes of warfare." "and you thought i should be an interruption? "i am glad to meet you both, nevertheless. since my husband likes you, i am sure to do so;" and she smiled pleasantly, as she gave a hand to each. they were then introduced to the prince consort, george of denmark. at this moment, supper was announced. the queen and the duchess went in together, followed by the four gentlemen. "lord godolphin and mr. harley were to have been of the party tonight," the queen said, as she took her seat at table, "but i put them off till tomorrow, as i wanted to hear these gentlemen's story." during the meal, the conversation was gay. as soon as the last dish was removed, the party returned to the other room. then the queen called upon the young men to tell their story. charlie began, and related up to the time when he had aided in the rescue of his father from the hands of his escort. harry told the story of their military experiences, and then charlie related his narrow escape at warsaw, his adventure with the brigands, and the fight with the wolves. "that is the most exciting of all," the queen said. "i think that even you, general, would rather have gone through the battle of narva, than have spent that night among the wolves." "that would i, indeed, madam, and i doubt if i should have got as well through it as captain carstairs did. i am sure, madam, you will agree with me, that these young gentlemen ought to be fighting under our flag, rather than that of sweden. there is no blame to them, for they were most unjustly driven from the country; but i hope that, by monday at this time, i shall have the pleasure of presenting a document for your majesty's signature, stating that, in the opinion of the council, a very grave miscarriage of justice has taken place; and that the gentlemen, whose estates were four years ago confiscated, are proved to be innocent of the crime of which they were accused, and are true and faithful subjects of your majesty; and that the proceedings against them are hereby quashed, and their estates restored to them. "i had the honour of relating to you, this afternoon, the manner in which these gentlemen have succeeded in bringing the truth to light." shortly afterwards, the party broke up, the queen speaking most graciously to each of the young men. on monday morning, they received a summons to appear before the council, at two o'clock in the afternoon, and to produce one robert nicholson, whose evidence was required in a matter of moment. they hired a carriage, and took the highwayman with them to saint james's, and were conducted to the council chamber; where they found lord godolphin, the marquis of normanby, mr. harley, and the duke of marlborough, together with two judges, before whom the depositions, in the case of sir marmaduke carstairs and his friends, had been laid. lord normanby, as privy seal, took the chair, and briefly said that, having heard there had been a grievous miscarriage of justice, he had summoned them to hear important evidence which was produced by captains carstairs and jervoise, officers in the service of the king of sweden. "what have you to say, captain carstairs?" "i have, sir, only to testify that this man, who stands beside me, is robert nicholson, who was in my father's employment for two years, and was, i believe, the principal witness against him. captain jervoise can also testify to his identity. i now produce the confession, voluntarily made by this man, and signed in the presence of witnesses." he handed in the confession, which was read aloud by a clerk standing at the lower end of the table. a murmur of indignation arose from the council, as he concluded. "you have acted the part of a base villain," lord normanby said to nicholson. "hanging would be too good for such a caitiff. what induced you to make this confession?" "i have long repented my conduct," the man said. "i was forced into acting as i did, by john dormay, who might have had me hung for highway robbery. i would long ago have told the truth, had i known where to find the gentlemen i have injured; and, meeting them by chance the other day, i resolved upon making a clean breast of it, and to take what punishment your lordships may think proper; hoping, however, for your clemency, on account of the fact that i was driven to act in the way i did." one of the judges, who had the former depositions before him, asked him several questions as to the manner in which he had put the papers into sir marmaduke's cabinet. he replied that he found the key in a vase on the mantel, and after trying several locks with it, found that it fitted the cabinet. "his statement agrees, my lords," the judge said, "with that made by sir marmaduke carstairs in his examinations. he then said that he could not account for the papers being in his cabinet, for it was never unlocked, and that he kept the key in a vase on the mantel, where none would be likely to look for it." in a short time, all present were requested to withdraw, but in less than five minutes they were again called in. "gentlemen," lord normanby said to the young officers, "i have pleasure in informing you, that the council are of opinion that the innocence of your fathers and friends, of the foul offence of which they were charged, is clearly proven; and that they have decided that the sentence passed against them, in their absence, shall be quashed. they will also recommend, to her majesty, that the sentence of confiscation against them all shall be reversed. "as to you, sir, seeing that you have, however tardily, endeavoured to undo the evil you have caused, we are disposed to deal leniently, and, at the request of the duke of marlborough, we have agreed, if you are ready to leave the country and enlist at once, as a soldier in the army of flanders, and there to expiate your fault by fighting in the service of your country, we will not recommend that any proceedings shall be taken against you. but if, at any time, you return hither, save as a soldier with a report of good conduct, this affair will be revived, and you will receive the full punishment you deserve. "for the present you will be lodged in prison, as you will be needed to give evidence, when the matter of john dormay comes up for hearing." nicholson was at once removed in custody. the two young officers retired, an usher bringing them a whispered message, from marlborough, that they had better not wait to see him, as the council might sit for some time longer; but that, if they would call at his house at five o'clock, after his official reception, he would see them. "this is more than we could have hoped for," harry said, as they left saint james's. "a fortnight ago, although i had no intention of giving up the search, i began to think that our chances of ever setting eyes on that rascal were of the slightest; and now everything has come right. the man has been found. he has been made to confess the whole matter. the case has been heard by the council. our fathers are free to return to england, and their estates are restored to them; at least, the council recommends the queen, and we know the queen is ready to sign. so that it is as good as done." "it seems too good to be true." "it does, indeed, charlie. they will be delighted across the water. i don't think my father counted, at all, upon our finding nicholson, or of our getting him to confess; but i think he had hoped that the duke would interest himself to get an order, that no further proceedings should be taken in the matter of the alleged plot. that would have permitted them to return to england. he spoke to me, several times, of his knowledge of the duke when he was a young man; but churchill, he said, was a time server, and has certainly changed his politics several times; and, if a man is fickle in politics, he may be so in his friendships. it was a great many years since they had met, and marlborough might not have been inclined to acknowledge one charged with so serious a crime. "but, as he said to me before i started, matters have changed since the death of william. marlborough stands far higher, with anne, than he did with william. his leanings have certainly been, all along, jacobite, and, now that he and the tories are in power, and the whigs are out of favour, marlborough could, if he chose, do very much for us. it is no longer a crime to be a jacobite, and indeed, they say that the tories are intending to upset the act of succession, and bring in a fresh one, making james stuart the successor to anne. "still, even if we had succeeded so far, by marlborough's influence, that our fathers could have returned to england without fear of being tried for their lives, i do not think that either of them would have come, so long as the charge of having been concerned in an assassination plot was hanging over them. "now that they are cleared, and can come back with honour, it will be different, altogether. it will be glorious news for them. of course, we shall start as soon as we get the official communication that the estates are restored. we shall only have to go back to them, for, as you know, yours is the only estate that has been granted to anyone else. the others were put up for sale, but no one would bid for them, as the title deeds would have been worth nothing if king james came over. so they have only been let to farmers, and we can walk straight in again, without dispossessing anyone." "i don't know what to do about john dormay," charlie said. "there is no doubt that, from what the judge said, they will prosecute him." "so they ought to," harry broke in. "he has striven, by false swearing, to bring innocent men to the scaffold. why, it is worse than murder." "i quite agree with you, harry, and, if i were in your place, i would say just as strongly as you do that he ought to be hung. but you see, i am differently situated. the man is a kinsman of ours by marriage. my cousin celia has been always most kind to me, and is my nearest relative after my father. she has been like an aunt, and, indeed, did all she could to supply the place of a mother to me; and i am sure my little sweetheart ciceley has been like a sister. this must have been a most terrible trial to them. it was a bad day for cousin celia when she married that scoundrel, and i am sure that he has made her life a most unhappy one. still, for their sake, i would not see his villainy punished as it deserves, nor indeed for our own, since the man is, to a certain extent, our kinsman. "besides, harry, as you must remember well enough, ciceley and i, in boy and girl fashion, used to say we should be some day husband and wife, and i have never since seen anyone whom i would so soon marry as my bonny little cousin; and if ciceley is of the same mind, maybe some day or other she may come to lynnwood as its mistress; but that could hardly be, if her father were hung for attempting to swear away the life of mine." "no, indeed, charlie. i know how fond you were of your cousin." "indeed, harry, there was a talk between my father and cousin celia, a few months before the troubles came, of a formal betrothal between us, and, had it not been for the coolness between our fathers, it would have taken place." "yes, i remember now your telling me about it, charlie. "well, what is to be done? for i agree with you that, if possible, john dormay must escape from the punishment he deserves. but how is it to be done?" "well, harry, a week or two will make no difference to our fathers. they will have no expectation of hearing from us, for a long time to come. i should say it were best that i should go down and warn him, and i shall be glad if you will go with me." "of course i will go," harry said. "indeed, it were best that the warning came from me. the man is a villain, and a reckless one; and in his passion, when he hears that his rascality is known, the prize for which he schemed snatched from him, and his very life in danger, might even seek to vent his rage and spite upon you. now it is clear, charlie, that you could not very well kill a man, and afterwards marry his daughter. the thing would be scarce seemly. but the fellow is no kinsman of mine. he has grievously injured us, and i could kill him without the smallest compunction, and thereby rid the world of a scoundrel, and you of a prospective father-in-law of the most objectionable kind." charlie laughed. "no, harry; we will have no killing. we will go down and see him together. we will let him know that the orders are probably already on the road for his arrest, and that he had best lose not an hour, but at once cross the water. i should not think that he would wish to encumber himself with women, for i never thought he showed the least affection to either his wife or daughter. at any rate, we will see that he does not take them with him. i will tell him that, if he goes, and goes alone, i will do my best to hush up the matter; and that, so long as he remains abroad, the tale of his villainy shall never be told; but that, if he returns, the confession of nicholson shall be published throughout the country, even if no prosecution is brought against him." when they called upon the duke, he shook them warmly by the hand. "this parchment is the royal assent to the decision of the council, that the estates of those inculpated in the alleged plot for the assassination of the late king should be forthwith restored to them, it having been clearly proved that they have been falsely accused of the said crime, and that her majesty is satisfied that these gentlemen are her true and loyal subjects. "i think i may say," the duke continued with a smile, "that no affair of state has ever been so promptly conducted and carried through." "we feel how deeply indebted we are, for our good fortune, to your kindness, your grace," charlie said. "we know that, but for you, months might have elapsed, even years, before we could have obtained such a result, even after we had the confession of nicholson in our hands." "i am glad, in every way, to have been able to bring this about," the duke said. "in the first place, because i have been able to right a villainous piece of injustice; in the second, because those injured were loyal gentlemen, with no fault save their steadfast adherence to the cause of the stuarts; and lastly, because one of these gentlemen was my own good friend, mat jervoise, of whose company i have so many pleasant recollections. "i hope that, as soon as you have informed your fathers that their names are cleared, and their property restored, you will think of what i said, and will decide to quit the service of sweden, and enter that of your queen. "an officer fighting for a foreign monarch is, after all, but a soldier of fortune, however valiantly he fights. he is fighting for a cause that is not his own, and, though he may win rewards and honours, he has not the satisfaction that all must feel who have risked their lives, not for gold, but in the service of their country. but i do not want any answer from you on that head now. it is a matter for you to decide upon after due thought. i only say that i shall go out, early in the spring, to take command of the army; and that, if you present yourselves to me before i leave, i shall be glad to appoint you on my personal staff, with the same rank you now hold. "you can now leave the country without any farther trouble. as to the affair of the man dormay, a messenger has been sent off, this afternoon, with an order to the magistrates at lancaster, to arrest him on the charge of suborning false evidence, by which the lives of some of her majesty's subjects were endangered; and of forging letters whereby such evil designs might be furthered. i do not suppose i shall see you again before you sail, for tomorrow we go down to our country place, and may remain there some weeks. i may say that it was the desire to get your affair finished, before we left town, that conduced somewhat to the speed with which it has been carried through." after again thanking the duke most warmly for his kindness, and saying that they would lay his offer before their fathers, and that their own inclinations were altogether in favour of accepting it, the young men took their leave. "it is unfortunate about dormay." "most unfortunate," harry said. "i think, if we start tomorrow morning, harry, we shall be in time. there is no reason why the messenger should travel at any extraordinary speed, and, as he may be detained at lancaster, and some delay may arise before officers are sent up to lynnwood to make the arrest, we may be in time. "we must take a note of the date. it is one we shall remember all our lives. it is the th of november, and we will keep it up as a day of festivity and rejoicing, as long as we live." "that will we," harry agreed. "it shall be the occasion of an annual gathering of those who got into trouble from those suppers at sir marmaduke's. i fancy the others are all in france, but their friends will surely be able to let them know, as soon as they hear the good news. "i think we shall have a stormy ride tomorrow. the sky looks very wild and threatening." "it does, indeed; and the wind has got up very much, in the last hour.'' "yes, we are going to have a storm, beyond all doubt." the wind got up hourly, and when, before going to bed, they went to pass an hour at a tavern, they had difficulty in making their way against it. several times in the night they were awoke by the gusts, which shook the whole house, and they heard the crashing of falling chimney pots above the din of the gale. they had arranged to start as soon as it was light, and had, the evening before, been to a posting inn, and engaged a carriage with four horses for the journey down to lancashire. "there is no starting today, gentlemen," the landlord said, as they went down to breakfast by candlelight. "i have looked out, and the street is strewn with chimney pots and tiles. never do i remember such a gale, and hour by hour it seems to get worse. why, it is dangerous to go across the street." "well, we must try," charlie said, "whatever the weather. it is a matter of almost life and death." "well, gentlemen, you must please yourselves, but i am mistaken if any horse keeper will let his animals out, on such a day as this." as soon as they had eaten their breakfasts, they wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, pressed their hats over their heads, and sallied out. it was not until they were in the streets that they realized how great was the force of the gale. not only were the streets strewn with tiles and fragments of chimney pots, but there was light enough for them to see that many of the upper windows of the houses had been blown in by the force of the wind. tiles flew about like leaves in autumn, and occasionally gutters and sheets of lead, stripped from the roofs, flew along with prodigious swiftness. "this is as bad as a pitched battle, charlie. i would as lief be struck by a cannonball as by one of those strips of lead." "well, we must risk it, harry. we must make the attempt, anyhow." it was with the greatest difficulty that they made their way along. although powerful young fellows, they were frequently obliged to cling to the railings, to prevent themselves from being swept away by the gusts, and they had more than one narrow escape from falling chimneys. although the distance they had to traverse was not more than a quarter of a mile, it took them half an hour to accomplish it. the post master looked at them in surprise, as they entered his office flushed and disordered. "why, gentlemen, you are not thinking of going on such a day as this? it would be a sheer impossibility. why, the carriage would be blown over, and if it wasn't, no horses would face this wind." "we would be willing to pay anything you may like to ask," charlie said. "it ain't a question of money, sir. if you were to buy the four horses and the carriage, you would be no nearer, for no post boy would be mad enough to ride them; and, even supposing you got one stage, which you never would do, you would have to buy horses again, for no one would be fool enough to send his animals out. you could not do it, sir. why, i hear there are half a dozen houses, within a dozen yards of this, that have been altogether unroofed, and it is getting worse instead of better. if it goes on like this, i doubt if there will be a steeple standing in london tomorrow. "listen to that!" there was a tremendous crash, and, running out into the street, they saw a mass of beams and tiles lying in the roadway--a house two doors away had been completely unroofed. they felt that, in such a storm, it was really impossible to proceed, and accordingly returned to their lodgings, performing the distance in a fraction of the time it had before taken them. for some hours the gale continued to increase in fury. not a soul was to be seen in the streets. occasional heavy crashes told of the damage that was being wrought, and, at times, the house shook so that it seemed as if it would fall. never was such a storm known in england. the damage done was enormous. the shores were strewn with wrecks. twelve ships of the royal navy, with fifteen hundred men, were lost; and an enormous number of merchant vessels. many steeples, houses, and buildings of all kinds were overthrown, and the damage, in london alone, was estimated at a million pounds. there were few who went to bed that night. many thought that the whole city would be destroyed. towards morning, however, the fury of the gale somewhat abated, and by nightfall the danger had passed. the next morning the two friends started, and posted down to lancashire. the journey was a long one. in many places the road was completely blocked by fallen trees, and sometimes by the ruins of houses and barns. in the former case, long detours had often to be made through villainous roads, where the wheels sank almost to their axles, and, in spite of the most liberal bribes to post boys and post masters, the journey occupied four days longer than the usual time. at last, they reached the lodge gate of lynnwood. a man came out from the cottage. he was the same who had been there in sir marmaduke's time. charlie jumped out of the post chaise. "why, norman, don't you know me?" the man looked hard at him. "no, sir, i can't say as i do." "what, not charlie carstairs?" "bless me, it is the young master!" the man said. "to think of my not knowing you. but you have changed wonderful. why, sir, i have been thinking of you often and often, and most of all the last three days, but i never thought of you like this." "why the last three days, norman?" "haven't you heard the news, sir?" "no, i have heard nothing. captain jervoise and i--my old friend, you know, norman--have posted all the way from london, and should have been here six days ago, if it had not been for the storm." "well, sir, there is bad news; at least, i don't know whether you will consider it bad. most of the folk about here looks at it the other way. but the man in there shot hisself, three days ago. a magistrate, with some men from lancaster, came over here. they say it was to arrest him, but i don't know the rights of the case. anyhow, it is said they read some paper over to him, and then he opened a drawer at the table where he was sitting, and pulled out a pistol, and shot hisself before anyone could stop him. "there have been bad goings here of late, mr. charles, very bad, especially for the last year. he was not friends with his son, they say, but the news of his death drove him to drink, worse than before; and besides, there have been dicing, and all sorts of goings on, and i doubt not but that the ladies have had a terrible time of it. there were several men staying in the house, but they all took themselves off, as soon as it was over, and there are only the ladies there now. they will be glad enough to see you, i will be bound." charlie was shocked; but at the same time, he could not but feel that it was the best thing that could happen, and harry freely expressed himself to that effect. "we won't take the carriage up to the house," charlie said, after a long pause. "take the valises out, and bring them up to the house presently, norman." he paid the postilion who had brought them from lancaster, and stood quiet until the carriage had driven off. "i hope sir marmaduke is well, sir. we have missed him sorely here." "he was quite well when i saw him, ten weeks ago. i hope he will be here before long. i am happy to say that his innocence of the charge brought against him has been proved, and his estates, and those of mr. jervoise and the other gentlemen, have been restored by the queen." "that is good news, indeed, sir," the man exclaimed. "the best i have heard for many a long year. everyone about here will go wild with joy." "then don't mention it at present, norman. any rejoicings would be unseemly, while john dormay is lying dead there." "shall i go up with you, charlie, or will you go alone?" harry asked. "of course, there are some horses here, and you could lend me one to drive over to our own place." "you shall do that presently, harry, and tell them the news. but come in now. you know my cousin and ciceley. it will be all the better that you should go in with me." his cousin received charlie with a quiet pleasure. she was greatly changed since he had seen her last, and her face showed that she had suffered greatly. ciceley had grown into a young woman, and met him with delight. both were pleased to see harry. "we were talking of you but now, charlie," mrs. dormay said. "ciceley and i agreed that we would remove at once to our old place, and that this should be kept up for you, should you at any time be able to return. now that queen anne is on the throne, and the tories are in power, we hoped that you, at least, would ere long be permitted to return. how is your dear father?" "he is well, cousin, and will, i trust, be here ere long. our innocence of the charge has been proved, the proceedings against us quashed, and the act of confiscation against my father, mr. jervoise, and the others reversed." "thank god for that," mrs. dormay said earnestly, and ciceley gave an exclamation of pleasure. "that accounts, then, for what has happened here. "i do not want to talk about it, charlie. you may imagine how ciceley and i have suffered. but he was my husband, spare him for my sake." "i will never allude to the subject again, cousin," charlie said. "but i must tell you that harry and i have posted down from london, in hopes of being in time to warn him, and enable him to escape. i need not say we did so because he was your husband, and ciceley's father." harry then turned the subject, by a remark as to the effects of the storm. then ciceley asked questions as to their life abroad, and there was so much to tell, and to listen to, that even mrs. dormay's face brightened. harry willingly allowed himself to be persuaded to remain for the night, and to ride over to his place in the morning. the funeral took place two days later. charlie went as sole mourner. "he was my kinsman," he said to harry, "and, though i can pretend no sorrow at his death, my attendance at the funeral will do something towards stopping talk, and will make it easier for my cousin." the next day, mrs. dormay and ciceley returned to rockley, whose tenant had fortunately left a few weeks before. charlie and harry both went over with them, and stayed for three or four days, and they were glad to see that mrs. dormay seemed to be shaking off the weight of her trouble, and was looking more like her old self. they then rode to lancaster, and returned to london by coach. they crossed to gottenburg by the first vessel that was sailing, and sir marmaduke was delighted to hear the success of their mission, and that he was at liberty to return at once, as master of lynnwood. "luck favoured you somewhat, charlie, in throwing that vagabond in your way, but for all else we have to thank you both, for the manner in which you have carried the affair out, and captured your fox. as for john dormay, 'tis the best thing that could have happened. i have often thought it over, while you have been away, and have said to myself that the best settlement of the business would be that you, harry, when you obtained proofs, should go down, confront him publicly, and charge him with his treachery, force him to draw, and then run him through the body. charlie would, of course, have been the proper person, in my absence, so to settle the matter, but he could not well have killed my cousin's husband, and it would have added to the scandal. "however, the way it has turned out is better altogether. it will be only a nine days' wonder. the man has been cut by all the gentry, and when it is known that he shot himself to escape arrest, many will say that it was a fit ending, and will trouble themselves no more concerning him. "you are coming back with me, i hope, charlie. i have seen but little of you for the last four years, and if you are, as you say, going with the duke of marlborough to the war in the spring, i don't want to lose sight of you again till then. you can surely resign your commission here without going back to the army, especially as you have leave of absence until the end of march." charlie hesitated. "i think so, too," harry said. "i know that the colonel told the king the whole story, when he asked for leave for me and obtained that paper. he told my father that the king was greatly interested, and said: 'i hope the young fellows will succeed, though i suppose, if they do, i shall lose two promising young officers.' so he will not be surprised when he hears that we have resigned. "as for me, i shall, of course, go on at once. my father will, i am sure, be delighted to return home. the hardships have told upon him a good deal, and he has said several times, of late, how much he wished he could see his way to retiring. i think, too, he will gladly consent to my entering our own service, instead of that of sweden. he would not have done so, i am sure, had william been still on the throne. now it is altogether different." "well, harry, if you do see the king, as it is possible you may do, or if you do not, you might speak to the colonel, and ask him, in my name, to express to charles my regret at leaving his service, in which i have been so well treated, and say how much i feel the kindly interest that his majesty has been pleased to take in me. if there had been any chance of the war coming to an end shortly, i should have remained to see it out; but, now that the polish business may be considered finished, it will be continued with russia, and may go on for years, for the czar is just as obstinate and determined as charles himself." accordingly, the next morning, charlie sent in the formal resignation of his commission to the war minister at stockholm, and harry left by ship for revel. sir marmaduke placed his business affairs in the hands of a scotch merchant at gottenburg, with instructions to call in the money he had lent on mortgage, and, two days later, took passage with charlie for hull, whence they posted across the country to lancaster, and then drove to lynnwood. as soon as the news spread that sir marmaduke had returned, the church bells rang a joyous peal, bonfires were lighted, the tenants flocked in to greet him, and the gentry for miles round rode over to welcome and congratulate him. the next morning he and charlie rode over to rockley. "oh, marmaduke," cried celia, "i am happy indeed to know that you are back again. i have never known a day's happiness since you went." "well, don't let us think any more about it, celia," sir marmaduke said, as he kissed her tenderly. "let us look on it all as an ugly dream. it has not been without its advantages, as far as we are concerned. it has taken me out of myself, and broadened my view of things. i have not had at all an unpleasant time of it in sweden, and shall enjoy my home all the more, now that i have been away from it for a while. as to charlie, it has made a man of him. he has gained a great deal of credit, and had opportunities of showing that he is made of good stuff; and now he enters upon life with every advantage, and has a start, indeed, such as very few young fellows can have. he enters our army as a captain, under the eye of marlborough himself, with a reputation gained under that of the greatest soldier in europe. "so we have no reason to regret the past, cousin, and on that score you have no cause for grief. as to the future, i trust that it will be bright for both of us, and i think," he added meaningly, "our former plans for our children are likely to be some day realized." four years later, indeed, the union that both parents had at heart took place, during one of the pauses of the fierce struggle between the british forces under marlborough, and the french. at blenheim, ramillies, and oudenarde, and in several long and toilsome sieges, charlie had distinguished himself greatly, and was regarded by marlborough as one of the most energetic and trustworthy of his officers. he had been twice severely wounded, and had gained the rank of colonel. harry jervoise--who had had a leg shot away, below the knee, by a cannonball at ramillies, and had then left the army with the rank of major--was, on the same day as his friend, married to the daughter of one of the gentlemen who had been driven into exile with his father. in the spring charlie again joined the army, and commanded a brigade in the desperate struggle on the hill of malplaquet, one of the hardest fought battles in the history of war. peace was made shortly afterwards, and, at the reduction of the army that followed, he went on half pay, and settled down for life at lynnwood, where tony peters and his wife had, at the death of the former occupant of the lodge, been established. when harry jervoise returned to the swedish headquarters, with the news that his father was cleared, he was the bearer of a very handsome present from charlie to his faithful servant stanislas, who had, on their return from poland, been at once employed by count piper on other service. when, years afterwards, the young pretender marched south with the highland clans, neither charlie nor harry were among the gentlemen who joined him. he had their good wishes, but, having served in the british army, they felt that they could not join the movement in arms against the british crown; and indeed, the strong jacobite feelings of their youth had been greatly softened down by their contact with the world, and they had learned to doubt much whether the restoration of the stuarts would tend, in any way, to the benefit or prosperity of britain. they felt all the more obliged to stand aloof from the struggle, inasmuch as both had sons, in the army, that had fought valiantly against the french at dettingen and fontenoy. the families always remained united in the closest friendship, and more than one marriage took place between the children of charlie carstairs and harry jervoise. [illustration: cover art] shasta of the wolves by olaf baker illustrations by charles livingston bull new york dodd, mead and company copyright, by dodd, mead and company, inc. printed in the united states of america american book-stratford press, inc., new york contents chapter i the wolf-child ii the coming of shoomoo iii shasta comes very near being eaten by a bear iv the end of the fight v gomposh, the wise one vi shasta sings the wolf chorus vii shasta joins the wolf pack viii the voice that was goohooperay ix the coming of kennebec x how shasta hid in time xi shasta's restlessness and what came of it xii shasta sees his redskin kindred xiii the bull moose xiv shasta leaves his wolf kin xv how shasta fought musha-wunk xvi the danger from the south xvii shasta goes scouting xviii the wolves avenge shasta of the wolves chapter i the wolf-child it was the old she-wolf nitka that came running lightly along the dusk. though she had a great and powerful body, with a weight heavy enough to bear down a grown man, her feet made no sound as they came padding through the trees. she had been a long way, travelling for a kill, because at home the wolf-babies were very hungry and gave her no peace. they were not well-behaved babies at all. whatever mischief there was in the world seemed to be packed tight into their little furry bodies. they played and fought and worried each other till they grew hungry again, and then they fell upon their mother like the little ravening monsters that they were. but nitka bore it all patiently, as a kind old mother should, and only gave them a smack occasionally, when their behaviour was beyond everything for naughtiness. now, as she came running through the trees she drank in the air thirstily through her long nose. for it was her nose that brought her news of the forest, telling her what creatures were abroad, and whether there was a chance of a kill. this evening the air was full of smells, and heavy with the heat of the long summer day; but many of them were wood smells, tree smells, green smells; not the scent of the warm fur and the warm flesh and the good blood that ran in the warm bodies and made them spill the secret of themselves along the air. and it was this warm, red, running smell for which nitka was so thirsty, and of which there was so little spilt upon the creeping dusk. yet now and then a delicate whiff of it would come, and nitka would sniff harder, swinging her head into the wind. and sometimes it grew stronger and sometimes weaker, and sometimes would cease altogether, swallowed up in the scent of the things that were green. and then, all of a sudden, the smell came thick and strong, flowing like a stream along the drift of the air. in the wild, your scent is yourself. what you smell like, that you are. and so, accordingly as the wind blows, you spill yourself, even against your will, either backwards or forwards, on the currents of the air. nitka increased her pace, and as she ran the smell grew sweeter and stronger, and made her mad for the kill. it was not long before her sharp eyes gave her sight of a deer feeding in an open glade. nitka stooped her long body to the earth, and began to stalk her prey. all about her the forest seemed to hold back its breath. it was no noise which nitka made which betrayed her presence. she herself came stooping nearer like a shadow on four feet. and as it was up-wind that she came, she spilt herself upon the air backwards, not forwards, to the deer. yet something there was which seemed to give it warning beyond sound, or sight, or smell. it stopped feeding, and lifted its head. for a moment or two it stood as still as an image carved in stone; yet, as nitka knew well, it was the stillness of warm flesh that paused before it fled. she gathered her legs under her for the deadly spring. the deer turned its head quickly, and saw a long grey shadow launch itself through the dusk. it was the last leaping shadow the deer would ever see. for the law of the forest is a stern and unpitying one--the law of hunger, and the law of desire. when nitka had finished her kill, and satisfied her hunger, she thought of the babies at home. they were too small yet for flesh food, so it was no use carrying any back to them. nevertheless they would be wanting their supper badly, and she must go and give it to them if she would have any quiet in her mind. so she trotted through the forest, having first buried some pieces of the deer where she would know where to find them. the cave in which her cubs were waiting was far away, for she had travelled many miles, but her instinct told her how to find it easily again, and she made a straight line for it, loping along towards the hills. she was going down-wind now, and did not catch a scent of the things in front. but as she had had her kill, that did not matter. there was one thought in her old wise head, and that thought was home. but before she reached it, she lit upon a strange thing. it lay right in her path--a small brown bundle that now and then set up a thin wail. nitka observed it carefully, then ran round to the leeward of it to pick up its scent the better. with strange things she always did this. you never knew what a strange thing might do before your nose could give you warning. as she circled, she came upon another smell which she had smelled before--the scent of man, of which she was afraid. but it was a trail several hours old, and was growing a little stale. nitka crept up to the peculiar bundle. she sniffed at it hard, then turned it over gently with her paw. as she did so, it stirred a little and whimpered. the smell was the smell of man, but the whimper was that of a cub. nitka distrusted the smell, but the whimper was good. she was not hungry now, but there were the hungry babies at home. she must not delay any longer. she caught up the bundle by the loose skin that covered it, and started off again. she had to go more slowly now, because of the bundle, and when at last she reached the cave upon the mountain-side, the night had fallen. dark though it was, the baby wolves were awake, and ready for a famous meal; but in the odd bundle which their mother dropped inside the mouth of the den they were not interested enough to find out what it was. when they had had their supper they fell fast asleep, and when the rising moon cast a glimmer into the cave, you might have seen an old mother wolf and a family of cubs all snuggled up together and very fast asleep. but in the morning, when they woke up, there was another cub, a cub whose clothes were not of fur, but of a strange covering which they would have called indian blanket if they had had any word for such a thing in their furry language. however, they speedily took to worrying this odd blanket; and presently off it came and was found to be no skin at all, but only a loose cover that tore to pieces beautifully, and made you cough when you tried to swallow it. inside, the baby had another skin that was of a reddish brown and very soft. they began to worry that also, hoping it might come off too, but it stuck fast to what was underneath, as is the way with such skins, being specially prepared to stick, and the baby inside it began to squeal like mad. for some reason or other, the baby did not bite back again. it just lay on its back, and waved fat arms and legs in the air. that hurt nobody, so the little wolves rolled it over and over, and tried to take pieces out of its arms and legs, and thought it was quite the biggest joke they had had in all their lives. only the new baby did not have a sense of humour, and refused to enter into the fun. it only squealed louder and louder, and actually squeezed water out of its little eyes! then, all at once, without any warning whatever, nitka put a stop to the fun by cuffing her babies right and left; and so the new baby did not have to cry alone, but was joined by all the little wolves, yelping with fear and pain. so from that time onward they learned slowly that the new baby was not to be bitten just for fun, but was somehow or other a little naked brother who had left his coat behind him in the outside world. if you had asked nitka why she had taken the baby's part, i don't believe she could have told you. all she knew was that there was a feeling inside her that this odd thing she had found in the forest was to be protected from harm. that was in the early days of little shasta's life. he was so tiny that he soon grew used to the difference between living among the wolves and living among his own kind. and soon he forgot even the dim thing he once remembered, and thought there was no life but the life of the cave where always it was shadowy and cool even in the hottest summer day. and he learned to play with the little wolves, his brothers, and wrestle and box with them, and go tumbling all over the cave floor with never a squeal. only sometimes when the play seemed to grow too rough, and old nitka thought he was having a bad time of it, she would rescue him from his playmates, and give everybody a general smacking all round: and then there would be peace for a little time. so that is how it came to pass that shasta learnt the language of the wolves, and of the other animals--and indeed for a time knew no other--and understood what they said and thought, and even felt, when there was no need of any words. and all this knowledge was of great use afterwards, and was the saving of his life, as you shall presently be told. chapter ii the coming of shoomoo now the first great day in little shasta's wolf life was the day when he left the cave for the first time and came out into the open world. he didn't know why he was to go out, nor what going out really meant. all he knew was that, suddenly, there was a movement of all the cubs towards the place where the light came from, and that it seemed natural for him to follow the movement. when he crawled outside, the sunlight hit him smack in the face like a hot white hand, and then, when he got over that, the world swam in upon his little brain in the way of a coloured dream. it was a very splendid dream, in which everything was new and strange and beautiful beyond all words to describe. the baby wolf-brothers sat in a row and blinked out at the dream, sniffing at it with their puppy noses because of the instinct within them that even dreams must be smelt if you would find out what they are. and it seemed to them to be a very good dream, smelling of grass and flowers, and of hot rocks, and of the sharp scent which the pine trees loose on the summer air. and there, on a rising piece of ground, sat the old wolf-mother, also smelling the good world, only that, besides the smell of the trees and rocks, she could distinguish those other odours of living creatures which drift idly down the wind. [illustration: the baby wolf-brothers sat in a row ... sniffing with their puppy noses] shasta, a little way behind his wolf-brothers, sat down too. when a large curious dream comes it is better to sit and watch what it will do; otherwise, if you begin to walk about in it, you may fall over something, and come to a bad end! so shasta sat and blinked at the thing, and waggled his fingers and his toes. he smelt at the thing also, and to him, as to the others, it seemed a good and pleasant smell, and he gurgled with delight. the sound he made was so funny that the cubs turned round to see what was happening. but when they saw that it was only the foster-brother being odd as usual, they turned away again and went on smelling at the world. high up above his head, shasta saw something very white and hot. it was so dazzling that he couldn't look up at it for more than a moment at a time, and because the thing hurt his eyes, and set queer round plates dancing in front of them when he looked away, he gave up looking at it. yet always he was conscious that it was there--the hot white centre to this curious dream. and once he lifted a little hairy hand to give it a cuff for being so hot and silly; only, somehow, the hand didn't quite reach, and when he tried a little higher, he overbalanced and fell over on his back. this was a signal for the cubs to rush at him and have a game. so for a long time, shasta cuffed at them and wrestled with them, and sometimes got the better of them, and sometimes was badly beaten and worried like a rat. of course neither he nor they had any idea that this delightful scuffling and cuffing was really the beginning of their education, and that their muscles were being trained and their limbs strengthened for their battle with the world when they should be grown up, and babies no longer. suddenly, as if by magic, the play stopped dead, with shasta and the cubs locked in a fierce embrace. old nitka never made a sound, nor any outward sign, which ordered the play to cease. yet in a twinkling the cubs were back into the den, while nitka had risen from her point of observation, with her eyes set hard to the north. shasta sat up and stared. the last wolf-brother was wobbling his fat body into the cave's mouth. shasta felt, in some odd unexplained way, that he ought to follow, and that it was because nitka had willed it, that the cubs had gone in. yet because he was a man-baby, and not a wolf-cub, he stayed where he was and stared at his foster-mother with large and wondering eyes. but nitka did not look at him. her eyes were far away over the tops of the spruces and pines--far away to a certain spot where a level rock jutted out from the great "barren" that stretched like a roof along the windy top of the world. if shasta had followed the direction of nitka's eyes, he would have seen what looked like the form of a large timber-wolf lying crouched upon the rock, with his nose well into the wind. only shasta had no eyes for anything but nitka. he had never seen her look so fierce before. all her great body was stiffened as if with steel springs. just above her tail her hair was raised, as is the way when a wolf or dog is roused for fight; and in her gleaming eyes, burning like dull coals, there was a green, unpleasant light. shasta could not tell what ailed his foster-mother. only, in a dim way, he felt that something was amiss. and the feeling made him uncomfortable, as when a grown-up person says nothing to you, but has a slap ready in the hands. presently nitka saw the other wolf slip off the rock and disappear in the spruce scrub at its base. and then, as before, she let herself down, and the bristles flattened above her tail. she seemed to rest in her body, and to give up all her bones to the warmth of the summer afternoon. near by, the stream fell down the hill-side with a sleepy murmur, and the grasshoppers chirruped in the grass. there was nothing to be seen except, high up in the air, a sweep of slow wings that bore kennebec, the great eagle, in his solemn circles above the canyon at the foot of the mountain. kennebec was a mighty person in his own world, as many a wolf and mountain sheep knew to their cost. many and many a lamb and wolf-cub had gone to the feeding of kennebec's children in their dizzy eyrie built among the steeples of the rocks. but as long as kennebec kept to his own canyon, and did not cast a wicked eye upon her babies, nitka did not worry about him, and had all her senses on the watch for danger nearer at hand. for in spite of all her look of outward laziness, every nerve that she had, every muscle of her strong body, was ready at a moment's notice to send her flying at any creature which dared to venture within striking distance of the den. for a long time nothing happened. then nitka growled softly, looking at shasta as she did so. now shasta knew perfectly well that the growl was meant for him. up to the present he had been disobedient, though he didn't quite know how. nitka wished him to return to the cave with the cubs, and shasta, though he felt some instinct telling him to go, could not understand what it meant, and so remained exactly where he was. and so far nitka had been very patient. she had simply gone on wanting him to get back into safety, but she had not looked or spoken. the soft growl, rumbling down there in her deep throat, was not a pleasant thing to hear. it sent a thrill down shasta's little spine. he began to feel dreadfully uncomfortable, and to wish that he was safe inside the cave. yet still he did not move, because the man-cub inside his heart was not inclined to bow down before the wolves. again nitka growled, this time louder than before. and to make it more pointed, she looked at shasta as she growled. he had never seen her look at him like that before. the light in her eyes was not at all agreeable. there was a threat in it, as to what she might do if shasta did not obey. he began to edge away towards the cave. after he had gone two or three yards he stopped. this behaviour of nitka was so curious that he wanted to find out what it meant. something was going to happen. without in the least knowing what it might be, shasta felt that something was in the air. but there was no resisting that look in nitka's eyes. with a whimpering cry, shasta scrambled to the entrance of the cave. once inside the den's mouth, however, his courage came to him again, and he turned to look back. as he peeped, he saw the form of a huge grey wolf glide into the open space. nitka herself was large, but this other wolf was nearly half as big again and much more formidable. his great limbs and deep chest were wonderful to see. between his shoulders was a dark patch of hair which was thicker than the rest of his coat, and, when the winter came, would become a sort of mane. he stood nearly three feet high at the shoulders--a giant of his breed. as to nitka herself, she was plainly in a rage. the hackles on her back were raised; her body was crouched low as if to leap, her limbs were bent under her like powerful springs to send the whole weight of her great body hurling through the air; while, if her eyes had shone threateningly before when she looked at the disobedient shasta, now they gleamed with a green light that seemed like living flame. so the two wolves stood facing each other, the huge stranger not seeming to like the look of things, with nitka snarling defiance at him, and prepared to give her very life in the defence of her cubs. shasta, peeping timidly out from the mouth of the cave, felt certain that some terrible thing was about to happen. he was terrified by two things: first, by the mysterious coming of the stranger wolf, then by the awful anger of nitka, which, if once let loose, must surely tear the new world to pieces, hot white centre and all! behind him, in the cave, the cubs were motionless and made no sound. they huddled closely together as if they knew, though they could not see it, that, out there in the sunlight, a strange thing was happening with which it would be fatal to interfere. so there they huddled, and pressed their fat furry bodies against each other, and tried to be comforted by each other's fat and fur. then shasta, looking out boldly, saw a very odd thing. he saw the he-wolf make a step towards nitka with a sort of friendly whine in his throat, and nitka, instead of springing at him, remained crouched where she was. and although she kept on growling, and saying the most dreadful things as before, somehow or other she seemed less vicious, and the green glare was softening in her eyes. seeing this, the other wolf grew bolder, and drew closer step by step. it was a very slow approach, as if the giant he-wolf was fully aware that any sudden action of his would bring nitka on him like a fury, with those long fangs of hers bared to strike. and then at last the two wolves were so close together that their noses touched. and in this touch of their noses, and the silent conversation which followed, everything was explained and understood, and made clear for the future. so that was how shasta saw the return of shoomoo, the father of his foster-brothers, and nitka's lawful mate. after that shoomoo became a recognized person in the world who came and went mysteriously, never saying when he was going, nor telling you where when he had come back. only that did not matter in the least. the really big thing was that when father shoomoo did come back, he seldom returned empty-handed, or i should say empty-mouthed, since a wolf uses his mouth as a carry-all, instead of his paws. chapter iii shasta comes very near being eaten by a bear the weeks and the months went by. only shasta did not know anything about time, and if the months ticked themselves off into years, he took no account of them. each month he became more and more wolf-like, and less and less like a human child. and because he wore no clothes, hair began to grow over his naked body, so that soon there was a soft brown silky covering all over him, and the hair of his head fell upon his shoulders like a mane. and as he grew older much knowledge came to him, which is hidden from human folk, or which perhaps they have forgotten in their building of the world. he learnt not only how to see things very far off, and clearly, as if they were near, but he learnt also to bring them close by smelling, to know what manner of meat they were. and if his nose or his eyes brought him no message, then his ears gave him warning, and he caught the footsteps that creep stealthily along the edges of the night. and he learnt the difference between the three hunting calls of the wolf: the howl that is long and deep, and which dies among the spruces, or is echoed dismally among the lonely crags; the high and ringing voice of the united pack, on a burning scent; and that last terrible bark that is half a howl, when the killing is at hand. yet it was not only of the wolves that shasta learnt the speech of the wild. he knew the things the bears rumbled to each other as they went pad-padding on enormous feet. of the black bears he had no fear, but for the grizzlies he had a feeling that warned him it was wiser to keep out of their way. the feeling was not there in the beginning, but it grew after a thing that happened one never-to-be-forgotten day. he had been sleeping in the cave during the hot hours, and woke up as the light began to yellow in the waning of the afternoon. he stretched his little hairy arms and legs with a great feeling of rest and of happiness. he felt so well and strong in every part of him that the joyful life inside him seemed bubbling up and spilling over. he was alone in the cave, for his wolf-brothers were now grown up and were gone out into the world. sometimes, at sundown or dawn, he heard them sing the strange wolf-song--the song that is as old as the world itself--or a familiar scent would drift to him, as he sat in the entrance of the cave, and he would know it for the sweet good smell of some wolf-brother as he passed across the world. and sometimes shasta would lift his child's voice into that wild, unearthly wolf-song that is so very old. this afternoon, something seemed to call shasta to go out into the sun. nitka had made him understand that it was not safe for him to go far from the cave when she was away. now she was out hunting, and shoomoo was off on one of his mysterious journeys, nobody knew where, so there was all the more need for shasta to stay close at home. shasta did not see why he should remain in the dull den all the time that his foster-parents were away. besides, were not his wolf-brothers all far out in the world? perhaps he might fall in with one of them, and sniff noses together for the sake of old times. he determined to go out and try. as he passed out, he heard the blue jays scolding in the trees. now there is a rule which all wise forest folk observe. it is this: when the blue jay scolds, look out! sometimes, of course, the blue jays simply scold at each other, because somebody has taken somebody else's grub, or just because they have a falling-out for fun; but the wise wild folk pay no attention to this, knowing it to be what it is. and when the blue jays scold in a peculiar manner, then the wise ones now that there is danger afoot, and that you must keep a sharp look out. now, although shasta was so young, he was quite old enough to understand the difference in the sounds. unfortunately, this afternoon he was in a mad mood, and he just didn't care! he saw the autumn sun bright on the rocks at the den's mouth; he saw the glimmer of the blue over the tall tops of the pines. high above the canyon, a dark blob circled slowly against the sky. far off though it was, shasta saw that it was kennebec, the great eagle, who was lord of all the eagles between the mountains and the sea. shasta watched him for a little while making wide circles on his mighty sweep of wing. then he ran up the mountainside, and, as he ran, the blue jays scolded more and more. if shasta had not been in so mad a mood, he would have known by the chatter of the jays that the danger was coming up-hill. also, if he himself had not been running down-wind, he would have smelt what the danger was creeping up behind. but the something that had seemed to call him in the cave was calling to him now from the high rocks. so on he climbed, careless of what might be going on below. he climbed higher and higher. close by one of the big rocks a birch-tree hung itself out into the air. when he reached it he stopped to look back. down at the edge of the forest he saw a thing that made him shiver. from between the shadowy trunks of the pine-trees, the shape of a huge grizzly swung out into the sun. it came on steadily up the mountain, its nose well into the wind. shasta knew that he himself was doing the fatal thing; he was spilling himself into the wind, and even now the grizzly was eating him through his nose! by this time shasta was very frightened. he looked this way and that, to see how to escape. he knew that he could not get back to the cave in time, for it lay close to the grizzly's upward path, and already the bear was half-way there. the moving of his great limbs sent all his fur robe into ripples that were silver in the sun. he was coming at a steady pace. and, if he wanted to quicken it, shasta knew with what a terrible quickness those furry limbs could move. as for himself, his wolf-training had taught him to run very swiftly, but he ran in a stooping way, using his hands as well as his feet. only he doubted whether his swiftness could save him from the grizzly over the broken ground. and far away over the canyon kennebec swept his vast circles as calmly as though nothing was happening, because all went so very well in the blue lagoons of the air. nothing was happening up there; but here upon the bargloosh everything was happening, and poor little shasta felt that everything was happening wrong. in his terrible fear shasta started to run up the mountain. as he ran, he looked back. he saw to his horror that the grizzly had seen him and had also started to run. up the rocky slopes came the terrible pad-pad of those cruel paws. and shasta knew well that the paws had teeth in them; many cruel teeth to each paw. and still shasta went darting upward, running swiftly like a mountain-fox. as he ran, a thought came into his head. if he could circle down the mountain, he might hide behind the rocks till the grizzly had passed, and so reach the cave in time. for he had the sense to know that although a grizzly is more than a match for wolves in the open, it thinks many times before it will attack them in their den. again shasta looked back. he saw that the grizzly was gaining upon him. he turned swiftly among the boulders to the left, dodging as he went so as to be out of sight of his enemy. the longer he could keep up the flight the more chance there was that either nitka or shoomoo might return. he ran on wildly, the terror in him, like the grizzly behind, gaining ground. he saw the long mountainside stretching out far and far before him to the northwest. he looked eagerly to see if any grey shadows should be moving eastwards along it--the long, gliding shadows that would be his wolf-parents coming home. but nothing broke the lines of grey boulders that lay so still along the slopes. all the great mountains seemed dead or asleep. nothing living moved. shasta ran on and on, looking fearfully backwards now and then, and expecting every moment to see the form of the great grizzly come bounding over the rocks. far below him in the timber he heard the screaming of the jays. there was a fresh tone in the cry. before, it had been a scolding of the bear: now it was a cry to shasta: "run, little brother, run!" it did not need the crying of the blue jays to make shasta run. he was covering the ground almost with the speed of the wolves themselves. now he began to slant down towards the timber, darting down the mountain, leaping from boulder to boulder in the manner of the mountain-sheep. yet behind him, faster and faster, as the rush of his great body gathered force, the grizzly launched himself downwards, an avalanche of fur! shasta knew only too well that, unless something happened, the chase could not go on much longer. it might be a little sooner or a little later, but the grizzly must have him at the last unless he could reach the trees in time. the trees were his only hope. if he could reach them, he could escape. for among the many things he had learnt of the ways of the forest folk, he had learnt this also: a grizzly does not climb. and it was in this one thing only that he could outdo his wolf-brothers: he could climb into the trees! he looked back. the thing was hurling itself nearer--the fearful avalanche of fur! now he began to fear that he could not reach the timber in time. the grizzly was gaining at a terrible pace. and then a thing happened. down aslant the mountain-side there came leaping in tremendous bounds the form of a big she-wolf. on it came at a furious speed, every spring of the powerful haunches sending the long grey body forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. and as she came, there rose from deep in her throat a long-drawn howl--the mustering cry of the wolves when the prey is too heavy for one to pull down alone. the grizzly saw her coming but could not stop. he was going too fast to turn so as to avoid the first onslaught. with a snarl of fury nitka sprang. her long fangs snatched horribly. there was a gash behind the bear's left ear. he snorted with rage, and tried to pull up. before he could do so, nitka had snapped at his flank and leaped away. then at last, by a supreme effort, the grizzly pulled himself up, and turned upon his unexpected foe. by this time shasta was well within reach of the trees. but some instinct made him suddenly alter his course and turn towards the cave. the grizzly, seeing this, started again in pursuit of his prey. once more nitka leaped, and the long fangs did their deadly work; but this time the bear, turning with remarkable quickness, hurled her off, and did so with such force that nitka almost lost her balance. a wolf, however, is not easily thrown off its legs, and again nitka attacked. each time she sprang, the bear stopped to meet her. nitka knew full well what she would have to expect if she came within striking distance of those terrible paws and not once did she allow the grizzly to get his chance to strike. and every time the bear turned, shasta was making good his escape, farther and farther up the slope. yet still the bear continued the chase, as if determined, in spite of all nitka's fierce defence, to have his kill at last. but he did not reckon upon two enemies at once, and he did not know that a second one, even more to be dreaded than nitka, would have to be faced before he could seize his prey. shasta had almost reached the cave now. he saw the shadowy mouth of it just beyond the clump of bushes where the great cliff broke down. yet if the grizzly should follow him into the cave! at close quarters nitka would be no match for the grizzly. those terrible paws would have the wolf within striking distance, and then, no matter how bravely nitka fought, she must sooner or later be killed. yet, just at the moment, the instinct for home was the strongest thing in shasta's little mind, and so he made blindly for the cave. as he darted into it, something shot past it in the opposite direction--something that leaped in the air with a noise that would have sounded more like the snarl of a mad dog--if shasta had ever heard a mad dog--than any voice of wolf! far away in the lonely places of the great barren, shoomoo had caught the long-drawn hunting cry of nitka, and had answered it on feet that swept the distance like the wind. with every hair on end, with eyes that shone like green fires, with his chops wrinkled to show the gleaming fangs, shoomoo hurled himself downwards full in the path of the advancing bear. the grizzly saw his coming just in time, and raised himself suddenly to give the wolf the blow which would have been his certain death. swift as a streak of light, shoomoo swerved as if he actually turned himself in the air. the grizzly missed his stroke by a hair's breadth. before he could strike again, both wolves were upon him. they sprang as with one accord, slashing mercilessly; then, in the wolf fashion, leaping away before the enemy could close. the fight now became a sort of game. as far as mere strength went the grizzly was far more than a match for the wolves; but their marvellous quickness put him at a disadvantage. directly he turned to meet the onset of one, the other sprang at him from the opposite direction. they kept circling round him in a ring. it was a ring that flew and snarled and gleamed and bristled; a ring of wild wolf-bodies that seemed never to pause for a single second. sometimes it widened, sometimes it narrowed, hemming the great bear in; but always it was a live, quivering, flying ring of shadowy bodies and gleaming teeth. more and more the bear felt that he was no match for his opponents. hitherto he had had no fear of wolves: he had held them almost in contempt. but these things that leaped and snapped and leaped again seemed scarcely wolves. they were wolfish furies to which you could not give a name. slowly, step by step, he retreated down the slope. he had given up all thought of the strange wolf-cub now. his one idea was to defend himself from these terrible foes, the like of which he had never encountered before. deep in his grizzly heart he knew that he was being beaten. it was a new feeling, and he did not relish it. till now he had been monarch of his range, and other animals had respected his undisputed right. now the tables were being turned, and a couple of wolves larger than he had even seen were driving him steadily back. yet he would not turn and run. something in his little pig-like eyes told the wolves that, whatever happened, he would never take safety in flight. that is one of the ideas belonging to a king. when his back is up against a wall, he must fight to the last. and that is exactly what the bear was looking for--something against which he could place his back. to the left, about fifty yards away, a great spur of rock broke from the mountainside. if he could once reach that, he knew that he could keep his foes at bay. he knew also, that in order to reach it, he would have to fight every yard of the way. and up above on the slope, a little wild face peered out from the shelter of the rocks, and watched and watched with shining eyes. chapter iv the end of the fight it was a running fight that went on as the great grizzly retreated. the one object of the wolves was to keep him on the move. the bear made furious rushes this way and that whenever he thought he had one of his enemies within striking distance. but as sure as ever he attacked one wolf, it leapt clear with marvellous agility, while the other, like a flash of grey lightning, had snatched at his flank and was off before he could turn. yet in spite of shoomoo's greater bulk, it was the onset of nitka which punished the bear most severely. for the time, nitka was like a thing gone mad. her eyes blazed like green jewels, her teeth flashed in a grin of rage. the long suppleness that was her body, bent, twisted, turned and doubled on itself, in a series of acrobatic leaps which bewildered her foe, and baffled even shasta's eyes to see how it was done. she was not fighting for any mere purpose of hatred or revenge; it was not that she, as nitka, wanted to conquer the bear. the thing that was in her, the fierce unutterable thing that flamed in her eyes and stabbed nakedly in her teeth, was her wild, strange love for the man-cub she had so curiously made her own. she did not know why she loved him. how should she, since the great spirit of the wild had not told her? it was enough that the spirit had put the thing into her heart and made it to remain. her own wolf-cubs would come, and would as certainly go out into the wolf world that is so wide beneath the stars. but the little man-cub stayed, winter and summer, autumn and spring, only growing larger very slowly, because it is the habit of men-cubs and other gods to grow slowly, and you cannot build them quickly with never so much rabbit's flesh nor caribou meat, swallowed and pre-digested, and brought up again as food. so nitka waged this desperate battle for the life of something she held very dear, and in her blind devotion would have sacrificed even her own life sooner than that one morsel of shasta's hairy little body should suffer harm. with shoomoo it was different. he had many reasons for fighting, and they were all good ones. first, he fought for nitka because he loved her, and had mated with her for life. it was that which, when her long hunting cry for help had reached him, had sent him sweeping along the mountain slopes at such a headlong speed. bound up with that, the man-cub was her own special property, and therefore partly his. he did not understand the man-cub. shoomoo never pretended to understand. left to his own instincts he would not have loved the man-cub. but since the thing belonged to nitka, and was what she loved, therefore it was for him to be good to it whether he would or no. his second reason for fighting was just as good, and was that, naturally, the grizzlies and the wolves are enemies, and have nothing in common except the desire to kill, when the bloodthirst is on them. but there was even a third reason as good as either of the others, and this was that shoomoo dearly loved a fight. it was not that he was a disagreeable person, always ready to pick a quarrel, for he was anything but that, and quite contented to go his own way peacefully so long as no one disputed it with him. but when a fight was forced upon him, or there was anything to be gained by being fierce, then he wrinkled back his chops in a most threatening manner, and made ready for his deadly spring. so all these reasons combined made shoomoo a very dangerous foe, and were the causes which forced the grizzly, who might have coped with nitka alone, to retreat towards the rock. it took the bear some time to do this; but once he felt the rock against his back, he reared himself up on his haunches, with his little pig-like eyes red with rage, and towered above the wolves like the giant that he was. neither nitka nor shoomoo, savage though they might be, were so angry as to be fools. they knew perfectly well that to attack a grizzly in such a position would be the extreme of madness. one blow from one of those terrible steel-tipped paws, striking with the force of a sledge-hammer, and the wolf that met it would be knocked clean out of the fight. so they contented themselves with crouching at a safe distance, and waiting to attack again the moment the bear should leave the rock. but if the bear ever had such an idea in his huge head he thought better of it, and stayed where he was. and so the time passed, the wolves not daring to attack the bear, the bear not daring to quit the protection of the rock. and it was not until the afternoon had waned into evening, and the sunset gold had melted behind the deep forests, that the wolves drew back towards the den and the grizzly slipped away into the dusk. it was many weeks before shasta recovered from the effects of his fright and was ready to carry his explorations any distance from the cave. and though nitka did not punish him, and shoomoo said nothing, going about his business silently in the same old way, shasta knew quite well that he was in disgrace and that he had better behave accordingly. so he contented himself by sitting a good deal in the doorway of the den and watching the happenings of the world from that safe position. it was not what you would call a very tidy doorway, and there was no mat on which to wipe your paws if you got them muddy with creeping after young geese along the boggy borders of the ponds on the barren. there was a fine litter of feathers, fur and bones, and the little odds and ends of what had once been game. shasta, squatting humpily in the middle of the mess, looked out with large eyes to snap up the happenings in the world as they fell out through the hours. not that very much happened that you could call important. sometimes a lynx or a fox would steal softly by, sniffing the air suspiciously, and keeping at a safe distance, with sidelong glances at the den. or sometimes a shadow would appear and disappear between the stems of the pine trees with bewildering swiftness, and a marten would vanish upon his bloodthirsty way. and then, if larger game kept out of sight and smell, there were always the grasshoppers and woodmice chirruping and scurrying in the tall and feathery grass. but after a time shasta grew tired of this do-nothing life at the door of the den, and began to take little walks here and there, though he kept a sharp look-out, and was always ready to go scampering back to the den at the first hint of danger. and one thing he learnt from his adventure with the grizzly was, always to attend to the warning of the blue jays. whenever their harsh voices rose from the ordinary gossipy chatter to a warning scream, shasta would make off at once without waiting to discover what it was that had caused them to sound the alarm. chapter v gomposh, the wise one the moons went by and the moons went by. the slow moons slipped into each other and were tied into bundles, a summer and a winter to each bundle, and so made up the years. shasta did not know anything about that measuring of time, nor that people talked of growing older out there in the world. all he knew was that there were day and night, and that the great lights came and went in the heavens, stepping very slowly upon gold and silver feet. but he knew when the loon, the great northern diver, cried forlornly in the night, that the long cold was at hand, and that he would have to stay in the cave to keep himself from freezing to death. and then it was that nitka and shoomoo exerted all their arts to keep the man-cub alive; and when the small game grew scarce, and the caribou hunting began, many and many a chunk of venison the little shasta devoured, and throve marvellously upon the uncooked meat. the meat made him warm, and kept the rich blood at full beat in his veins; and that he might be the warmer when he slept, he scooped a hole in the side of the cave, filling it with dry grass and leaves and a lining of fur and feathers torn from the outside of his meat. he learnt this nest-making from the homes of the wild creatures he discovered in his ramblings in the early spring and summer; for everything you learnt then seemed somehow to be in preparation for the grim time of the winter, when the blizzard howled from the north, and even the wolves, and the caribou they hunted, had to flee before the blast. it was after many summers and winters had been tied together in bundles that one bright september morning shasta left the cave and made for a tall rock, overlooking the gorge of the stream. when he reached it, he squatted down and watched what might happen below. no one saw him there--the little brown thing on the rock; and no one minded him, which was even more important, because he perched above the level of the run-ways, and of the creatures whose noses are always asking questions of the lower air. but some one whom shasta did not know, and who was wiser than all the other wise folk of the forest, was also out for a walk that wonderful autumn morning, and on soft and padded feet came softly down the mountain slopes above shasta's airy perch. and this was gomposh, the old black bear. gomposh was very old and of a wonderful blackness. when he walked out in the sun the light upon his fur rippled in silver waves. as for his years, not even goohooperay, the white owl, could tell you how many they were, much less gomposh himself. it was not any sound gomposh made that told shasta of his presence, but suddenly, without any warning to his eyes, or ears, or nose, shasta _knew_. and this was owing to that unexplained sixth sense which the wild animals possess, and which shasta, after his long dwelling among them, shared to a remarkable degree. he turned round all of a sudden, and there, not fifty feet away, stood gomposh the old in all the wonder of his black, black fur. for the first moment shasta felt afraid. here was another bear--smaller, indeed, than the grizzly, but none the less a bear! and now, if the black bear meant mischief, escape was impossible because the rock was too steep for any foothold on the outer face of it, and between its inner side and the open mountain stood the bear. then, in some odd way which he did not understand, the fear passed, and he knew that this time he was in no danger at all, and that the newcomer with the black robe would do him no harm. gomposh waited for a while, observing shasta with his little wise eyes and making notes of him inside his big wise head. then, very deliberately and slowly, he came down the slope towards shasta and sat down on his haunches before him on the rock. for a minute or two neither of them spoke, except in that secret language of eye and nose which makes unnecessary so much of the jabber that we humans call speech. but presently shasta began to ask questions in wolf-language and gomposh made answers in the same. and the sense of what they said was as follows, though the actual words were not our human words at all, but deeper and sweeter in the meaning of them, and much nearer to the truth. [illustration: very deliberately and slowly, he came down the slope towards shasta and sat down on his haunches] "shall we be brothers, you and i?" shasta asked, a little timidly, for he was feeling shy. gomposh looked at him kindly out of his little pig-like eyes. "we _are_ brothers," he said. "i am old gomposh, brother to all the forest folk." "_i_ am brother to the wolves," shasta replied. "you will find yourself brother to many strange folk before you are much older," gomposh said, and when he had finished he gave a slow wag with his head. "who are the folk?" shasta asked wonderingly. "ah!" gomposh said, looking even wiser than before. he looked so tremendously full of knowledge that shasta felt very small and ignorant indeed. "there are the lynxes and the foxes to begin with," gomposh said after a pause. but shasta shook his head. "no," he said. "they are not brothers. we have no kinship with them, we of the wolves." gomposh looked at him for a minute or two without speaking, and shasta felt uncomfortable. "it is not for you to say who are not brothers," gomposh said gravely. "you are not a wolf!" shasta blinked his eyes at that. it was the first time any one had told him that he was not a wolf. "but i am!" he said. "nitka and shoomoo and the brothers--we are all of the wolf blood. i have many brothers," he added, as if to make the matter clearer. "they are all out in the world." "i am aware of that," gomposh said; "but many brothers do not make you different from what you are." shasta could not think of an answer to that, so he was silent for a little time, while something which began to be a question grew big within his head. "if i am not a wolf, what am i?" he asked at last. "you will find that out later on," gomposh said with aggravating calmness. "at present it is enough for you to know what you are not." "but i don't know it," shasta said bravely, because he was not going to give way weakly before a bear, if he were never so old, and never so wise. "how do you know that i am not a wolf?" gomposh blinked and did not answer for a moment or two. he was taken by surprise, and was just a little shocked. in all his long experience, reaching over many years, no one had ever questioned his wisdom before, nor asked him how he knew. the man-cub was very impudent. it would have been the easiest thing in the world, with one cuff of his big black paw, to teach the man-cub manners, and send him spinning from the rock. but although gomposh had a great idea of his own importance, he had also a kind heart, and there was something in him which went out tenderly towards the little naked cub, impudent though he was. so he contented himself with being very stiff and stand-offish when he spoke again. "i have eyes," he said. "i have also a nose. you are not wolf to my eyes, and you are only half wolf to my nose." this was a knock-down blow to shasta, and he didn't know what to say. "i am sorry if i don't smell nice," he said lamely after a while. "i didn't remark that you didn't smell nice," gomposh said. "smell is a thing for everybody to decide on for himself. "what is the smell in me that isn't wolf?" shasta asked. "that you will know later," gomposh replied. "but when?" shasta asked. "today, or tomorrow, or when the moon is full?" "that i do not tell you," gomposh said. "when the time comes, you will know." and that was all shasta could get out of him. gomposh either couldn't or wouldn't say more, and when he had sat for a little while longer he got up and slowly walked away. shasta watched him disappear into the chaparral thicket to the left, and heard him for some time afterwards as he knocked the rotten logs to pieces in his search for grubs. for a long, long while shasta sat where he was and gazed down the gorge. an odd feeling that was almost unhappiness was in his head and his stomach, and the feeling went rolling over and over inside him and knocking itself against the corners of his brain. "not a wolf! not a wolf!" the feeling kept rapping out. then, if he was not a wolf, what was he? he asked himself. his memory, groping backwards into the dim beginnings of his life, worked hard to uncover the secret of what he really was; but, try as he would, he could remember nothing but the den and the wolf life that had its centre there, and the happenings of the mountain and of the forest, and the ways of their folk. there was nothing else--no shapes of tall beings that carried bows in their fore-paws and walked always on their hind legs--nothing that told him of his indian birth. the morning slipped into the afternoon, and still shasta sat motionless, humped upon the rock. his eyes were down the gorge, or on the opposite ridge where the tops of the spruces were jagged against the sky. down below him, on the old run-ways that had threaded the thickets since the beginning of the world, the creatures came and went. shasta knew them each by sight. he had known them all his life. yet now, as their familiar forms came noiselessly like shadows over the grass, he had a peculiar feeling of being separated from them by the new knowledge that, somehow, he was of another world. when the thin smell of the twilight came drifting through the trees, then, and not till then, shasta slipped down noiselessly from his rock and stole homewards to the den. but in the dark the odd feeling was still questioning: "if i am not a wolf, what am i?" chapter vi shasta sings the wolf chorus it was one night not long after his conversation with gomposh that nitka made it plain to shasta that he was to accompany her and shoomoo for some unknown purpose. shasta had grown used to the appearing and disappearing of foster-brothers every year, and so the four half-grown wolves that trotted by his side on the eventful night were quite familiar to him, and did not perplex him in the least. it was a very clear night, with the stars shining down through the tall tops of the pines and a faint glimmer low down in the north-east where presently the moon would lift her mighty bowl of silver and water the world with light. now and then a little waft of wind would send a shiver through the trees, and when it died away the stillness of the forest was deeper than before. it was very dark under the trees. unless you had indian's or wolf's eyes you would not have been able to see your hand in front of your face. but the eyes that were in shasta's head were indian with a wolf's training and were almost equal to the wolves'. he saw many things which no child born of white people has ever seen since america was discovered nor ever will as long as the world shall last, because the dwellers in the forest are very wise and wary and are a part of the great secret that is hidden amongst the trees; and many of them are never seen at all except by the wild animals themselves, and you will not find their names in any work on zoology (which is the polite word for natural history), because zoology, after all, is only the science which divides things into classes according to their teeth. yet although shasta's eyesight was nearly as keen as the wolves', his speed was not as fast as theirs, and so the going was slower than it would have been if the pack had been alone. for all that, shasta's pace was only slow compared with the wolves, and if you had seen him running on all fours you would have thought that his speed was very quick indeed. the order of their going was in this manner: shoomoo went first (as became the leader of the pack); after him, in single file, came two of the cubs; shasta followed next, with a wolf brother on each side of him, but slightly behind, so as to guard him if any danger threatened; last of all, with her keen eyes glowing like coals, came old nitka, bringing up the rear. it would have been a fearless animal indeed which would have attacked such a pack travelling in this wary way. even a grizzly, or a bull caribou, would have thought twice before encountering the combined force, and would have wisely turned aside without disputing right of way. where they were going--what it all meant--shasta could not guess. he had never travelled at night like this before. the most he had done after dark was to go short distances from the cave and back again, and that never alone, but always with either nitka or shoomoo somewhere close at hand. but this long journey was unlike anything he had ever done before. it was strangely exciting: it made the blood dance in his veins. he felt that something big was going to happen, and that now at last he would learn the secret of the wolves. for although he had lived the life of a wolf all these years, there was a feeling in his heart that there was something else, something he had yet to learn, before he should be one with the wolves, as of their very blood. and the feeling, reaching upward from his heart, tugged at his brain with tiny fingers that groped always in the dark. after some time they left the trees behind them and came out upon the open mountain. then it was a long climb upwards, going aslant the mountainside towards the east. there was more light now, for the time of moonrise was close at hand. shasta could see the vast shoulder of the mountain hump itself up against the stars. that was ahead. behind, and to the right, the canyon plunged down into a hollow of darkness that seemed bottomless. his ears caught the sound of a dull roar. he knew it would be a stream beating against the boulders and complaining huskily as it went. the going was faster now, for the land was open, and shasta increased his pace. soon they reached a bench, or terrace, along the side of a gorge. running lightly along this, shasta heard another sound. it was long and mournful, sliding up and down a minor scale of unutterable grief. it came drifting over the mountains as if the wind carried it, dropping it at times, and then taking hold of it again. though it was so faint it was not like the voice of a single wolf, but of many wolves singing in chorus together by the silver edges of the moon. he expected his companions to stop and answer it. he had often heard them sing that same song at moonrise, or just before dawn, but, to his surprise, the pack swept on as if they had never heard that sorrowful voice sobbing along the air. the terrace came to an end abruptly in a spur of rock, but shoomoo, with a great bound, leaped to a higher ledge and the pack followed. shasta could not leap in the wolf manner. he climbed instead, using his feet and hands with wonderful agility. the upper ledge brought them to the summit of the mountain. here a wide caribou barren stretched away in an unbroken extent to the north and east. there was good hunting here, as the wolves knew. many and many a fat caribou cow might be cut out of the herd and pulled down when the right season came, but they were not for hunting now. something quite as strong as the hunting cry was calling to them, and they would obey it in spite of everything else. on the summit of the mountain the cry shasta had heard before came again. only this time it was loud and clear, filling all the spaces of the night with echoes that sounded hollowly from far away. and now shasta was aware that the wolves were not alone. other dusky forms were flitting silently on ahead, and to the right and left. as they went on the number of these shadowy forms increased. they were all going in the same direction, and evidently with the same purpose, whatever that might be. soon shasta saw the great rocks rise up ahead. they had passed over the summit of the mountain now, and were descending the brow. the rocks, jagged and torn into all sorts of peculiar shapes, formed a fringe to the downward slope. beyond, the country fell away sheer to the prairies below. as shasta approached the rocks he saw that they were alive. on all their ledges and pinnacles wolves were crowded. there were many hundreds of them. he could not have believed that there were so many wolves in all the world! and they were all howling together in a wild, uncanny chorus that, to shasta's ears, was like a swinging song, very beautiful to hear. only it was terrible also, and sent shivers down his back. and his heart beat wildly, and he felt as if he had not eaten food for many days. he could not tell how or why, but suddenly he found himself sitting upon a rock, surrounded by the wolves. and then, as he watched them with their heads thrown back, and their long noses pointed to the stars, he felt something which he could not understand taking hold of him. he could see the wolves plainly now, for the moon was rising. she was behind the mountain yet, but the light of her coming was abroad in the sky. shasta looked round to see if nitka or shoomoo was close to him. at first he could not distinguish them among the number of the other wolves. then he caught sight of the great bulk of shoomoo at the summit of a rock, cut out blackly, like granite, against the rising of the moon. there were many other big wolves there, for it was a gathering of all the packs, but none was as mighty as shoomoo, towering there, like a king, upon his rock. once he had found shoomoo he did not search for nitka or the foster-brothers. he was simply content to know that they were there. it was upon shoomoo that his eyes were fixed, for he felt dimly as if, somehow or other, he was the centre of the mystery and the wild heart of the song. and then, immediately behind shoomoo's giant form, a disc of silver showed suddenly, and the first gleam of the moon-rising shone down upon the wolves. the singing had been wild before, but now in the moonlight it grew wilder still. it was enough to make even an indian's flesh creep to hear this uncanny chorus from hundreds of wolfish throats, rising and falling in the stillness of the night. and for miles and miles, through the endless spruce forests, down the black-throated canyons, along the dreary barrens of the caribou, the wild song went sobbing in a passion of despair. not an animal, winged or four-footed, in all that savage region but was awake and shivering to the sobbing of the wolves. kennebec, the mighty eagle, caught it, dreaming far away upon his midnight crags. gomposh, the old wise one, heard it, sitting in the mouth of his cave on the blue pine hill; and, as he listened, he rumbled a reply--a low, deep growl that seemed to roll about inside him and never got farther than his chest. and far away over the prairies, on the lonely ridges where the indians bury their dead, the coyotes caught the chorus and, howling dismally, flung it back. now and then, on the outskirts of the wolf-ring, a fox would appear from nowhere, sit down on his tail, and lift his snout and sing. for though, in the usual course of things, the wolves and foxes are sworn enemies, on the nights when the great chorus is sung the foxes are allowed to give themselves to music, and have no cause to fear. but it was not alone the creatures of the wild who responded to the cry. far down at the foot of the mountain where the country of the plains began, shasta heard an answering chorus in the pauses when the wolves seemed to listen for the echoes of their song. and the chorus, too, was wolfish and utterly despairing, as if the prairie wolves were gathering down below. yet, though shasta did not know it, the answer was not a wolf one, but belonged to the indian huskies, those gaunt starved creatures, part wolf, part dog, which the indians have bred for long years, and of which the camps are full. in every pause between the challenge of the wolves, the answer of the huskies was still wilder and fuller of despair. as the moon rose, and the light became stronger, shasta could see more and more plainly what was going on down there at the mountain's foot. he saw peculiar pointed things different from anything he had ever seen before. they were arranged in a circle round something which was very red and bright. he did not know, because there was nobody to tell him, that this bright red thing was an indian camp fire, and that the pointed things about it were the wigwams of the braves. beyond the wigwams he could see a row of dark objects. these were the huskies sitting on their tails, and sobbing out their sorrow to the wolves. sometimes the row would break and the huskies would rush wildly about, yelping and snapping at each other as if they had suddenly gone mad. and then they would gather together again, and sit in a long row, and lift their sorrow to the moon. presently shasta saw something else. he saw forms leave the wigwams and come out into the circle between them and the fire. they were like wolves, but seemed to be clothed with loose skins that covered their bodies and fore-legs. the thing which he noticed most particularly was that they did not go on all fours in the true wolf fashion, but walked upon their hind legs only, with their bodies straight in the air. as far as he could tell, they had come out of the wigwams to listen to the wolves. yet they made no sound, and continued to listen silently, not letting any voice which might be in them wail forth into the night. the sight of these dumb creatures on their hind legs made shasta strangely restless. he wanted to lift his arms and loose his heart out in a cry. and as he watched the figures, the feeling grew. he could not tell--poor little wild soul that he was--that these odd and silent forms were those of his own people; that he belonged to them in his blood and in his brain; and that here, in the wolf-world, he was an outcast from his kin. and the indians, gazing up at those black wolf-shapes cut out against the stars, little guessed that, among that dusky throng, crouched one of their own tribe, kidnapped long ago by an enemy and left in the forest to die of starvation or be torn in pieces by the beasts. there was a long pause, broken by neither wolves nor huskies. the silence was so deep that you could almost hear the shadows as they shortened under the moon. all at once shasta threw back his head and howled. it was the true wolf howl, long, vibrating, desolate. the desire to do so came on him suddenly, unexpectedly; a thing wholly strange and not to be explained. the note sang out sharply into the air. it seemed to rip, like a wolf's fangs, the silver throat of the moon. the wolves cocked their ears and listened intently. here was a new voice which they had never heard before; a wolf voice truly, yet with some fine difference which set it apart from all others and made it impossible to forget. when shasta had ended, and the last dim echo of his howl had faded from the rocks, he sat silent, shivering with fear. for now he had done what only a leader of a pack had the right to do--he had broken in upon the silence of the wolves. what would they do? would they punish him for his impertinence? suppose some leader gave the signal for the entire pack to sweep down upon him and tear him limb from limb? nitka and the foster-brothers would not be strong enough to save him. even shoomoo's giant bulk would be of no avail against the fury of the united pack. always before when he had known fear, he had taken to his legs, and either he had escaped to the cave in time or else nitka or shoomoo had been at hand to save him; but he knew that his legs would be useless now. the great fear seemed to take from them the power of running, and to freeze him to the rock. he did not move a muscle. he did not even dare to turn his eyes. yet he saw everything with astonishing clearness down to the smallest detail. there was shoomoo, motionless on his pinnacle, his ears erect, his hair bristling, the moonlight falling silverly on his dark coat and casting his shadow blackly down below. and there were the countless members of that vast pack equally motionless, equally alert, all their heads turned in one direction, all their gleaming eyes turned one way. and shasta, seeing all those terrible eyes fixed upon him, not only saw them, but felt them--felt the fierce wolfish thought behind that united all the pack into one wolf-mind. the silence was terrible. no arrow-headed flight of wild geese came honking from the north to break it. not even the solitary song of the white-throated sparrow on his fir branch slipped softly out to show that he was awake and that there was a sweetness in the night; and if nothing sounded, so also nothing stirred, nothing except the wolfish shadows that shortened invisibly under the moon. chapter vii shasta joins the wolf pack in that terrible silence when shasta trembled with the fear that was in him, and did not dare to move, the great thing happened. the stillness of the wolves, which was in itself so horrible a thing, as if the whole pack was only waiting for some signal to hurl itself upon him--began to show signs of breaking up. here and there a head would wag, and a lolling tongue show between white fangs. a she-wolf would snap at her neighbour. a half-grown cub would lick his chops, growling softly in his throat. a stir, a restless movement, set the pack heaving. teeth were bared and hackles rose. a thousand eyes glimmered in the shadows of the moon. the restlessness increased, growing moment by moment. the pack swayed, bristled, became one wolf-throat with a growl like the rumble of an avalanche. there came a supreme moment before the pack began its dreadful work. if nothing happened before the moment passed, then shasta would be doomed. it was then that the thing happened and that shasta breathed again. like an arrow from the bow, like the avalanche itself, with a roar like a mountain lion, the giant shoomoo loosed himself from his rock! down he came, over the heads of the startled wolves, with a leap that made the eyes blink. he brought himself up suddenly, right over shasta's body. the boy made no attempt at resistance, and was knocked down by the blow. but even in that instant, while his head struck the rock, and he felt a stab of pain, he knew that shoomoo would not hurt him, that underneath shoomoo's protection he would be safe. he lay flat on his back, with the big wolf's body above him, blotting out the night. a sweet feeling of warmth and tenderness ran in his blood. some sure thing whispered at his heart that shoomoo would tear the pack to pieces, or be himself torn, before he would allow it to touch a hair of the little body that lay so confidingly there. the astonished wolves gazed at this extraordinary thing. at first it looked as if shoomoo had given the signal to attack, and, to the younger wolves, it seemed as if the moment of the kill had arrived. these half-grown wolves surged forward, leaping over the backs of the older wolves, who, with more wisdom, hesitated, gazing warily at shoomoo. but these rash younger ones, in the face of shoomoo's bared fangs, realized their mistake before it was too late and drew back. one, however, paid the penalty of his rashness. he was a trifle duller-witted than the others. he failed to catch, as they did, that swift message from mind to mind, which, among the forest creatures, is like an electric current, warning them, in the tenth part of a second, what to seek and what to shun. even as they rushed forward the other wolves had caught the message, and had held themselves back just in the nick of time. the duller cub had blundered, and he had blundered to his fate. snarling with rage, shoomoo met him in his leap, and with one slash of his fangs, ripped his throat. then, breaking his neck, he flung him clean over his shoulders down the precipice behind. after that, not a single wolf dared to approach. the renown of shoomoo's powers as a fighter had spread through the wolf-world far and wide. it was by reason of this that he was not known merely as one of the great pack leaders, but held a position which made him a sort of king over the combined packs. and now it was plain, even to the dullest, that shoomoo had taken the man-cub under his special care. if shoomoo befriended the man-cub any wolf who dared to dispute his right must run the risk of death. moreover, what was even more important, shoomoo's claiming shasta as his, proved beyond any argument that, henceforward, shasta would have to be regarded as a member of the pack. the wolves, old and young, wise and foolish, looked on at this astonishing thing, said nothing, and licked their chops. when shoomoo had satisfied himself that the pack had learnt its lesson and that shasta's life was in danger no longer, he moved aside, lifting his large paws delicately, so that he should not touch the child. and then shasta sat up, a little dazed because of the blow he had received, and rubbed the sore place on his head, and smiled at the wolves. and when shoomoo, walking very deliberately and stiff-legged, his tail arched with pride, moved toward his rock, shasta went with him, and took up his position at his foster-father's side. when they were seated together on the rock shoomoo threw up his long snout, and sent a deep howl shuddering to the moon. shasta took it up, and sent his own voice spinning after it. then, as with one voice, the whole pack replied. and then again that wild wolf-chorus rose and fell, chanting, sobbing, wailing its unearthly dirge out into the silent hollows of the night. and down below, the tall shapes of the indians went back to their tepees, where sleep came to them, in spite of the "medicine" of the wolves, because sleep is the greater medicine. when the last wailing sob had died away, and the last lonely echo came shivering from the peaks, the wolves began to go. there was no signal for a general move. they went singly, or in little companies. shasta, looking down from his rock, saw the pack thinning by slow degrees. as a single wolf, or several, departed, they seemed to detach themselves from the edges of the pack softly, as vapours do from the blown edges of a cloud. and these vapour-like forms drifted across the open ground without any sound till they were lost along the barren, or in the shadow of the trees. soon, out of all that vast pack, not fifty wolves were left. then there were only twenty-five. at last there remained but shoomoo, nitka, the foster-brothers and shasta himself. the moon was still high overhead, intensely bright and the shadows of the rocks had a marvellous blackness. the vast and solemn woods hung like folded nightmares, along the mountainsides. the silence seemed like a solid thing which you could strike with a stone and set humming. shasta, breathing deeply after his howling song, looked down curiously on the indian village far below. the bright redness in the middle of it still glowed, but less brightly than before because the fire was dying. all round it the tepees stood in a motionless ring. shasta did not know that they were tepees, nor even that they were not alive. they seemed to be waiting there and listening. now that the wolf-chorus was over he half expected them to move. no sound came up from the huskies, which, like the wolves, had disappeared. they had slunk back to the tepees and were now fast asleep. no sound; no movement. shasta wondered what it all could mean, and where those strange wolves were hidden that could go upright on their hind feet. it was a mystery which his little brain could not solve. he wanted to ask shoomoo, but something seemed to tell him that it would be useless, and that shoomoo would not be able to explain. presently shoomoo stretched himself, laid back his ears, and yawned. then he leaped down from the rock and trotted off. shasta followed at once, because he knew that the moment shoomoo went the rest of the family would move, and he had no wish to be left alone in that unearthly place which seemed to lie somewhere between the gorges and the moon. they went back in the same order as they had come--shoomoo leading, shasta in the middle, nitka bringing up the rear. down the mountain slopes, along the ravines, through the endless leagues of forest, they passed in silence like a procession of grey ghosts. it was the same trail also. never for a yard's space did they quit that long back trail. and they were the same wolves, not altered in the least degree from what they were before. yet to shasta all was different in an odd way which he did not understand. he seemed to be closer to his wolf kindred than ever before--to have a finer sense for all they did and were. up to the present he had lived with them, played with them, eaten and slept with them; but now he seemed to be one with them as he had never been before. and this, though he did not know it, was because of the singing of the wolf-chorus; because he had sung himself, as it were, into the very heart of the wild. chapter viii the voice that was goohooperay two days after the chorus night shasta was out for a prowl by himself. the prowling instinct was strong within him now. he loved to creep into the forest alone and climb a tree above some run-way to see who was abroad. the deer drifted past like dreams, lifting their feet delicately and wrinkling their noses upwind; or a fox would sneak along, ears, eyes, and nose on the alert, but never seeing shasta above him on his perch. and sometimes the wolves would come, two or three in single file, and shasta would make cub noises at them, and take a huge delight in watching their astonishment as they looked up into the trees. on this particular night he had not perched long in his chosen tree when he heard the dreary wail of goohooperay come sobbing down the dusk. shasta only knew goohooperay as a voice, a dark unhappy voice that wailed along the twilight and climbed up and down the night. goohooperay's body lived in a hollow hemlock, and slept there all the day. it was a brown body and downy withal, and beautiful with fat sleep. but when the sun had set behind the bargloosh, and the gloaming was beginning to gloam, then goohooperay squeezed his body out of the hemlock, and the fun began. it began by his sitting just outside his front door and ruffling his feathers and stretching his great wings. that was to get the sleep out of him and think what a nice bird he was and set his wits to work. and when everything was in proper working order he opened his hooded head and loosed out his voice; and then it was that, near and far away, the forest people gave heed to the whooping cry and answered in their hearts. those who had been asleep in the thickets during the drowsy afternoon stretched themselves and yawned. the cry seemed to say "good hunting!" and that now they must bestir themselves and get abroad. to some it boded well, and would mean a fat kill; but to others ill, and being killed themselves, for goohooperay himself was a killer, and very far from being a vegetarian. but that is the way with owls; it is not a pleasant way or a sugary way. if you are an owl, you do owlishly; and goohooperay was very much an owl. when he had sent his voice far along the dusky trails goohooperay would spread his wings and go sailing after his voice. and as he glided through the tops of the spruces, or went swooping down the gorge, he did not make the faintest sound to tell you he was there; only a great winged shape would come slanting through the tree and--_swoop!_--some rat or leveret would wish it hadn't been there! it was some time before shasta learnt that goohooperay had a body as well as a voice. often and often when that melancholy sound went drearily past, shasta would shiver with something that was almost fear, and would wait for it to come again. and sometimes other voices would answer goohooperay's, and the echoes would be mocking in the hollow gorges, but always there was something peculiar about his, which set it apart from the others, so that you could recognize it again. goohooperay was feeling particularly cheerful this evening, and whenever he felt like that he always put an extra miserable wobble into his voice. it was very misleading of him, though he didn't mean to deceive. as a matter of fact, he was a most contented soul, and had never had an unhappy night in his life. as for the "hump" or the "dump" or anything silly like that, goohooperay would have _sobbed_ with amusement if you had suggested anything of the sort. but he loved pretending to be sad. to sit on a dead limb and hoot and hoot, till his heart seemed to be breaking, gave him an exquisite delight. when shasta heard the long, haunting cry which he had heard so often before, he had a sudden desire to find out if there was a body which sat behind the voice. so, without any hesitation, he slid down from his tree and travelled towards the sound. twice before he reached the hemlock goohooperay wailed his melancholy pleasure-note, and unwittingly guided shasta to the spot. at first shasta could not see plainly what manner of person goohooperay might be, for the shade of the hemlock was very black, and goohooperay's front door was well within it. but when shasta stole up to the very foot of the tree and gazed up into the enormous eyes above him, he realized that the voice had, indeed, a body behind it. for a long time the bird and the boy observed each other in silence. goohooperay felt that it wasn't his place to begin a conversation, and shasta didn't like to; but at last he plucked up courage and began. but the beginning, the middle, and the end of his conversation were only odd little wolf-noises that he gurgled in his throat. they were not in the least like words, but that didn't matter, for behind each gurgle there was a thought which, by some secret means which human folks couldn't understand, spilled itself out of shasta's head into goohooperay's, and made the meaning plain. it would be impossible to tell exactly what they said to each other in the shadow of the hemlock, for owl language is not translatable like arabic or greek. if it were, there would be a brown owl grammar and a brown owl spelling-book, and some other pieces of monstrous literature which we are mercifully spared. for the brown owl's library is not bound in calf--though you can sometimes catch the flutter of its leaves in the flowing of the air--and the letterpress of the twilight is too dim for human eyes. suddenly goohooperay's great yellow eyes stopped gazing at shasta, and glanced outwards into the dusk. there was such an intense and solemn look in them that shasta looked, too. just beyond the shade of the tree he thought he saw something that went slowly past, but he couldn't be sure. it had no shape. it was as if a piece of the twilight had broken adrift from the rest. a little waft of air accompanied it with a whispering sound. then, whatever it was, it had gone by, and everything was as before. shasta was startled. he turned quickly to goohooperay and asked him what it was. but goohooperay only swelled out his feathers hugely, and was dumb. then he hooted his long cry, listened intently to catch the effect, and, spreading his wings, floated away. and that was how shasta learnt that goohooperay was a body as well as a voice, and how he saw, for the first time in his life, the passing of the spirit of the wild. for, indeed, that spirit is little spoken of in these our times, and i think seldom seen, for our eyes are not accustomed to the old beautiful shadows that are for ever going by. it is only the animals who see them, or those who walk continually in the great spaces or have their dwelling within sound of the trees. chapter ix the coming of kennebec the wolf-brothers were playing in the sun. there were four little brown cubs, very fat and puppy-like, and full of fun. they chased each other up and down, and had wrestling matches and biting competitions, and all sorts of rough-and-tumble games. shasta sat in the mouth of the cave watching them and laughing softly to himself. he had known many a lot of wolf-brothers, and they were always the same funny, fat, frolicsome little rascals until they grew too old to frolic, and began to get their fighting fangs and be ready for the fierce work of the grown-up world. shasta loved all his foster-brothers and never forgot them, even after they had gone out into the world. and not a single wolf-brother ever forgot him, or would have refused to fight for him to the death if he were in danger. every year shasta looked forward to the appearing of the fresh lot of cubs, and loved them with all his heart as soon as they were born. only he had an instinct which warned him that when they were very new babies they were not to be touched; for although nitka remained devoted to her man-cub, she would not allow him to meddle with the babies while they were very new, and partly out of respect for her wishes, and partly for fear of what she might do if he disobeyed, shasta never touched a cub until it was a moon old; while nitka, though she would never allow anything to approach the cave--not even shoomoo himself--while the cubs were small, would let shasta come in and go out as he chose, so long as he kept to his own end of the cave and did not interfere with her while she mothered the new family. this morning she had gone down to the stream to drink, and lie awhile by the runway to see what might come by. she only intended to be a short time away, and had left shasta on guard while she was gone. shasta liked to feel that nitka trusted him, and that he was doing an important thing. it was a very warm morning, and everything seemed at peace. a sweet, clean air blew along the trails, and those who used them scented it delicately and went springily, because of the pent-up life that was in them, and the goodness of the world. high up on the opposite ridge a lynx was sunning herself and her kittens outside her den. with her keen eyes she swept the landscape near and distant in a glance that noted everything and lost nothing. though shasta could not see _her_, she saw _him_ and the cubs perfectly. she was no friend of the wolves, as they knew full well, but this morning the historic enmity between them seemed to lie low, and she stared at the little group calmly with no blazing hate in her green eyes. a big red fox came down to the edge of the lake. he stood with one forefoot up, all ears and nose, scenting and listening for any hint that should come from the trail; and, as he listened he wrinkled his nose, wobbling it quaintly to catch whatever faint smell might come drifting his way. in the shallows the buffalo-fish were basking on the bottom with the water flowing softly over their gills, and the sunlight shining on their scales. up in the high blue a pair of fish-hawks sailed airily on the look-out for food. but the buffalo-fish were so busy doing nothing that they escaped observation. they guessed the hawks were somewhere about, but they just lay low and didn't say a word; and it is surprising how much mischief may be avoided simply by doing nothing! old gomposh was having a good rub against his favourite tree. it was plastered with mud and hair, and was quite as plain to read as a book, if you only knew how to read the "rub." he set his back against the rough bark, and rubbed and rubbed till the most exquisite sensations went thrilling down his spine. but all these quiet little happenings were really of no consequence to the wolves. what did matter was--although they didn't know it--that, high up on the tall crags, kennebec, the great eagle, was thinking wickedly. when kennebec thought wickedly some one was sure to suffer. he would sit on the pointed summit of a crag, which was now worn smooth with the constant gripping of his great claws, and his wonderful eyes would shine with a strong light. down below him, for a thousand feet, the tops of the spruces made the forest look like a green carpet worn into holes. and beyond that, to the south, the lake glimmered and shone, and the sakuska showed in loops of silver. over the lake kennebec could see the fish-hawks at their fishing. he looked at them in his lordly way, watching them, ready to swoop at the first sign of a fish. he could not catch fish himself, but that made no difference to his diet. when he felt like fish, he waited till one of the hawks swooped and rose with a fish in its claws. then kennebec would sail out majestically from his crag and bully the hawk till it dropped his prey. before the fish touched the water kennebec, falling in a dizzy rush, would seize it in his talons and bear it off in triumph. but this morning he was for bigger game, and the glare that came and went in his eyes was a danger-light to any who should be so unfortunate as to see it. about fifty yards to the left of where he sat a cleft rock held his nest. it was a huge mass of sticks, filling the cleft from side to side. in the middle of it two young eaglets sat and _gawped_ for food. their mother would bring it to them presently. kennebec was not in a mood to worry about that! they could gawp and gawp till she came! and if they thought their gawping would have any effect upon him, they might gawp their silly heads off without upsetting _him_! suddenly he lifted his great wings, loosed the pinnacle with his horny feet, and plunged into space. below him the world seemed scooped out into a vast abyss. he rose higher and higher till he was nothing but a speck in the surrounding blue. * * * * * * * shasta, watching the foster-brothers lazily, saw the speck appear in the high blue. at first it was no larger than a fly. then it grew and grew till it was the size of a grasshopper, then of a fish-hawk. and then the blue jays began to scold. shasta had never forgotten the lesson of the blue jays. when they scolded he knew that something was happening, and that you had better watch out. he looked quickly about him on every side, throwing the keen glance of his piercing eyes down into the forest and up among the rocks. so far as he could see, nothing stirred. if any enemy was approaching, it was coming unseen, unheard, along the mossy ways. yet there was no sign of any living creature upon the bargloosh, nor in all the wide world beside, except that solitary fishhawk circling overhead. yet, although he couldn't see anything, shasta had a sort of feeling that he ought to drive the cubs back into the den. they would be safe there whether anything happened or whether it didn't. and the blue jays went on scolding all the time. but surely nitka must hear them and know what was going on! if she didn't take the warning and come racing back, then it was because nothing _was_ going to happen. moment after moment went by, and still she did not appear. shasta was growing more and more uneasy. in spite of not seeing anything, there was a vague feeling that something was wrong. that strange warning which comes to the wild creatures, no man can tell how, came to him now. the screaming of the blue jays had aroused him, but the warning had come independently of them. it was so clear, so unmistakable, that he made a wolf-noise in his throat to attract the attention of the cubs. then suddenly he was aware of something overhead. he looked up quickly. the fish-hawk had disappeared. instead, a winged thunderbolt was dropping out of the sky. it fell from a dizzy height with a rush so swift that it seemed as if it must dash itself to pieces on the earth before it could stop. shasta was spellbound. he could not stir. then, before he had time to understand, the thunderbolt had spread wide wings, and kennebec was hovering overhead. shasta heard the rustle of those tremendous wings, and a swift fear shot into his heart. but his courage did not forsake him, and, with a howl, he sprang to protect the cubs. it was too late. before he could reach them kennebec had swooped, and, when he rose again, he bore a wolf-cub in his claws. just as he did so, however, and while he was still beating his wings for the ascent, a few feet from the ground, nitka, her hair on end with fury, came leaping up the slope. as she reached the spot she made a mighty bound in the air, springing at the eagle with a snarl. but kennebec was already under way. nitka's bared fangs clicked together six inches short of his tail, and she fell back to the earth with a moan of grief and rage. shasta, looking on, felt his body shivering like a maple leaf in the wind. he was terrified of what nitka might do in the present state of her mind. as kennebec, flying heavily, passed slowly over the tree-tops in his gradual ascent, the she-wolf's eyeballs, riveted upon him, blazed with fury. as long as he remained in sight, growing gradually smaller in the distance, she raged up and down, with the saliva dropping from her jaws. she had been roused by the screaming of the jays, and had come racing back as soon as she realized that something was wrong. but she was too late to prevent the tragedy. and now the horrible thing had happened, and she would never see her cub again! as soon as her straining eyes could no longer follow the flight of the robber, she hustled the other cubs back into the cave. but that was all. she did not turn on shasta, nor even so much as growl at him as he sat shivering in the sun. he waited miserably at the mouth of the cave, wondering if nitka would come out and comfort him; but she remained inside for the rest of the afternoon, trying to console herself for her loss by fondling the three remaining cubs. and after a while shasta crept away to his look-out above the valley, where he had met gomposh for the first time. he had not been there very long before he heard a sound of rustling and tearing to the left. then the great form of gomposh himself pushed itself into the glare of the golden afternoon. he had been refreshing himself in his clumsy way among the wild raspberry bushes, and as he came out was licking the juice from his mouth. he came along slowly, his little eyes glancing right and left for any sign of food. there was a hollow log lying full in his path. he gave it a heavy blow with his paw, and then put his ear close to listen to the insects in its crevices which he had disturbed. evidently what he had heard satisfied him, for he ripped open the log with one slash of his paw, and then proceeded to lick up the grubs and scurrying insects. when he had finished, he caught sight of shasta and came lumbering towards him. as before, they sat together on the rock, and said nothing in a very wise way. but presently shasta unladed himself of his heavy heart, and told gomposh all his grief. and old gomposh wagged his head slowly, and let shasta understand that that was only what had happened many, many times before in his memory, and was likely to happen as many times again. eagles would be eagles, he said, as long as feathers were feathers and fur was fur. and if wolf-cubs would also be fat and juicy and lollop in the sun, then what were you to expect if kennebec came by, and admired the fat rolls at the back of their absurd little necks? but besides that, he gave shasta to understand that kennebec was worse than other eagles, and had worked more destruction in his time than any other person with wings. shasta's talk with gomposh was a very long one, for the thoughts that were in them oozed out slowly, and trickled drop by drop into each other's minds. yet though the dripping was slow, the thoughts were clear as crystal, and plain to understand! that is the difference between animals' talk and ours. the beasts speak seldom and with perfect understanding; while we humans stir up our thick brains with a stick that we call an idea, and pour out floods of muddy talk! at sunset gomposh lumbered back into the woods, and shasta took himself home. he crept very softly into the den, because he felt that he was in disgrace. but nitka was off hunting and the cubs were fast asleep. very early in the morning shasta stole out again. he went along swiftly, following a caribou trail that trended south. it was one of the old forest trails which had been used for centuries by the journeying caribou in their autumn and spring migrations. he went on steadily, following the directions which gomposh had given him the evening before. gomposh knew all the trails of the forest; where they came from and where they led to; also what sort of company you were likely to meet on the way. shasta met but few travellers in that pale time just before dawn, and of those he met he had no fear. one was a big timber wolf travelling slowly after a kill. his eyes flashed when he saw shasta; but shasta spoke to him in the wolf language, and in a moment they were friends. and although shasta did not recognize the wolf, the wolf remembered shasta, for he was one of those who had taken part in the great wolf chorus on the memorable night. then, when they had spoken a little and rubbed noses together, to show that they were members of the wolf family, they parted, each going on his separate way. it was late that evening before shasta reached the end of his journey. it was a place monstrously tall, and everything there shot up to an immense growth as if it had been sucked upwards by the white lips of the moon in the tremendous nights. right before him a precipice glimmered vast, and built itself up and up towards the stars. he lost no time, but curled himself up at the foot and fell asleep; and all night long his dreams were of kennebec, whose eyrie was at the top. with dawn he was up, and began to climb. though the precipice looked one huge unbroken wall, it had many crannies and crevices where you might get a foothold if you knew how to climb; and that is just what shasta could do beyond everything else. he could climb a tree like a marten, and among the rocks his foothold was as sure as that of a mountain sheep. he went up and up steadily; sometimes he had to wait while he searched for a sure foothold in the gigantic wall. here and there a shrub or tree would grow out of a crevice, and with the aid of these he pulled himself up, hand over hand, while half his body hung in air; and then the muscles of his back stood out like whipcord and rippled along his arms. as he climbed, the depth under him deepened. he had long passed above the summits of the loftiest pines. now the forest was far below him, and he was hanging between earth and sky in the middle air. he was climbing from the wolf-world, with its old familiar trails, to the world of the eagles, where the earth trails cease for ever in the trackless wastes of air. what had shoomoo or nitka, or the wolf-brothers, to do with this upper world where, surely, if you went on climbing, you must come at last to the sheep-walks of the stars where the pastures are steep about the moon? _and the world yawned under!_ a false footing, or the breaking of a shrub, and down he would go to certain death and be dashed to pieces. yet, in spite of the awful spaces about him and that yawning gulf below, there was no fear in him, nor any dizziness when he looked down. as he rested for a moment, and let his eyes wander, he gazed down five hundred feet as calmly as if he sat by the side of a quiet pool and watched the mirrored world. if kennebec had known what was approaching his eyrie on the impossible crags, he would have launched himself out at the intruder with fury and dashed him down the precipice; but he and his mate were far away, having left before dawn for a long journey, and had not come back. up in the nest in the cloven rock, the eaglets sat and wondered why neither of their parents returned with food. after a while shasta could see the eyrie rock and the ends of sticks which stuck out from the side. it was above him--right over the edge of the precipice. he had just reached it and was holding on to the branch of a stunted spruce which grew below the rock, when the branch cracked. without it the foothold was not sufficient, his feet were only clinging to the roughness of the rock; and suddenly that great chasm below seemed to suck him back. for one brief moment fear clutched at shasta's heart, and he seemed to feel himself falling--falling down the steep face of the world. then the muscles of his feet braced themselves, clinging to the rock; before they relaxed, his whole body became a steel spring, and, when the branch broke, his arms were round the stem of the tree. once his hands found firm hold there was no more danger; even with half his body hanging in air it was a simple thing for him to lift himself into the tree. in a few moments more he had scaled the rock and was looking down into the eagle's nest. as soon as his eyes fell on the eaglets his fingers began to twitch. they were horrible-looking things, scraggy in their bodies and covered with dark down, with short, stubby quills sticking out here and there. shasta hated these quillish young monsters with all his heart. they gawped up at him in their ridiculous way with their beaks open. the thing he wanted to do was to grab them at once by their ugly necks and send them spinning down the precipice; yet they looked so stupid, squatting there, that it seemed a silly thing to do. if they could have fought, and there could have been a struggle, he would not have hesitated. the nest was surrounded by a litter of bones and odds and ends of feathers and fur. if the eaglets were hungry it was not for want of gorging themselves in the past; the whole place spoke of kennebec's ravages, and his constant desire to kill. much of the food was only half-eaten, showing that there was no need for all this slaughter. it was left there to rot in the sun and to poison the sweet air. shasta was still hesitating what to do, when his eye fell on something which set his blood throbbing. it was the remains of the wolf-cub which kennebec had carried off. at the sight of it shasta became a different being; there was wolfish rage in his brain and a strange wolfish glitter in his eyes. he saw, in the ugly forms of the eaglets before him, the hateful offspring of the hated kennebec, the destroyer of his wolf-brother and the enemy of his race. the note of anguish in nitka's voice when she beheld her cub carried away before her eyes had not haunted his ears in vain. a wild desire to avenge his wolf-kindred swept over him; and now the chance to do so lay within his power--a chance which, in the countless moons that followed, might never come again! the thing was big; it was tremendous. if the eaglets were destroyed it would strike at the heart of kennebec--nay, at the heart of the whole eagle world! shasta stooped. he seized an eaglet fiercely by the neck, lifted it, swung it, sent it spinning dizzily out into the void. he watched it fall, tumbling over and over, down the immense depth, and then strike the summits of the trees. the second followed the fate of the first. shasta looked down savagely upon an empty nest. but what was that driving furiously up the long steeps of the dawn? it was coming swiftly, terribly, a blazing fire in its yellow eyes; and as the great wings thrashed the air the whistling roar of the approach filled all the hollow space. [illustration: what was that driving furiously up the long steeps of the dawn?] shasta needed only to look once to realize what was upon him; and that now, if ever, he was face to face with death. kennebec had _seen! he was coming back!_ chapter x how shasta hid in time that fierce approach of kennebec, sweeping up as from the remote ends of the hollow world, was a terrible thing to see. also, when the sound of it reached shasta's ears, it was terrible to hear. he knew that there was only one thing to do, and that he must do it without an instant's delay--to find some hiding-place where he would be safe from those awful claws and beak; for kennebec's anger would have no bounds when he discovered that the eaglets had been destroyed. to descend the cliff as he had come up would be impossible for shasta, as he was fully aware. once exposed upon that naked face of rock, kennebec would attack him with fury, and, ripping him from his foothold, dash him down below. he took in his surroundings with a swift glance. the place was composed entirely of rocks. they were jagged and splintered by the frosts and tempests of a million years. they wore a fierce and hungry look, like kennehec himself. it was the raw edge of the world. shasta lost not a moment. he fled along the tumbled rocks, as the mountain sheep flee when they are pursued by wolves. he could not tell where he was going nor where the rocks would end. the instinct in him was to seek refuge among the trees. surely upon the other side of the precipice he would find that the forest climbed! the forest was his friend, if he could reach it in time. under the shelter of the spruces he would be safe. the great eagle could not reach him there. but as he fled he heard the whistling rush of those fearful wings. they were close behind him now--closer and closer! he did not dare to look. he heard; he felt: that was enough. now the storming wings were over him. beating the air kennebec hovered, waiting for the swift downward rush, which, if it reached shasta, would be the end. for the moment the air seemed darkened with the shadow of those wings! then kennebec swooped. but even as he did so shasta darted suddenly to the left. he had seen an opening between the rocks, and, with the quickness which only wild animals possess, had bolted in. by the tenth part of a second and the tenth part of an inch kennebec missed his aim. instead of the soft body of shasta, those terrible claws of his met the hard rock. for an hour or more he hovered, raging over the spot where shasta had disappeared. but if he hoped that the boy would come out, he was disappointed. shasta might be half-wolf in his mind, but that did not make him a fool. on the contrary, his wolf-like instincts taught him to stay where he was, and to lie low as long as that winged fury raged overhead. the place into which he had crept was little more than a crevice between two enormous rocks, and could certainly not be called a cave. but, narrow as it was, there was ample room for shasta's little body; and settling himself into as comfortable a position as possible, he was presently asleep. that was part of his wolf-wisdom, learnt he didn't know how: "when there's nothing else to be done, sleep!" after a time kennebec grew tired of hovering over the crevice, so he settled down on a near pinnacle to watch. noon came and went. a burning heat scorched the rocks. it would have been far cooler up in the high levels of the air. nevertheless kennebec chose to sit stewing on his rock, with the glare of his great eyes fixed on the spot where shasta had disappeared. and the glare had a fierce intensity which seemed as if it were fiercer than even the sun's. for the hard and cruel light in it meant death to whatever should come within kennebec's power to kill. late in the afternoon shasta woke, and peeped out to see if there were any signs of kennebec. but the pinnacle upon which the eagle had taken up his watch was just out of sight, and shasta could not see him. in spite of the shade it was very stuffy in the crevice, and the thirst began to dry shasta's tongue. he thought of the cool green trails of the forest, and water sliding under the moss with a hollow trickle. now that kennebec seemed to have gone, it was a great temptation to slip out and make a bolt for the nearest trees. although they were not in sight, he was sure they must be there, just over the other side of the rocks. yet, in spite of the temptation, something told him that it was not safe to go. he could not see kennebec, it is true, yet a feeling--the sense that seldom fails to warn the wild creatures when danger is at hand--told him to remain where he was. and this obedience to his instinct saved his life. for though kennebec was out of sight, he was not gone. there he sat, on the burning rock, sultry with heat, but even sultrier with anger, watching and watching with the patience that is born of hate. it was not until the dusk fell, and the tawny light of sunset faded from the peaks, that he rose from his perch and flapped heavily away. when it was quite dark shasta crept out from his hiding-place and made his way softly over the rocks. he went slowly, setting his feet with the utmost care, for he knew that the least sound might betray his presence, and bring kennebec's terrible talons upon him, even in the dark. at last, to his joy, he saw the summits of the spruces glowing against the stars, and in a few minutes more he was safe beneath the trees. chapter xi shasta's restlessness and what came of it after shasta's exploit against kennebec, he became doubly marked as a person among the forest folk. along the wild news flies quickly. it is carried not only by swift feet and keen noses: it seems to travel as well by mysterious carriers, who spread it through the length and breadth of the land. what these carriers are, and what is the manner and meaning of their coming and going, only the wild creatures know. _they_ see them with their large eyes which deepen with the dusk! _they_ hear the soft whisper of their going on the wind-trails of the air! we should not see them, you or i, because our eyes are too accustomed to the artificial lights, and because around our minds are built the brick walls of the world. but the wild creatures, whose eyes have never been dulled by electricity, nor their ears stunned by the roar of the motors, see and hear the spirit faces and the flowing shapes which go by under the trees. so not many hours had passed before the great news of shasta's coming had spread through the wilderness. and particularly the wolves took hold of it, and regarded shasta as a sort of little god. no one had ever dared to dispute kennebec's mastery before. kennebec was so high and mighty that whatever he did must be suffered, even though you raged against it in your heart. but now the strange cub had done the unthinkable deed. he had done it and escaped. all those who had lost their young through kennebec's evil claws rejoiced that now at last the tyrant was punished, and felt their wrongs avenged. never more would kennebec feel safe upon his precipice that climbed up to the stars. feet and hands that had scaled it before might do so again. the fear of it would haunt him through the burning days and the breathless nights. yet, in spite of shasta's growing importance among his wild kindred, a strange restlessness began to stir within him, and to move along his blood. and when the mood was strongest, his thoughts turned continually towards the place of the rocks where he had joined the wolf chorus and sung himself into the heart of the pack. it was the memory of the music which haunted him most, and when, from afar off, he would hear some wild wolf-note come sobbing through the night, the sound would set him thrilling till every hair on his body seemed to be alive. yet always, following hard upon the remembrance of the chorus, would come that other memory of tall wolfish shapes, that moved on their hind legs, and of that red glow in the circle of things that did not move: all of it down there, at the foot of the precipice, as if one looked down through the canyon of sleep to the low lair of a dream. one day when the thing was strong upon him, he met gomposh, and asked him what it was. gomposh said little, but thought much. he knew that at certain seasons all things follow a craving within them, and that it made them follow far trails, leading to distant ranges from which they did not always return. the geese went north, honking their mysterious cry. the caribou made long journeys, and deepened the ancient trails. the mountain sheep left their high pastures, guided by an instinct, which never failed, to the salt-lick in the lowlands to the south. and now it was plain to gomposh that the strange cub had a craving within him also. it was not to find a lair in the north, nor a salt-lick in the south. it was not to change pasture for pasture, in the way of the caribou. gomposh knew certainly that it was none of those things; but that it was the call of the blood that was in him, the secret indian call, that penetrated even through the deep forests, far into the inmost heart of the wilderness where he lay outcast from his kind. but though gomposh thought the thing clearly enough in his deep mind, he did not worry it into actual words. "it is a good restlessness," he said. "it is of the other part of you that is not wolf. follow the restlessness of your blood." that, in the sense of it, was what gomposh gave shasta to understand, though he said it in his own peculiar way. after that shasta's mind was very busy with the new thing that had come to him, and before long he let it have its way, and started on his journey by himself. the wolves watched him go, but did not attempt to stop him. the growing unrest that had been in him had not escaped them. for, apart from the feeling which it produced, shasta's outward behaviour was different from before. he came and went continually, restless and ill at ease. the very air about the cave seemed to breathe unrest, and the wolves themselves became restless, though they could not tell the reason why. yet, although they did nothing to hinder him in his final departing, nitka's eyes watched him regretfully as his little body disappeared among the trees. he travelled on without stopping until he reached the spot where the great chorus had taken place. as he approached the neighbourhood, he grew more and more excited. the memories of that wonderful singing night came crowding back upon him. it was broad daylight now, for it was at the middle of the afternoon; and when he reached the high rocks, he could see far and wide over the foothills and the prairies beyond. he marvelled at the bigness of the world, and at the vast sunny spaces, shadowless in the heat. out there in the immense sunlight there were no forests to break the glare. the heat glimmered and swam. it was as if the sunlight were a beating pulse. from where he crouched first the indian camp was hidden; but his curiosity was too strong to allow him to remain where he was; so, very cautiously, he crept to the extreme edge of the rocks and looked over. there it was, the same strange circle of things which he could not understand. also the upright wolves were there, walking about singly, or standing in little groups. shasta watched them intently with shining eyes. and as he looked, the confused murmur of an indian camp rose to his ears--voices of men and women, the barking of dogs, and the crying of children; also a slow and measured sound, which seemed to the boy to be even more disquieting than the other unaccustomed noises--the beating of an indian tom-tom for a sacred dance. he was so intent upon watching the camp below that it was only a slight noise behind which made him aware that danger was approaching. he turned his head quickly and then remained spellbound. not a dozen paces away stood a tall form, motionless as a rock. its hair was long, falling to its shoulders. a single eagle's feather stood up straight behind the head. it was dressed in tanned buckskin, and carried a bow of sarvis-berry wood. the quiver, from which the ends of the long feathered arrows appeared, was of the yellow skin of a buffalo calf. shasta gazed at this strange apparition with awe. somehow or other, he felt that it had to do with the camp down below. he was afraid of it. he wanted to run. yet an overmastering desire to look his fill at the thing left him where he was. for a minute or two the indian and the boy looked at each other without making a sound. then the indian made a step forward, and shasta growled low in his throat. if shasta was astonished at the indian, the indian was equally astonished at shasta. the boy's appearance was extraordinarily wild. his matted hair fell straggling over his face. in order to see clearly, he had to shake it out of his eyes continually. it was more like an animal's mane than human hair, and gave him a ferocious look. his constant exposure to the sun and air, unprotected by any clothes, had thickened the short hair upon his body till it was covered completely with a fine downy growth. when the indian heard the wolfish snarl he paused. through the thick mane of shasta's head he saw the gleam of intensely black eyes. then he advanced again. shasta looked sharply to left and right, measuring distances. then he leapt to his feet and began to run. but he ran in wolf fashion, on all fours. fast though he went, the indian was faster. he heard the quiet pad of moccasined feet behind him. terror seized him. his one thought was to gain the shelter of the friendly trees. before he could reach them, however, the indian was upon him. shasta felt something seize his hair behind. his first instinct was that of a wild animal trapped, and he turned in fury upon his assailant. but before he could do any damage, the indian threw him down, and fastened his arms with a throng. it was in vain that shasta struggled with all his strength to free himself. the indian was too powerful and the deerskin throng held fast. when he was finally secured, his captor lifted him under his arm and carried him down towards the camp. after struggling fiercely for some time, shasta became still. it was not only that he felt that further resistance would be useless. something seemed to tell him that, as long as he remained quiet, the indian would do him no harm. for the first time since he was a tiny papoose, the smell that clings about all things indian came to his nose. it was an unfamiliar smell, yet, somehow, it was not new. his eyes and his ears had brought with him no memories of his forgotten infancy: his nose was faithful to the past. what faint, glimmering memories of the indian lodges it brought; of the camp fire, and the cooking; of the buckskin clothes and untanned hides; all the clinging odours of that old indian life--who shall say? now, as he was carried captive to his own people, quite unconscious though he was that he belonged to them, the indian scent was a pleasant thing, so that he was soothed by it, and even, for the moment, subdued. it took some time to gain the camp, for the downward way was steep, and there was no trail. moreover shasta, lying limp as he did, was a dead weight, and not easy to carry. at last the descent was made, and the camp reached. the indian put his burden down. chapter xii shasta sees his redskin kindred not more than a couple of minutes had passed before the news of the capture had gone through the camp. the indians, old and young, men, women and children, came crowding round to see this strange monster which looking-all-ways had found. shasta, sitting hunched upon his calves, glared round at the company with his beady eyes shining through the masses of his hair. the indians, seeing the glitter of them, thought it wiser not to come too close, and every time shasta threw back his head to shake the hair out of his eyes, a murmur went through the crowd. looking-all-ways told his tale. he had been hunting on the caribou barren, behind the high rocks. on his return, he had come upon the little monster crouching on the rocks where the wolves had gathered, and looking down upon the camp. poor little shasta gazed at the strange beings around him with wonder and awe. he did not feel a monster. it was they who were the monsters--these tall, smooth-faced creatures with skins that seemed to be loose, and not belonging to their bodies at all! no wonder his eyes glittered as he turned them quickly this way and that, taking in all the details of his surroundings with marvellous rapidity. the thing excited him beyond measure. he felt a growing desire to throw back his head and howl. for a time nothing happened. the indians were content to stare at him in astonishment, while shasta glared back. then the chief, big eagle, gave orders that his arms should be untied. looking-all-ways stepped forward and unloosened the deer-skin thong. shasta submitted quietly, for he had a strong feeling within him that it was the best thing to do. only he wanted to howl so very badly! yet he kept the howl down in his throat, and crouched, humped up, with his hands upon the ground. suddenly one of the indians, bolder than the rest, touched shasta's back, running his hand down his spine. like a flash, shasta, whirling round, with a wolfish snarl, seized the offending hand. with a cry of fear and pain the indian sprang back, snatching his hand away. after that, the indians gave shasta more room, for now they had a wholesome dread of his temper. if they had not touched him, shasta would not have turned on them. but the touch of that strange hand maddened him, and set his pulses throbbing. it was the wild blood in him that rebelled. in common with all really wild creatures, he could not bear to be touched by a human hand. and all his life afterwards he was the same. he never overcame the shrinking from being touched by his fellows. after a while the indians began to move off, and soon shasta was left to himself with only looking-all-ways to watch him. for some time shasta stayed where he was without stirring. he wanted to take in his new surroundings fully, before deciding what to do. the only thing about him that he moved was his head and his eyes. he kept moving his head rapidly this way and that, as some unfamiliar sound caught his ear. he observed the shapes of things, and their colour and movements, with a piercing gaze which saw everything and lost nothing. and because he was so true to his wolf training, he sniffed at them hard, to make them more understandable through his nose. it was all so utterly new and unexpected that it was like being popped down into the middle of another world. next to the indians themselves, the things that astonished him most were their lodges. he watched with a feeling of awe the owners going in and out. some of the lodges were closed. over the entrances flaps of buffalo-skin were laced, and no one entered or came out. shasta had a feeling that behind the laced flaps mysterious things were lurking--he could not tell what. or perhaps they were the dens where the she-indians hid their cubs. if so, they were strangely silent and gave no sign of life. many of the tepees were ornamented with painted circles and figures of animals and birds that ran round the hides. at the top, under the ends of the lodge-poles, the circles represented the sun, moon and planets. below, where the tepee was widest and touched the ground, the circles were what the indians call "dusty stars," and were imitations of the prairie puff-balls, which, when you touch them, fall swiftly into dust. the tepee against which shasta crouched was ringed by these dusty stars, but he did not know what they were meant for. he only saw in them round daubs of yellow paint. and because he knew nothing about painting, or that one thing could be laid on another, he thought that the tepees and their decorations had _grown_ as they were, like tall mushrooms, bitten small in their tops by the white teeth of the moon. but wherever his gaze wandered, it always returned to looking-all-ways, who sat a few paces away towards the sun, and smoked a pipe of polished stone. and there was this peculiarity about looking-all-ways, that, although his name suggested a swift and prairie-wide glance, which made it impossible for one to take him by surprise, he had a habit of sitting in a sleepy attitude, staring dreamily straight in front of him, as if he noticed nothing that was going on around. shasta, of course, did not yet know his name. all he knew was that if looking-all-ways had a slow eye, he was extremely swift as to his feet. and as he watched him, he measured distances with his own cunning eyes behind his heavy hair. this distance, and that! so far from the last porcupine quill on looking-all-ways' leggings to the nearest toe-nail on shasta's naked foot! so far again from the toe-nail to the dusty stars at the edge of the tepee; and from the tepee itself to that lump of rising ground toward the northwest! shasta began to lay his plans cunningly. if he made straight for the knoll, looking-all-ways might catch him before he could reach it, but if he darted behind the tepee, he might be able to dodge and double, and make lightning twists in the air, and so baffle the indian until he could reach the trees. as always, when in danger, shasta's instincts turned toward the trees. it was not until long afterwards that he learnt the ancient medicine song and sung: "the trees are my medicine. when i am among them, i walk around my own medicine." shasta was nervous of the tepee--he did not know what might be immediately behind it. that was one reason which kept him so long where he was. if he could see what was on the other side he would feel better, and more inclined to run. another reason was the sense of being surrounded on all sides by strange creatures whose behaviour was so utterly unlike the wolves that there was no saying what they would do the moment he started to run. yet, whenever he looked away from the lodges, there were the high bluffs and the precipices, and the summits of the spruces and the pines, like the ragged edges of the wolf-world. that way lay freedom, and the life that had no terror for him, and in which he was at home. the more he looked at the tree-tops over the summits of the rising ground to the northwest, the more he felt the desire growing in him to be up and away. at last the moment came when he could bear it no longer. he glanced warily at his captor before making the dash. the time seemed favourable. looking-all-ways had his eyes upon the remote horizon. there was a dull look in them as if they were glazed with dreams. suddenly, without the slightest warning, shasta leapt and disappeared behind the tepee. the thing was done with the quickness of a wolf. in spite of that, the slumberous-looking mass of the indian uncoiled itself like a spring. the dream-glaze over his eyeballs vanished in a flash. instantly they became the eyes of an eagle when he swoops. shasta had scarcely reached the back of the tepee when the indian was on his feet and had started in pursuit. this time shasta did not make the mistake of running a straight course. he made a zigzag line through the outermost tepees, turning and twisting with bewildering quickness. even when he darted out into the open, he did not run straight. it was a marvel to see how he turned and doubled. and every time when looking-all-ways, with his greater speed, was almost upon him, shasta would draw his muscles together and leap sideways like a wolf. and every time he leaped, he was nearer to freedom than before. suddenly something happened which he could not understand. looking-all-ways was not near him. he was farther behind than he had been at the beginning of the chase. yet shasta felt something slip over his head, tighten round his body with a terrible grip, and bring him to the ground with a jerk. when he looked round in astonishment and terror, there was his pursuer fifty paces away, at the other end of a raw-hide lariat! shasta struggled and tore at the hateful thing which was biting into his naked body. but the thing held. the more he struggled the tighter it became. it was dragging him back to the camp. in a very few minutes he was among the lodges again and knew that escape was hopeless. after this attempt, the indians secured him firmly with thongs, one of which was fastened to a stake driven in the ground. they were fond of making pets of wild animals. and now they felt they had in their midst a creature so wonderful that it was more than half human, and which might prove to be a powerful "medicine" to the tribe. once more they crowded round the strange boy, and jabbered to each other in their throats. shasta had never heard such odd sounds. the strange eyes in their hairless faces troubled him, but the noises that came out of their mouths made him tingle all over. it was not until near sunset that the crowd separated, the indians going back to their evening meal. shasta looked wistfully at the sun as it dipped to the mountains, rested for a moment or two upon their summits and then disappeared. the sun was going to his tepee, and the stars which decorated it were not dusty. but they would not bind him with deer-thongs, the people in those lodges; for nothing is bound there, where the sun and moon go upon the ancient trails. and of those trails only the "wolf-trail" is visible, worn across the heavens by the moccasins of the indian dead. the smell of the cooking came to shasta's nose, and tickled it pleasantly. not far off, a group of squaws were cooking buffalo tongues. seeing his eyes upon them, one of them took a tongue from the pot and threw it to him with a laugh. shasta drew back, eyeing it suspiciously--this steaming, smelling thing which lay upon the ground. but by degrees the pleasant smell of it overcame him, and he began to eat. it was his first taste of cooked food. when he had finished, he licked his lips with satisfaction, and wished for more. but though the squaws laughed at him, they did not offer him another, for buffalo tongues are a delicacy and not to be lightly given away. the smoke of many fires was now rising from the lodges. besides the cooking, shasta could smell the sweet smell of burning cottonwood. as the dusk fell and twilight deepened into night, the lodges shone out more and more plainly, lit by inside fires. and in the rising and falling of the flames the painted animals upon the hides seemed to quiver into life, and to chase each other continually round the circles of the tepees. then, one by one, the fires died down, and the lodges ceased to shine. they became dark and silent, hiding the sleepers within. only one here and there would give out a ghostly glimmer like a sentinel who watched. as long as the lodges glimmered shasta did not dare to move. he felt as if the dusty stars of them were eyes upon him. but when the last glimmer died, and all the tepees were dark, he began to move stealthily backwards and forwards, tugging at the thongs. but, try as he would, he could not loosen them. they were too cunningly arranged for his unskilled fingers to undo, and when he tried his strong white teeth upon them he had no better success. the camp was very still. presently the wind rose and made the lodge ears flap gently. shasta did not know what it was, and the sound made him uneasy. all at once there was another sound which set his pulses throbbing. it was a long, sobbing cry, coming down from the mountains. in the midst of his strange surroundings it was like a voice from home. he knew it for the voice of a wolf-brother walking along the high roof of the world. he waited for it to come again. in the pause, nothing broke the stillness, except the gentle flap, flap of the lodge-ears at the top of the tepees. again the cry came. this time it sounded less clear, as if the wolf were farther away. shasta felt a desperate sense of loneliness. he was being left to his fate. if the wolf-brother went away and did not know that he was there, how would he carry a message to the rest of the pack? for if nitka only knew that he was taken captive by these strange man-wolves, surely she would come and rescue him, if any power of rescue lay in her feet and paws. shasta did not wait any longer. he threw his head backwards and let out a long, howling cry. it was the genuine wolf-cry. any wolf hearing it would recognize it at once, and answer it in his mind even if he did not give tongue. the noise aroused the indian huskies, but before they yelped a reply the wolf on the mountains howled again, and shasta knew that his call had been answered. he howled back louder and more desperately than before. the mournful singing note went with a throb and a quiver far into the night, and the wind, catching it, sped it farther on its way. again the answering cry came back from the mountains. it came singing down the canyon like a live and quivering thing. now the huskies could bear it no longer. they broke out into a loud clamour, rushing about wildly, and yelping at the top of their voices. in a moment, the whole camp was astir. the indians rushed out of their lodges to see what was the matter, shouting to each other and bidding the women and children stay where they were. looking-all-ways came running to shasta, fearing lest he should have escaped. but shasta, the cause of it all, sat there quietly crouched in front of the tepee, and making no outward sign, though every nerve in his body was tingling with excitement. it was some time before the camp settled down again and peace was restored. every now and again a husky would whine uneasily, or give the ghost-bark which indians say the dogs give when spirits are abroad. but by decrees even these uneasy ones dropped off to sleep, and no sound broke the intense stillness which brooded over the camp. shasta, however, had no thought of sleep. his mind and body were both wide awake. to him the silence was only a cloak, which muffled, but did not kill, all sorts of fine sounds that trembled on the air. the wind had dropped now, and the flapping of the lodge-ears had ceased. he listened intently, waiting, always waiting, for what he knew would come. it was in the strange hour just before dawn that two grey wolf-shapes came loping down the mountainside. they approached the camp warily, bellies close to the ground, and eyes a-glimmer in the dark. it was nitka and shoomoo. the huskies were fast asleep and did not hear them. on they came, moving as soundlessly as the shadows which they seemed. they crept in among the ring of tepees. on all sides lay the sleeping indians, unconscious that, in their very midst, two great wolves were creeping towards their goal. if shasta had been on the leeward side, he would have scented their approach, but he sat crouched to the windward of the wolves and was not aware of their coming until they had actually entered the camp. then his wolf-sense warned him that something not indian was moving between the lodges. so that when, suddenly, nitka's long body glided into view, he was not astonished, and not in the least alarmed. her cold nose against his arm, and then the warm caress of her tongue, told him all she wanted him to know. close behind her stood shoomoo. but he did not caress shasta. as usual, he kept his feelings to himself, and waited for nitka to take the lead. nitka had never seen deer-thongs before, nor how they could bind you so that you could not move. but her keen brain soon took in the problem, and once her brain grasped the thing she was ready to act. holding down with one paw the thong which bound shasta to the stake, she set her gleaming teeth to work. shoomoo followed her example, and in a very few minutes the thing was cut, and shasta was once more free. directly shasta felt that he was free, a wild joy took possession of him. it was not the indians themselves that terrified him so much as the feeling of being a prisoner in their hands. to be bound, to be helpless, not to be able to run when you wished--that was the terrible thing. the creatures themselves--the smooth-faced hind-leg-walking wolves--seemed harmless enough. at least, they had not yet shown any signs of wanting to hurt him. and something almost drew him to them with a drawing which he could not understand. still, the thing which made it impossible to feel they were really friends was this being bound in their midst, with this horrible rawhide thong. directly nitka's teeth had done the work, and he felt that he could move from the stake, his own thought was to make sure of his freedom by leaving the camp without a moment's delay. so far, nothing seemed to have warned the indians what was going on. the camp was wonderfully still. in a few minutes more the dawn would break. when it did, danger would begin for all wild things within or near the circle of the camp. above, the stars still shone brightly between the slow drift of the clouds. the tall shapes of the lodges loomed black and threatening, like creatures that watched. now that the work for which they had come was finished, both nitka and shoomoo were uneasy and anxious to be gone. the smells of the camp did not please them as they had pleased shasta. to their noses, they were the danger scents of something which they did not understand. and _fear_ was in their hearts. it was not the fear that wild animals have of each other; it was deeper down. it was the instinctive fear of man. as soon as she had gnawed through the thong, and nosed at shasta to satisfy herself that he was not only free but able to make use of his legs, nitka gave the sign to shoomoo. what sign it was, no one not born of wolf blood could have told you. even shasta could not have done so, though he was aware that the sign was given, for the unspoken sign-language of the animals is not to be cramped into the narrow shapes of human speech. whatever the sign was, shoomoo obeyed. he slid round the nearest tepee as noiselessly as if his great body floated on the air. shasta followed, with nitka close behind. she had led the way into the camp, because of her greater cunning, but now it was for shoomoo to find the way out. her place now was close to her strange cub, so that she could protect him on the instant from any danger that might threaten. two grey shadows had drifted into camp. now three were stealing out, under the stars, and no human eye watched their stealthy departure. all would have been well, if an unlucky husky dog had not happened to wake as the three shadows glided past. there was a short bark, a rush, and a worrying snarl. then one piercing yelp rent the silence, and the husky lay a bleeding form, thrown by shoomoo's jaws three yards away. with that the whole husky pack was on its feet, roused from its slumbers in an instant. at least twenty furious dogs hurled themselves at the wolves. never had nitka and shoomoo a finer chance to show their fighting power. from two large grey timber-wolves they seemed to transform themselves into leaping whirlwinds that snatched and tore, and flung husky dogs like chaff into the air. at first shasta was in the centre of the fight. he could not, of course, help his foster parents, for his teeth and hands were useless at such a time; all he could do was to save himself as much as possible from the brunt of the attack. this he did by crouching, leaping and running when the right moment came. beyond everything else, he kept his throat protected with his arms, for his wolf-knowledge and training taught him that this was the danger spot, which if you did not guard, meant the losing of your life. once or twice he felt a stinging pain, as a husky snatched at him and the sharp teeth scored his flesh; but each time the dog paid dearly for his rashness, and was not for biting any more. it was only when nitka or shoomoo was busy finishing a dog that the thing happened. otherwise, they kept close to shasta, one on each side, guarding him from attack. each time shasta was touched, nitka's anger passed all bounds. she not only punished the offender with death, but she tore at the other dogs with redoubled fury. so the fight rolled towards the forest--a yapping, snarling mass of leaping bodies and snatching teeth. in its track the bodies of dead and dying huskies lay bleeding on the dark ground. the thing that shasta dreaded most was lest the indians should come to the rescue of their dogs. but having had one false alarm, they did not trouble to rouse themselves again, and even looking-all-ways remained on his bed of buffalo robes and said evil things of the huskies for disturbing his repose. it was not many minutes before the fight was over. the huskies, finding themselves outmatched by the superior strength and fury of the wolves, began to lose heart. when the moment came that they had had enough of it, the wolves seemed to know it by instinct they passed in a flash, from defence to attack, and, covering shasta's retreat towards the trees, they charged the pack with unequalled fury. such an onset was irresistible. the huskies gave way before it, completely routed. their only care was how to save their skins, as they fled, yelping into the night. of the twenty dogs which had attacked the wolves, only ten found their way back to camp; and of these many had ugly wounds which they carried as scars to the end of their days. it had been so great a fight that the indians marvelled when the morning light showed them the blood-stained ground and the bodies of the dogs that had died in the fray. all the way back through the dark woods shasta felt a great joy within him. and the gloom seemed alive with things that gave him greeting as he ran. he could not see them clearly--those things. yet now and then something shadowy stirred, and swayed towards him, or drifted softly by. and though they were so faint and shadowy, he knew them for the good, secret things of the forest, which none but the wild creatures know. his wounds were a little sore, but, even as he ran, nitka found time to doctor them with her tongue. she paid no heed to her own. there would be time enough to attend to them when they had reached the den. neither she nor shoomoo had really dangerous wounds, although they were bleeding in many places. a day or two's rest and licking would make them all right, and as long as their man-cub was safe they did not care. it was bright morning before they reached the den. the sun had risen and was pouring down upon the bargloosh all the freshness of his early beams. from the tip of a fir branch, a clear little song slipped into the morning air. it was killooleet, the white-throated sparrow, trilling his morning tune. he had his nest somewhere near the den, only the wolves never found out where. all they knew him by was his song, and the flicker of his flight as he darted daintily past. the very fanning of his wings seemed to sweeten the air. as for his song--he spilt it out at them in little trickling tunes all through the day, or whenever he happened to wake up in the night. the old wolves didn't mind him much, one way or the other, but shasta was fond of him, and used to make a gurgle in his throat whenever killooleet spilt his voice. and now, as he approached the cave, the song of killooleet seemed a welcome home, and when he looked up into the tree there was killooleet perched on the fir-tip, with the sunlight shining full on his little wobbling throat! chapter xiii the bull moose gomposh's lair was in the black heart of the cedar swamp. old though the cedars were, gomposh had the feeling of being even older. he liked the ancientness of the place; its dankness and darkness, and, above all, its silence--the silence of green decaying things. it was so silent that he could almost _hear_ himself thinking, and his thoughts seemed to make more noise even than his great padded feet. under the grey twisted trunks, the ground oozed with moisture, which fed the pits of black water that never went dry even in the summer drought. whatever life stirred in those black pits, occasionally disturbing their stagnant surfaces with oily ripples, it did not greatly affect gomposh. he preferred not to bother about them, and to devote his mind instead to the clumps of fat fungus--white, red, pink and orange--which, glowed like dull lamps in the heart of the gloom. the taste of their flabby fatness pleased his palate. it was not exactly an exciting form of food; but it grew on your doorstep, so to speak, and saved a lot of trouble. and when you wanted to vary your diet, there were the skunk cabbages and other damp vegetables. another thing that recommended the place to the old bear was its comparative freedom from other animals. goohooperay, it is true, inhabited the hollow hemlock on the farther side of the swamp, but he seldom came near gomposh's lair, since his activities took him generally to the open slopes of the bargloosh where the hunting was fair to medium, and sometimes even good. his voice, of course, was a thing to be regretted, and when, on first getting out of bed, he would perch at the top of his tree and send the loudest parts of himself shrilling lamentably far out into the twilight, gomposh's little eyes would shine with disapproval, and he would make remarks to himself deep down in his throat. but a voice cannot be cuffed into silence, when it has wings that carry it out of the reach of your paw, and so gomposh had to content himself with a little wholesome grumbling which, after all, kept him from becoming all fungus and fat, and made him change his feeding-ground from place to place. the only other bird that ever intruded upon his privacy was the nuthatch. but as this little bird, being one of the quietest of all the feathered folk, spent its time mainly in sliding up and down the cedar trunks like a shadow without feet, only now and then giving forth a tiny faint note in long silences, as if it were apologizing to itself for being there at all--gomposh couldn't find it in his heart to lodge a complaint. he would lie in his lair for hours and hours, listening contentedly to the fat, oozy silence, and observing the solemn gloom in which the colours of the red and orange toadstools seemed loud enough to make a noise, and wish that the nuthatch needn't go on apologizing. the lair was in a deep hollow, between the humpy roots of a large old cedar. it was dry enough, except when the rains were very heavy, as it was tunnelled out on the edge of one of the hardwood knolls which rose up from the swamp here and there, like the last remaining hill-tops of a drowned world. to make this hole still more rainproof, and at the same time warmer, gomposh had covered the cedar roots with boughs which he had contrived cunningly into a roof! oh, he was a wise, wary old person, was gomposh! and the experience of unnumbered winters had taught him that when the blizzards come swirling over the bargloosh from the northeast, it is a grand and comforting thing to have a good roof over you, thatched thick and warm with snow. so to this deep cave in the roots of the cedar when the wind moaned in the draughty tops of the spruce woods and the frost bit with invisible teeth, gomposh, bulging with berries and fat, would retire for the winter, and sleep, and sleep, and sleep! toadstools and various sorts of berries made up the principal part of his diet; but as berries did not grow in the swamp, and after a time he had eaten all the best toadstools in the neighbourhood of his den, he occasionally found it pleasant to leave the swamp and ascend to the blueberry barrens high up on the slopes of the bargloosh. one morning, not many days after shasta's return to his wolf kin, gomposh got up with the berry feeling in him very bad. it was a little early for blueberries, but there were other things he might find--perhaps an indian pear with its sweet though tasteless fruit, ripened early in some sunny spot. and anyhow there were always confiding beetles under stones, and whole families of insects that live in rotten logs. he left his lair, picking his way carefully between the humpy roots that made the ground lift itself into such strange shapes, and setting his great padded feet on the thick moss as delicately as a fox, so that, in case some mouse or water-rat should be out of its hole, he might catch it unawares with one of the lightning movements of his immense paw. at the edge of the swamp he pushed his way stealthily through a thicket of indian willows and then paused to sniff the air with that old sensitive nose of his which brought him tidings of the trails as to what was abroad, with a fine certainty that could not err. but, sniff as he would, nothing came to his questing nostrils except the smell that was as old as the centuries--the raw, keen sweetness of the wet spruce and fir forests, mixed with the homely scent of the cedar swamp. yet in spite of this, he did not move without the utmost caution, and, for all his apparent clumsiness, his vast furry bulk seemed to drift in among the spruces with the quietness of smoke. far away on the other side of the lake, a great bull moose was making his way angrily through the woods, looking for the cow he had heard calling to him at dawn, and thrashing the bushes with his mighty antlers as a challenge to any one who should be rash enough to dispute his title of lord of the wilderness. but as he was travelling up-wind, and was, moreover, too far away for the sound of his temper to carry, gomposh's unerring nose did not receive the warning as he ascended the bargloosh with the berry want in his inside. he was half-way up the mountain, when, all at once, he stopped, and swung his nose into the wind. something was abroad now--something with a warmer, thicker scent than the sharp tang of the spruces. what was it? there was a smell of wolf in it, and yet again something which was not wolf. it was a mixture of scents so finely jumbled together that only a nose like gomposh's could have disentangled them. in spite of his immense knowledge of the thousand ways in which the wilderness kindreds spill themselves upon the air, the old bear was puzzled. so, in order to give his mind perfect leisure to attend to his nose, gomposh sank back on his haunches, and then sat bolt upright with his paws hanging idly in the air. the scent came more and more plainly. and as it grew, gomposh's brain worked faster and faster. the smell was half strange and half familiar. where had he smelt it before? and then, suddenly, he _knew_. shasta, stealing through the spruces as noiselessly as any of the wild brotherhood, thought he had done an extremely clever thing. he fully believed he had caught an old black bear unawares, sitting up on the trail and sniffing at nothing, with his paws dangling foolishly before him. it was not until the boy was close upon him that gomposh quickly turned his head, and pretended to be surprised. shasta, recognizing his old friend, came slowly forward with shining eyes. at first gomposh did not speak, but that was not surprising. gomposh was not one to rush into speech when you could express so much by saying nothing. to be able to express a good deal, and yet not to put it into the shape of words--to say things with your whole body and mind without making noises with your mouth and throat--is a wonderful faculty. few people know anything about it; because half the business of people's lives is carried on in the mouth, and they are not happy or wise enough to be quiet; but the beasts use it continually; because they are very happy and very wise. so gomposh looked at shasta, and shasta looked at gomposh, and for a long time neither of them made a sound. but the mind that was in gomposh's big body, and the body that was outside gomposh's big mind, went on quietly making all sorts of observations which shasta easily understood. so he knew, just as well as if gomposh had said it, that the bear was telling him he had been on his travels; also that things were different in him; that he was another sort of person, because many things had happened to him in the meantime. exactly what those things were, gomposh did not know; but he knew what the effect was which they had produced in shasta. he knew that the part of shasta that was not wolf had mingled with that part of the world which also is not wolf, and that therefore he was a little less wolfish than before. at first shasta felt a little uncomfortable at the way gomposh looked him calmly through and through. it was as if gomposh said: "we are a long way off, little brother. we have travelled far apart. but i catch you with the mind." and shasta couldn't help feeling as if he had done something of which he was ashamed. he had left the wild kindred--the wolf-father, the wolf-mother, all that swift, stealthy, fierce wolf-world that had its going among the trees. he had gone out to search for another kindred, almost as swift, stealthy and fierce as the wolves themselves, yet of a strange, unnamable cunning, and of a smell stranger still. and yet with all this strangeness, the new kindred had fastened itself upon him with a hold which shasta could not shake off, as of something which his half-wolf nature could neither resist nor deny. and the more gomposh looked at him out of his little piercing eyes, the more keenly he felt that the old bear was realizing this hold upon him of the new kindred, far off beyond the trees. when at last gomposh spoke--that is, when he allowed the wisdom that was in him to ooze out in bear language--what he remarked amounted to this: "you have found the new kindred. you have learnt the new knowledge. you are less wolf than you were." shasta did not like being told that he had grown less a wolf. it was just as if gomposh had accused him of having lost something which was not to be recovered. "i am just the same as i was," he replied stoutly; but he knew it was not true. "the moons have gone by, and the moons have gone by," gomposh said. "the runways have been filled with folk. but you have not come along them. you have not watched them. you have missed everything that has gone by." shasta made it clear that one could not be everywhere at the same time, and that, anyhow, he had not missed the moons. "no one misses the moons," gomposh remarked gravely, "except those of us who go to sleep. it is a pleasant sleep in the winter when we go sleeping through the moons." "nitka and shoomoo do not sleep," shasta said boastfully. "we do not sleep the winter sleep--we of the wolves!" "and so you do not find the world beautifully new when you wake up in the spring," gomposh said. that was a fresh idea to shasta. he knew what a wonderful thing it was to find the world new every day, but it must seem terribly new indeed to you after the winter sleep. the thought of hunger came to his rescue. "you must be very hungry," he said triumphantly. "it is better to be very hungry once and get it over," gomposh said composedly, "than to go on being hungry all the winter when they tell me food is scarce." another fresh thought for shasta! if gomposh kept on putting new ideas into him at this rate, he felt as if something unpleasant must happen in his head. if he had been rather more of a boy, and rather less of a wolf, he might have been inclined to argue with gomposh, just for the sake of arguing. as it was, he was wise enough to realize that gomposh knew more than he did; and that however new or uncomfortable the things were that gomposh said, they were most likely true. so he said nothing more for some time, but kept turning over in his head the fresh ideas about newness and hunger, and the being less a wolf. "you will not stay among us," gomposh said after a long pause. "you will go back to the new kindred, and the new smell." shasta felt frightened at that--so frightened as to be indignant. he was afraid lest the old bear might be saying what was true. and the memory of the hide thong that had cut into his flesh and of the horrible captivity when he had been forced to stay in one small space, whether he liked it or not, made him feel more and more strongly that he would not go back whatever happened. as gomposh did not seem inclined to talk any more, shasta thought he would continue his walk. it was good to be out on the trails again, passing where the wild feet passed that had never known what it was to be held prisoners in one place. and as he went, all his senses were on the watch to see and hear and smell everything that was going on. softly he went, without the slightest sound, putting his hands and feet so delicately to the ground that not a leaf rustled, not a twig snapped. but wary though he was, other things were even warier. gleaming eyes he did not see watched him out of sight. keen noses winded him--noses of creatures that kept their bodies a secret almost from themselves! and so when shasta suddenly found himself face to face with a big bull moose he nearly jumped out of himself with astonishment. it was not the first time that he had seen moose. in the early summer, down in the alder thicket at the edge of the lake, shasta, watching motionless between the leaves, had seen a big cow and her lanky calf come down into the lake. the cow began to busy herself by pulling water-lily roots, and the calf nosed along the bank in an inquisitive manner as if it still found the world a most bewildering place. they did not seem animals to be frightened at; and even the big cow looked a harmless sort of being whose mind, what there was of it, was in her mouth and ears. but the huge bull now in front of shasta was a very different sort of beast. from the ground to the ridge of the immense fore shoulders, he measured a good six feet. that great humped ridge covered with thick black hair seemed to mound itself over some enormous strength which lay solid and compact ready to hurl itself forth at an instant's notice in one terrifying blow which would smash any object that dared to challenge it. but what impressed shasta more than anything else was the great spread of polished antlers on each side of his head. antlers like those he had never seen. it was like wearing a forest on your forehead: it made you uncomfortable to look at: it was like being an animal and a tree at the same time. the moose was equally surprised at shasta. with all the creatures of the forest--lynxes, catamounts, raccoons, wolves, deer, foxes, bears and chipmunks--he was familiar. but this smooth, hornless, round-headed thing was like none of them. it had a shape and a character extraordinarily different; and the big moose was not pleased. there was another thing that he did not like, and that was shasta's smell. not that this was so unfamiliar as his shape. indeed, something like it the moose had often smelt before. moreover, it was a smell that always made him angry. it was that of the wolves. and yet, mingled with it in a curious and bewildering way, there was another odour, not so pungent as the wolf scent, but hardly less objectionable to the moose, and that was the smell of man. what this might mean, the moose did not know. along all the lonely trails of his wild and adventurous life, he had never yet come within sight or scent of the creature that went always upon its hind legs, with cunning in its hornless head, and death that it shot out with its hands. with his great over-hanging muzzle lifted up, and his nostrils quivering, he looked at shasta viciously out of his little gleaming eyes. it was the wolf in shasta that made the creature angry. from the endless generations behind him--grandfathers and grandfathers' grandfathers that reached back beyond the flood--there had come down to him, through the uncounted ages, this hatred, born of fear, of the wolves. it was not that he feared any single wolf. few wolves in all that immense north land would have dared to attack him singly, or dispute his lordship of the world. but when the snows lay heavy on the hemlocks, and the nights were keen with a bitter air from the white heart of the pole, those long shadow-like shapes that came floating over the barrens in packs, with the hunting note in their throats, were not things to be treated contemptuously by even the lordliest moose, at home in his winter "yard." shasta, on his side, felt no enmity towards the moose. he was not wolf enough to have the moose-hatred--handed down, pack after pack, since the beginning of the world--running in his blood. what he inherited from his grandfathers' grandfathers were indian instincts, though, in his utter ignorance of his nature, he did not know them for what they were. so he just stared at the moose with a great astonishment, and wondered what would be the right thing to do. in spite of himself, he felt a little uneasy. something--he didn't know what--warned him that the moose did not like him, and therefore was not going to be his friend. left to himself, shasta was willing to be friends--if they would let him--with all the forest folk. and as he never frightened them, or attempted to do them any hurt, most of the creatures came to regard him as a harmless sort of person. those that did not, respected him too much to molest him because of his strange man-smell, which was so dangerously mixed with that of wolf. but now, here was a beast which, he felt sure, was so far from being his friend that it would take only some very little thing to turn him into a dangerous enemy. a movement, a look, a puff of air to make scent stronger--and some terrible thing might happen: you could never tell. now shasta knew several ways of making himself a bigger person, as it were, and so more to be respected. one was to keep as still as a stone, and to put all of himself into his eyes, staring and staring till it seemed as if they must suddenly become mouths and bite; which made the creatures so uneasy that very few could stand it for long, and would politely melt away among the trees. another was to make some sudden, violent movement, and to give the hunting cry of the wolves with his full throat. that struck fear into most animals; and they would flee in panic, never stopping till they had put long lengths of trail between them and the little naked terror that had the wolf-cry in its throat. but now, though shasta put everything that was in him into his eyes, the big bull bore the stare in an unflinching manner, and stared back defiantly. he did more. he began to paw the ground impatiently with one of his hoofs, as if to show that he was tired of this duel with the eyes, and wanted to try some more complete trial of strength. if shasta had looked particularly at the pawing hoof, he would have noticed how deeply cleft it was, and what sharp cutting edges it had. a terrible instrument that, when it descended like a sledge-hammer with all the weight of the huge seven-hundred-pound body behind it to give it driving force! but shasta was too much occupied in attending to the expression in the animal's eyes, and in fearful admiration of the huge spreading antlers that made so grand an ornament to the mighty head. and then, because the spirit of the wild things did not tell him what to do, or because, if it did, his attention was too much taken up to give heed to its warning, he did the wrong thing instead of the right one. with a sudden spring in the air, he loosed the wolf-cry from his throat. if anything was needed to make the moose furious this action of shasta's was sufficient, at the boy's unexpected movement and cry he bounded to one side. then he stood snorting and stamping the ground viciously. but he did not turn tail. instead, he began to thrash the underwood furiously with his antlers. shasta was no coward. yet what could he do, naked and utterly defenceless against this enormous animal, armed with those dreadful antlers and those pitiless hatchets on his feet? he looked quickly round, measuring the distance between himself and the nearest tree. to dart to it and climb into safety would be done in less time than it would take to tell it. but quick though he was, he knew, by experience, that some of the wild things were even quicker. what the moose could do in the way of quickness he had just seen. the whole of that great body was a mass of sinews and muscles that could hurl it this way or that like a flash of lightning before you had time to blink. and the moose, like the wolves and the bears, could make up his mind in less than a thousandth part of a minute, and be somewhere else almost before he had started, and finish a thing completely almost before it was begun! if only nitka or shoomoo, or one of the wolf-brothers, could know the danger he was in, and come to the rescue! big though he might be, it would be a bold moose who would lightly tackle shoomoo, or any of his terrible brood, when once their blood was roused. but though shasta looked wildly on every side, hoping that the call he had given might have attracted attention, not a dead leaf rustled in response under swiftly padding feet! he turned his gaze again upon his enemy--for enemy he had now undoubtedly become--to catch the first sign of what he might be about to do. the moose was still thrashing the thicket as if to lash himself into increasing fury, and glaring at shasta passionately out of his shining eyes. because he did not know what was best to be done, shasta threw back his head, and once again sent out the long ringing wolf-cry that was a summons to the pack. but as luck would have it, not one of all the wolf kindred was within ear-shot, and the bargloosh was as empty of wolves as the sky of clouds. at the second cry, the moose stopped thrashing the bushes, and stood still. but along his neck and shoulders the coarse black hair rose threateningly. a red light burned dangerously in his eyes. suddenly, without warning, he sprang. quick as a wolf, shasta leaped aside. if he had been the fraction of a second later he would have been trampled to death. the murderous hoof of the moose missed its mark by a quarter of an inch. snorting with rage, he raised himself on his hind legs to strike again. and then the wonderful thing happened. even as the moose rose, a huge black form hurled itself through the air, descending upon him like a thunderbolt. before he could deliver the blow intended for shasta, even before he could change his position in order to protect himself, a huge paw, armed with claws like curved daggers, had ripped his shoulder half-way to the bone. so great was the force of the blow, with the whole weight of gomposh's body behind it, that the moose was hurled to the ground. he had hardly touched it, however, before he was on his feet, quivering with pain and fury. seeing that his assailant was one of the hated bears, his fury redoubled. in spite of his wounds, now streaming with blood, he rushed savagely at the bear, striking again with his hoofs. but gomposh, though now old, was no novice at boxing. he simply gathered his great hind quarters under him and sat well back upon them, with his forepaws lifted. each time the moose struck, gomposh parried the blow with a lightning sweep of his gigantic paw; and each time the paw swept, the moose bled afresh. only once did he do gomposh any injury, and that was when, with a sudden charge of his left-hand antler, he caught the bear in the ribs. but he paid dearly for the action. gomposh, though nearly losing his balance, brought his right paw down with such sledge-hammer force on his opponent's shoulder, that the moose staggered, and almost fell. the blow was so tremendous that the great bull did not care to receive another. with a harsh bellow of rage and anguish he turned, plunged into the underwood, and disappeared. [illustration: with a harsh bellow of rage and anguish he plunged into the underwood] the whole forest seemed to quake as he went. while all this was happening, shasta, crouched behind his tree, had watched with intense excitement the progress of the fight. now that gomposh had proved himself conqueror, and that the moose had disappeared, he came out from his refuge. he wanted to thank gomposh, to make him feel how glad he was that he had beaten the moose. but for some reason peculiar to himself, gomposh evidently did not want to be thanked. and when shasta went up to lay his hand on his thick black coat, he rumbled something rude in his chest and moved sulkily away. as he went he turned once to look back at the boy, and then, like the moose, disappeared among the trees. left alone on the spot where the great battle had been fought, and where he had come so near losing his life, shasta looked about him carefully. the ground was torn up and trampled, the grass and leaves blotched with dark stains. a faint smell of newly-spilt blood filled the air. and all round crowded the trees, dark, solemn, full of unnamable things. as shasta watched, a feeling of dread came over him. he could not have explained the feeling. all he knew was that it was a bad place where bad things could happen, and where even gomposh had not cared to remain. without lingering another moment, he fled away on noiseless naked feet. and down in the cedar swamp, among the skunk cabbage and the bad black pools, old gomposh sat in his lair and licked his wound. it did not heal for several days; but the big slavery tongue kept busily at work, and nature, the old unfailing nurse, attended to her job. a good deal of grumbling accompanied the licking, and acted like a tongue on gomposh's mind. so it was not long before he went about as usual, and the nuthatches perceived that gomposh was so very much gomposh again that the toadstools were being punished for having grown so fat! chapter xiv shasta leaves his wolf kin the days and weeks went by. by the time the dark blue flower of the camass had faded, and the yellow wild parsley had begun to look tired, shasta began to feel again the same strange restlessness creeping over him which he had felt before. and whenever he turned his face towards the southeast, the remembrance of the indian village would sit down thickly upon him, and he would stop to think. when he remembered the raw-hide lariat and the husky dogs, he hated the camp; but when he remembered with his nose-memory, the pleasant odour of the burning cottonwood and of the dried sweet-grass came to him and made a stirring in his heart. moreover, the indian smell was there--the smell that does not come from cottonwood nor sweet-grass, or parfleches filled with buffalo meat, but clings about even the indian names and is an odour of the old, forgotten times. and as he went along the trails, somehow or other everything was different. the birds were there just the same. the blue jays were full of jabbering talk. the crows followed each other from tree to tree, always crying to those ahead to go farther on, and fasten their food-bags to another bough. and the woodpecker hammered hollowly at the hidden heart of the woods. as with the birds, so with the beasts. nitka and shoomoo went and came on the hunting trails, and the wolf-brothers howled in the night. gomposh slapped the dead logs for grubs, and was a silly old bear when nobody was watching. but when he met any one he would sit down heavily at once and look dreadfully wise. and the weasels went on their wicked ways, killing and killing, not because of hunger, but the blood-lust to kill. and the red squirrels and the grey squirrels ran along the tree-tops for miles, without ever coming to ground; and the fussy little chipmunks fussed. yet in spite of all this, shasta felt that something had changed, and that nothing could ever be quite the same again. and although the wolves brought him just as much meat as before, so that he never went hungry, he kept longing for the taste of the buffalo tongue which the indian woman had thrown to him out of the smoking pot. the wolves never brought him anything so good as that. it made his mouth water whenever he thought of that delicious thing. so he wandered up and down, up and down, more and more restless, and difficult to satisfy. it was not that he was unhappy. sometimes, even, he was wildly happy, running and leaping in the sun, or swinging on a fir branch, and talking wolf-talk to himself. at such times the sunlight and the sweet mountain air seemed to have got into his blood, and the blue sky did not seem blue enough or the moss green enough, or the bargloosh big enough, to be equal to his joy. it was the life that was in him which could not contain itself in his body, and kept overflowing the high brim of his heart! yet the creatures and their ways did not wholly satisfy him. that was the mischief of it. there were other creatures and other ways. he had seen those other creatures and he could not forget. he did not know that they were his own people, and that the drawing which he felt towards them was blood, and not cooked buffalo tongue. when his thoughts ran that way, it was the remembrance of the _smell_ and the _taste_ of the new life that was strongest. even the memory of the lariat and the huskies could not overcome that. and as meeko, the red squirrel, was always running along the green roof of the world, chickering and making mischief, and egging folks on to fight, so along the roof of shasta's mind the new restlessness ran, and chickered, and would not let him be. the morning came at last when he bowed his head and obeyed. he stood a long time at the mouth of the cave, looking over the familiar world of forest and mountain, and the distant shining peaks. far away to the south he saw a speck against the blue. it moved slowly as he watched. something told him that it was kennebec, sitting in the wind. kennebec had been very quiet of late. now that there were no eaglets to feed, there was not so much need to go cub and lamb snatching on the mountain slopes. besides which, he avoided the bargloosh. it was there that the creature lived who had dared to scale his rocks. henceforth the bargloosh became for kennebec a place of danger, and he gave it a wide berth. now, as shasta gazed over the wide spaces below him, and up at the rocks above, he looked at them wistfully, as if he were saying good-bye. he didn't know anything about good-bye really, because the animals never consciously say farewell. they separate from each other because their feet take them, but it is mercifully hidden from them that sometimes they will not return. something in him begged him to stay: to remain where he was and not mix himself up with the new, unexplained life that was busy among the foothills where there were lariats and husky dogs, and where the creatures walked on their hind legs. here he knew the world and the ways of all its folk. from the shadowy inside of the cave to the glare of the sunlight on the shimmering peaks, he was familiar with it all; it was built about his heart in a bigness that was home. but now, for some unexplained and mysterious reason he was leaving it and going to this other utterly different thing which had bound him and bitten him and had given new smells to his nose and a new taste to his tongue. and he knew perfectly well that neither nitka nor shoomoo, nor any of the wolf-brothers would wish him to go; just as clearly as if they all sat on their haunches in a row in front of him and implored him to remain. they were all away now, and he was alone at the den's mouth. but if they should come back before he started, he knew that he could not keep the thing a secret from their sharp understandings. they would lick him, and rub noses, and look at him out of their wild wonderful eyes, and say, "_we_ know, little person!" and then the thing would be impossible, and he would not be able to go. in a moment he had run swiftly down the slope and was lost among the trees. the sun was setting when he reached the end of the canyon towards the indian camp. he did not go by way of the wolf-rocks this time. it was there that looking-all-ways had seized him, and he did not want to be caught like that again. so he had climbed down the steep sides of the gorge which the indians call big wolf canyon, and crept out among the high clumps of bunch-grass beside the stream. he could not see the village from here. it was hidden by a swell of the ground; but though he could not see it, he caught the sounds and the smells of it as they drifted down-wind. presently he plucked up his courage and climbed to the top of the rising ground. here the village was full in view. soft blue trails of smoke were rising from the tops of the lodges, for the squaws were preparing the evening meal. the camp looked very peaceful, and not at all a thing to fill you with dread. nevertheless, shasta eyed it suspiciously, as a thing full of unexpected dangers which yelped and had sharp teeth. slowly he crept forward, crawling from tuft to tuft of grass, and taking advantage of every bit of rising ground, so that he might approach as close as possible without being seen. the things he was particularly on his guard against were the huskies; but as luck would have it there was not a single dog on this side of the camp, so that he crept right up to the outer circle of lodges without any mishap. it was not till he had reached the inner circle of lodges and was crouching at the back of one of them that he was discovered. the one who made the discovery was no less a person than running-laughing, the ten-year-old daughter of the chief. she was carrying a buffalo bag to fetch water from the stream, and passed so close behind the tepee that she almost trod on shasta before she saw him. she stood still in amazement, looking down at the strange thing at her feet. shasta gazed at her in equal astonishment, but also with fear. by reason of his position on the ground running-laughing looked taller to him than she really was. he marvelled at her appearance, and the things she seemed to have stuck on to her skin. it is true she only wore a soft-tanned buckskin dress, trimmed with porcupine quills and deer-bones, and had small white shells in her ears; but to shasta's unaccustomed eyes it was a wonderful and very dreadful gear. as for him, he was just as he was and was neatly dressed in his own skin, which was a reddish-brown under the fine hair. for some time they looked at each other without a sound or a movement. then running-laughing behaved like her name, and told her father, big eagle, what she had found. big eagle was preparing for a religious service in the lodge of the yellow buffalo. when he heard that the wolf-child was again in the camp, he sent for looking-all-ways to tell him that his captive had returned. looking-all-ways went at once with running-laughing to where shasta crouched beside the tepee. when he came there, he did not attempt to touch shasta, but he carried the raw-hide lariat with him in case of need. he did something even wiser. he sent running-laughing to find shoshawnee, the medicine-man, and tell him to come. so running-laughing fetched shoshawnee, and when he came he began to "make medicine" with his voice. now, to "make medicine" with your voice is not an easy thing to do, and is only to be done by those who know forest-lore, and prairie-lore, and the secrets of the beasts. and shoshawnee could do this, because he was crammed full of lore, and his head was bulging with buffalo wisdom and a knowledge of the beasts. as regards the beasts, he did not, of course, know as much as shasta did, but he knew quite enough to make him wiser than the other indians, and directly he began to talk, shasta _knew_ that he knew! it was a wonderful and strange "medicine" which shoshawnee made; and if you understood the indian tongue you would have heard many beautiful and far-away things. for in the indian medicine-talk there are many and many words which come a long way from the north and a long way from the south, and very far indeed from the east and west. from the north they fall, as the feathers drop from the wings of wild geese, when they come honk-honking in the deep nights. from the south they are of the buffalo where they wallow by the great lake whose waters never rest. from the east they are of the coyotes, and from the west of the wolves. and many other sounds there are, too, and words which make you think of the wind along the scarped edges of rocks, and of the rumble of avalanches as they fall thunderously, and of the whisper of the junipers when the air creeps. all the great wilderness seemed to give itself in echoes along shoshawnee's tongue. as shasta listened, a peculiar feeling came upon him. the sound of shoshawnee's speaking affected him as nothing had done before. it seemed to rub him gently all over with a soothing touch. deep within him something answered to it, and was pleased. his fear and distrust of the indians melted away under the influence of the voice. the look of the wild animal in his eyes began to soften into something that was almost human. shoshawnee saw the effect which the medicine was producing, and went on. gradually he began to move away from the tepee. as he did so, he walked backwards, keeping his eyes always fixed upon shasta, and holding him with his gaze. shasta looked straight into shoshawnee's eyes. the eyes were like the voice. they drew him, whether he wanted them to or no. slowly, step by step, he left the tepee and began to follow the medicine-man in his slow backward walk. where he was going and why he was doing this he had no idea. only the voice called him, and the eyes drew. he must follow those eyes and that voice wherever they chose to go. by degrees shoshawnee moved into the centre of the camp, shasta following him a few feet away. not many paces off, the lodge of the yellow buffalo was pitched. inside sat big eagle and his braves, collected for the sacred ceremony. the ceremony had not yet begun, because they were waiting for the medicine-man to sing the opening words, without which the "medicine" of the buffaloes would not be complete. at last shoshawnee entered the lodge, still walking backwards. in a moment or two shasta followed. he saw the braves sitting on the ground with big eagle in the centre. for the moment they were not saying or doing anything. there seemed to be a great number, for the tepee was full. just in front of big eagle there burnt a small fire. after shoshawnee and shasta had entered and shoshawnee had sat down, big eagle took an ember from the fire with a forked stick. he then put some dried sweet-grass on it, to burn. soon the smoke of the burning grass filled the lodge with a pleasant smell. shasta sniffed this new smell up his nose with delight. he watched the grey threads of smoke with wonder. he thought they must be the wings of the ember which it waved in the air. presently big eagle put his hands in the smoke and rubbed them over his body. shasta looked on in astonishment. to him, hands were forepaws. he had never seen fore-paws do so much, or do it in so odd a way. when big eagle had rubbed himself all over with sweet smoke, he took another ember and with it lit a large pipe. the pipe was of polished stone, and red in colour. then shasta saw what to him was the most surprising thing of all. when big eagle had put the red thing to his mouth, a wing came out and waved itself in the air! the pipe went from mouth to mouth, as the braves passed it round the lodge, and from every mouth, as it went, grey wings sprouted, and went wandering through the air. after the smoking was over, the ceremony began. shasta heard shoshawnee make many strange noises, and let his voice run up and down as if he wanted to howl. it made shasta want to howl also, but he remembered that he was not among the wolves now, and so he kept the feeling down. when shoshawnee had finished, the other braves went on. they seemed to want to howl badly too! shasta could not understand how they could make so many odd noises in their throats, and yet never throw their heads back for the long sobbing note. on each side of big eagle were the squaws lillooeet and sarvis, his two wives. they had rattles in their hands, and they beat them on a buffalo hide stretched upon the floor. the beating was in time to the chanting, and shasta watched in wonderment the rise and fall of the rattles, which, every time they touched the hide, gave out a sharp noise. presently, at a signal from big eagle, the rattling ceased. shoshawnee rose. he advanced three paces towards shasta. then he stretched out his hand and laid it on his head. when shasta felt the hand of shoshawnee upon his head the tingling feeling ran in his blood and made his flesh creep. then shoshawnee spoke. what he said shasta could not understand, yet it seemed to him that, as he had once been admitted to the wolf-pack as of its blood, now he was being received into the indian pack as one of themselves. and he was right in his guess, for this is what shoshawnee said: "this is shasta, the wolf-child. i have tamed him, because i understand the wolf-medicine. but he _is_ the wolf-medicine! because of that, he is stronger than i." there was a pause here, while the whole company gathered together in the tepee gazed at shasta with awe. presently shoshawnee went on: "many moons ago, the assiniboines, as you know, attacked us when we were moving to the sakuska river to pitch our summer camp. a squaw was killed, and her papoose carried off. the brave who did this was not an assiniboine. he was red fox, who stole the eagle medicine, and is a traitor to our tribe. red fox went to the assiniboines with lies upon his tongue. but the papoose which red fox carried off was the grandson of fighting bull, our old chief, who died soon afterwards. and his name was shasta, which is one of our oldest names. nothing was afterwards seen of the papoose in the lodges of the assiniboines. why? i will tell you. because its father had been his deadly enemy, red fox gave it to the wolves!" shoshawnee suddenly ceased speaking; but his eyes glowed, and the echo of his voice seemed to run in the ears of the braves, as if his thought, which was fierce and strong, made itself a voice out of the silence. chapter xv how shasta fought musha-wunk so that was how it came to pass that shasta was received by the indians into their tribe, and was called by his own name, which he had never known. the moons went by, and by degrees he left off his wolf-ways and took on indian ways instead. he learnt to walk upright, to eat cooked food and to talk the indian tongue. to learn the last took him a long time. at first he could only make wolf noises, and would growl when he was angry, bark when he was excited, and howl when it was necessary to say things to the moon. but he had shoshawnee for teacher, and shoshawnee's patience had no end. at first he was shy of the indian hoys, because they teased him when they had opportunity, and their elders' backs were turned; but by degrees his shyness wore away, and he began to take part in their racing and riding. soon he could ride and run races with the best of them. also, when it came to wrestling, they soon found that he was more than their match; for his life among the wolves had given an extraordinary strength to his muscles and suppleness to his body. it was in a fight with musha-wunk that this quality of shasta's body first made itself known. musha-wunk was a bully, and one of the leaders of those who enjoyed teasing shasta whenever they had a chance. so one day musha-wunk and his companions came upon shasta when he was sitting by himself amongst the bunch-grass of the creek. at first, when musha-wunk began to tease and probe him with a stick, shasta pretended not to mind, and got up and walked away. even when musha-wunk followed and stabbed him again, he took it all in good part, and caught hold of the stick with a laugh. but musha-wunk snatched the stick away with a vicious pull and struck shasta with it across the face. what followed came so quickly that those who watched held their breath in astonishment. the leap of a wolf is so swift that it must be seen to be believed. when shasta leaped on the bully, the other boys saw something that seemed to hurl itself through the air, strike savagely, and bound away. musha-wunk, taken utterly by surprise, went down under the blow. he was on his feet in an instant, but almost before he was up, shasta had hurled himself on him again. this time musha-wunk seized him before he could leap away, and both boys rolled over together. musha-wunk was the heavier of the two. he had bigger bones and a more powerful body. if he could have held shasta down, he would certainly have had the best of it. but to hold shasta down was like sitting on a small volcano. there was a violent eruption of arms and legs, and musha-wunk was lifted into the air! while he was still struggling to his feet, shasta was on him again. it was the wolf in shasta which urged him to these lightning attacks and counter-attacks which made the eyes blink. once the wild-beast spirit in him was fully roused, nothing could stand against it. the wolf-blood raced in his veins; the wolf-light flashed in his eyes. there broke out of his throat fierce sounds which certainly were not human. as he fought, he seemed to himself to be a wolf again, with the uncontrollable wolf-fury raging in his heart. yet it was not merely wild rage that was in him. at the back of his mind, he knew that he was fighting for his freedom, for his self-respect. once he allowed himself to be beaten by musha-wunk, he knew that the other boys would have no mercy upon him. the time for gentleness and forbearance was gone by. the fight was none of his making. musha-wunk had forced it upon him, because he was a bully, and because he had judged shasta to be a coward. the other boys stood round in a silent ring, watching the fight with glittering eyes. their very silence showed how deeply they were moved; though, indian-like, they gave no vent to their feeling by any outward sign. they were like a circle of animals, watching, with a fierce animal joy, a combat waged to the death. and presently a terror, as of death itself, came to musha-wunk, the bully, as he fought. he had thought that to conquer shasta would be a very easy thing. he wanted to give him a good thrashing, see the blood flow, and leave the wolf-boy half dead at the finish. but now he knew, when too late, that he had roused something which it was not in his power to subdue. by his own folly and cruelty, he had drawn upon himself a vengeance which was not of men, but of the wolves. he ceased to take the offensive. all he wanted now was to defend himself as best he could against shasta's lightning attacks. it was when he tried to hold shasta that the marvellous elasticity of the wolf-boy's body showed itself. no matter how musha-wunk bent it this way and that, straining every muscle till the veins stood out on his throat, shasta's firm flesh and wonderful sinews resisted every effort to break him into submission. he twirled himself into the most astonishing positions, upsetting musha-wunk every time the bully seemed for a moment to have gained the upper hand. the fight finished as suddenly as it had begun. musha-wunk had received so severe a punishing that at last he could bear it no longer. it was not his body alone that suffered. in his mind the terror was growing. it was a horrible feeling that what he fought was a boy outwardly only, and was in reality more than half a wolf! the sudden leap, the break away, the deadly leap again--this was how the wolves fought. it was not to be met in any familiar human way. taking advantage of a moment when shasta seemed to pause, musha-wunk turned and fled towards the camp. the other indian boys looked on in astonishment at this ending to the fight. they would hardly believe their eyes that the big and masterful musha-wunk should be defeated so utterly by the little wolf-boy that at last he should flee in terror. they gazed at shasta, the victor, in awe, keeping a respectful distance for fear lest the wolf in him might turn suddenly upon them. it did not need shasta's quick eyes to perceive this fear upon them; his mind caught it as it oozed, in spite of themselves, into the air. swift, as always, to act when his mind had once clearly seen a thing, he made a quick step forward, crouching as if to spring. to the alarmed indian boys it seemed as if his whole body quivered with rage. in its crouching position it seemed to take on itself mysteriously the actual outlines of a wolf. certainly the eyes between the long and shaggy locks of hair shot out a light that was not human, but of that deep brute world, old and savage, in the thick lair of the trees. it was enough. without waiting an instant longer, the whole band broke asunder and took to their heels in flight. shasta watched their departure with a joyful triumph. now at last he had proved that the wolf-spirit in him was not to be broken, and that those who provoked or insulted it did so at their own peril. it was the upright, free spirit of the wild. and as such it was a good spirit, and belonged to the early freshness of the world. in shasta, it would not attack or injure things as long as they left him alone. but once his freedom or peace were threatened, then he would resist with all the strength in his power. when the last flying form had disappeared behind the rising ground, shasta turned towards the trees. the excitement that was in him danced and bubbled in his blood. he was tired and sore in his body, but his heart was high--high as the tops of the spruces and the pines. he felt that he must go and tell his heart to the trees. he went far into the forest, and then sat down. the trees were all about him--close on every side. it was as if they were crowding up to him to hear what he had to say. the big silence of them did not make him lonely or afraid. they were solemn and yet companionable, and full of wise "medicine"--which he understood, but could not put into speech. the indian camp was very far away now. musha-wunk and the others were little things that did not matter. it was the trees that mattered now--the trees and the wolves. only his fine ear could have detected that soft footfall coming down the trail! and when he turned his eyes, it did not surprise him that he looked straight into those of a big grey wolf. what shasta said to the wolf and what the wolf said to shasta cannot be set down in words. though it was neither nitka nor shoomoo, it was a wolf-brother of three seasons back, and the two recognized each other in some mysterious way. and so shasta was able to learn all he wanted to know about the den upon the bargloosh, and how his foster-parents fared. it was over nine months now since he had seen them, but, according to the wolf-brother, nothing was amiss. upon the bargloosh everything went much as it had gone in the old days when shasta was a little naked man-cub, and had no notion of wearing clothes. the wolf-brother did not approve of the clothing shasta wore, though it was only a little tanned buckskin tunic falling to the knee. for that was one of shasta's peculiarities, that though he suffered the upper part of his body to be clad, he would not allow them to interfere with the freedom of his legs. moccasins he would only wear in winter, when the frost bit hard, or in the summer when he had a fit upon him to decorate his feet. running-laughing had made him the summer moccasins, and had embroidered them most cunningly with elk-teeth and porcupine quills. shasta walked stiffly, with a sense of grandeur, when he wore the summer moccasins, looking down at his feet as if they belonged to some great medicine-man or important chief. the wolf-brother sniffed at the tunic disapprovingly. the indian smell of it upset him, and made his hackles rise. so shasta, to please him, took it off, and let him see that it was only a loose skin that did not matter, and could easily be thrown away. after that things went more smoothly, and they talked companionably together in the shadow of the trees. and when the evening light began to be golden about the tops of the spruces, and the forest to stir, and shake off the drowsy weight of the afternoon, the wolf-brother departed as suddenly and softly as he had come, and shasta, having watched him go regretfully, turned homewards to the camp. chapter xvi the danger from the south it was the old medicine-man, shoshawnee, and he was making medicine to himself on the high lookout butte that commanded the prairies to the south. the sunset was beginning to be crimson in the west. it struck full in shoshawnee's face, turning it blood-red. but shoshawnee had no thought for the colour of his face. he had another thought inside him--a thought of such tremendous importance that there was no room for anything besides. and this was that a danger lay there ambushed in the south. no one else but shoshawnee knew of the danger; but that was because he had a medicine which never told him lies, and which whispered things to him before they had arrived. and already it had whispered to him that danger was near, and he had heard the huskies give the ghost-bark when they saw the wind go by. when he had finished the medicine-song he sat silent, gazing on the prairies. they looked very peaceful, lying abroad there under the sinking sun. shoshawnee's eyes, travelling over the immense levels, saw nothing that served to increase the unquiet of his mind. far to the south there stretched, from the saska river westwards, a dusky band that was like a shadow cast by the sunset. shoshawnee knew that it was a herd of buffalo--one of those vast herds which in those old indian days roamed over the wilderness for a thousand miles; coming always from the lake of mystery in the south; going no man knew whither; which no man had ever counted, or would count till the palefaces came from the east, and the red man's day was done. shoshawnee watched the buffaloes keenly. so long as they continued their tranquil feeding, he knew that, whatever danger was afoot, it had not yet approached the outskirts of the herd. for the buffalo are very wary and are always ready to stampede. yet, although his eyes were fixed intently out there so many miles away, his ears were alert for anything that might happen close about. so, although he did not turn his head, he heard the faint whisper of the dried bent-grass as shasta in his summer moccasins came lightly up the hill. when he reached shoshawnee, shasta did not speak. it is the palefaces who rush at each other with their tongues. the red man is never in a hurry with his speech. why should you hasten your words when the prairies are so broad beside you, and there are no clocks to tick off for you the timeless drift of the summer air? it is only in the cities that men have learnt to waste the hours by counting them; and on the high buttes facing the sunset there is no time. so the sun had dipped below the prairie before at last shoshawnee spoke. "the buffalo go west," he said slowly, as if the thing was of the utmost importance. shasta did not put a question actually into words, but he looked it. shoshawnee understood. "there is much pasture to the west. the buffalo eat the prairie to the setting sun." "do they eat the edge of the sunset also?" shasta asked. shoshawnee shook his head. "the edge of the sunset is the end of the world," he said. "at the end of all things there is no more grass." shasta was silent at that. it was so unbelievable. the thought stunned him. no more grass! "but _beyond_ the sunset," shoshawnee went on, "when you come to the happy hunting-grounds, the grass is always green. and there the blue flower of the camass never fades, and the sarvis berries never decay." "the happy hunting-grounds!" shasta murmured in his low, husky voice. "where?" shoshawnee lifted his hand. "up there, presently," he said, "you will see the wolf-trail. it is along the wolf-trail that you travel to reach them. the wolf-trail is worn across the heavens by the moccasins of the dead." "is the hunting better there than it is here?" shasta asked. "is there more game?" "it is not _better_ hunting," shoshawnee said, correcting him. "it is happier. the dead are full of happiness as they follow along the trail." after that there was a long silence, as shasta kept looking at the sky to watch for the beginning of the wolf-trail, when the stars should appear. but before that happened shoshawnee spoke again. this time he spoke quickly, using many words. he spoke so rapidly, and the words followed each other so fast, that at first shasta could not understand. all he gathered was that danger was in the air, some great danger which as yet you could not see, but which was approaching, always drawing steadily nearer out there on the prairies, and which might arrive before you knew. then, as shoshawnee went on, the danger took a shape. it was the shape of indians on the warpath--assiniboines that came with deadly cunning and purpose, travelling like wolves along the prairie hollows. shasta sent his eyes far across the darkening plains, where all things were becoming shadowy and remote, and where even the great herd of buffalo beyond the saska was no longer visible. how far away the assiniboines might be he could not guess. nor could shoshawnee tell him, when he asked. all shoshawnee knew was that they were coming, and that when he had finished his medicine-making he would go and warn the tribe. of one thing only was he certain, and that was, that however near they might be they would not attack at night. the assiniboines were fierce and cruel but they dreaded the darkness, because they declared that the ghosts of their enemies and many evil spirits were abroad. their favourite hour of attack was just at daybreak when the first glimmer of dawn was mingling with the mist. when the last light of sunset had faded from the sky, and the prairies were wholly dark, shasta and shoshawnee returned to the camp. shasta lay awake long that night, listening and wondering. the words of the old medicine-man kept walking in his head. sometimes it was of the buffaloes he thought, with their pasture that lay out into the sunset and was a-shimmer with the long lights of the west; and sometimes of that mysterious danger that crept nearer and nearer, and gave no sign of its approach. and then the butterfly, the sleep-bringer, flitted across his eyelids and he slept. it was the western lark-sparrow that woke him in the morning, singing loud and clear upon the lodge-pole over his head. and when he saw the sunlight clear through the painted wall of the tepee, and heard the cheerful morning stir of the camp, it seemed impossible that danger should be afoot in that tremendous peace. yet, as the day wore on and evening drew near, he felt the same foreboding at his heart as when shoshawnee had spoken to him of danger when they sat on the lookout bluff. as for shoshawnee, he sat there all day, without food or drink, gazing steadily across the prairies and chanting the old medicine chants of the tribe. when evening fell shoshawnee returned. he had already warned the tribe of what he feared, and big eagle had given orders that all was to be in readiness in case of an attack. scouts had been sent out, but had returned at sundown, saying that no signs of hostile indians had been seen. when shasta went to bed that night the buffalo robe held no sleep for him; and wherever the butterfly flitted, it did not enter his tepee. all night long he lay awake, restless and uneasy. often and often he left his couch and looked out. the camp was very still and the stars in their high places glittered bright in a cloudless sky. now and then the small grey owl hooted dismally from the alder thickets beside the creek, or a coyote would bark fitfully somewhere far off in the night. shasta had not yet grown used to the prairie. it was so vast, so unenclosed! the forest with its crowding trees, and the immense gloom of a hundred miles of shade, was the thing that made him feel at home. but now the camp of his people was pitched far out on the prairie, and the forest only existed in his dreams. as for nitka and shoomoo and the wolf-brothers, they seemed even farther off, and to move in some old life lost among the trees. three times already since his first coming to the camp, it had been moved. the ends of the new lodge-poles, cut in spring among the foot-hills and dragged by the ponies for enormous distances, now showed signs of wear. the camp at present lay in a wide hollow surrounded by swelling ridges, and hidden from sight until you were close upon it. the lookout bluff upon which shoshawnee had kept his watch lay a good half-mile to the south, and commanded an immense sweep of prairie on every hand. the last time shasta had crept out of the tepee he had looked towards the bluff. it humped itself, a black mass against the stars, like a huge bull-buffalo couched in sleep. when he crept noiselessly back, it seemed to follow him, and when at last sleep overtook him, it was humped among his dreams. suddenly he was wide awake, his heart throbbing. something--he did not know what--had called to him, and roused him from his rest. the tepee was still dark, but a faint glimmer--so faint as to be scarcely seen--showed that daybreak was at hand. shasta sat up, his eyes straining in the dimness, and his ears listening as only wild animals listen when they are startled. for a little while he heard nothing but the stillness, which itself was so deep that it seemed as if it were a sort of sound. then, clear and strikingly distinct, he heard repeated the sound which had broken his sleep. it was a wolf-howl, long-drawn and wailing, and it was answered directly afterwards by another, and yet another. the cries were some distance off--how far shasta could not tell. the third came from some spot on the prairie beyond the lookout bluff. every pulse in shasta's body beat in answer to the cries. a wild excitement swept through him. his mind seemed, for the moment, to throw off its indian teaching and swing back into the wild. yet, wolf-like though the cries were--so alike that only the wolves themselves would have detected the difference--shasta's perfect sense of hearing told him that these wailing notes came from no wolf-throats, but from those of indians who imitated with marvellous closeness the familiar cry. shoshawnee was right. the danger was at hand. it was within speaking distance: it sang a death-note in the dawn. shasta lost no time. he ran swiftly to big eagle's tepee. without waiting for any ceremony, he snatched aside the flap and stepped inside. rousing the chief he told him what he had heard. immediately big eagle sprang from his buffalo robes, and, seizing his arms, rushed out into the centre of the camp, uttering the gathering cry. instantly the whole camp was aroused. the braves came running out of the tepees, their bows in their hands and their long quivers slung over their backs. in less than five minutes the sleeping village was turned into an armed camp, with every man it contained prepared for the fight. in the midst of the excitement shasta disappeared. when big eagle commanded the presence of the "medicine" wolf-boy, no one could say what had become of him. some were inclined to think that he had played a trick upon them, and that there was no danger at all. but shoshawnee, the old medicine-man, waved his arms excitedly, and declared over and over again that shasta had been warned by the spirits, and that the assiniboines were now close at hand. chapter xvii shasta goes scouting when shasta had given the warning and knew that the tribe was fully roused, he crept out of camp. he went so secretly that no one saw him go. why he went he could hardly have told himself in the shape of a thought. if the cries had not been wolf-cries, it is probable he would not have gone. he was certain that they were not the genuine wolf-calls, yet they came so very close to them that an uneasy feeling inside him made him want to find out what sort of throat could make so exact an imitation. the direction of his going was towards the lookout butte, from beyond which the last cry had come. if danger was gathering in the prairie hollows it would be from the summit of the butte that you could tell the nature of it, and whether it was widespread or closely drawn. as he approached the butte, his eyes and ears were open at their widest. things were indistinct and shadowy in the faint glimmer of the dawn. yet shadowy though they were, shasta's piercing eyes stabbed them through and through. every bush, every clump of grass, every rise or fall of the ground--nothing escaped this piercing gaze. he saw the buck-rabbit leap into the thicket. he saw the coyote drift, like a trail of grey smoke, over the ridge. and while his eyes and cars were busy, he did not forget his nose. with the true wolf-instinct he travelled up-wind. whatever scents were abroad in the keen air, he would catch them surely, and sift them in his cunning nose. in the early freshness of the dawn, the smell of the ground was sweet with dew. there was not so much a breeze as a soft moving of the air. along it the whole vast body of the prairie seemed to breathe to the tip of shasta's nose. by this time the broad sweet prairie smell was familiar to him. by contrast with it the old smells of the forest seemed to be sharp and thin, like arrow-heads piercing the brain. but, as shasta knew, this broader prairie smell was made up of a countless multitude of tiny odours that mixed themselves so confusedly that only the stronger ones could be disentangled from the rest. for some time he did not get any smell which told him of danger, and he had reached the foot of the butte before he met anything suspicious. suddenly he stopped. as far as you could see or hear, except that the light was a little stronger, everything was exactly as it had been. and yet, to shasta's quick sense, something had happened, and he knew that he was warned. it was not that he saw or heard anything first. it was his nose which had caught something that was not a prairie smell. it was not of a thing that was there now. the thing had gone by, but the scent of its passing clung still to the grass-blades, and shasta seemed to see the indian body which had left that faint message of itself in smell. then he found the trail--the dim thing that only wild eyes would see as it lay in the morning twilight. at first he wondered what to do, whether to follow the track or to go up the butte. he knew that whatever he did must be done at once, or he might be too late. he went swiftly up the butte. when he reached the top he lay at full length, gazing intently over the prairies. in the pale light of the creeping dawn, they looked wider than ever. they seemed to stretch away and away endlessly, as if the world did not cease at the horizon, but stooped down under the sky. shasta's eyes swept that huge greyness with a lightning glance. the hollows lay roughly from northeast to southwest. it was only here and there that it was possible to see their bottoms or what might be concealed along the borders of the streams. for some minutes shasta saw nothing suspicious. then, about two hundred yards to the west, he saw a creeping shape move across the top of a ridge and disappear. it was followed by another and then another. they slid very quickly over the open summit of the ridge. at the very first glance he knew they were not wolves. he watched a great number pass over in that peculiar sliding way. when there was a pause, and no more seemed to be coming, shasta turned to leave the butte. what he saw as he did so made his heart leap. there, not twenty yards away from the foot of the butte, stood an indian, with his bow in his hand, ready to shoot. at once shasta realized that it was a stranger, one of the hostile tribe about to attack the camp. while his mind worked swiftly, deciding what to do, his body never moved a muscle. there he was, crouched upon the butte, as motionless as if he had been suddenly turned to stone. if he attempted to escape the indian by running east or west, he knew by the way the brave held his bow that a terrible winged shaft would come singing through the air. the indians had evidently seen him on the butte, and one of them had been told off to watch that he did not return to camp to carry a warning before the attack was made. by creeping to the top of the butte in order to reconnoitre the outer prairies, shasta saw that he had exposed himself to a hidden danger behind. he saw himself cut off from the camp, utterly alone. he had already given warning, it is true. but his people might not know that the enemy were so close upon them, nor how many were gathering for the attack. and whatever happened, he would be utterly powerless to help them in the fight with their relentless foes. a feeling of desperation, of anger, swept over him. it was like the anger which had wrapped its flames about him when he had turned on musha-wunk, the bully. suddenly, in a flash, he turned and darted over the brow of the hill. instantly the indian shot, but shasta had been too quick for him, and the arrow buried itself in the hillside. shasta was hidden now by the hill, and the indian could not tell which way he had gone. the boy went down the hill at a tremendous pace in a series of flying bounds. when he reached the bottom he turned sharp to the left. there was broken ground here, and a number of thickets. threading his way cautiously through these, shasta worked eastwards, meaning to approach the camp from the far northeastern side. he had not gone very far when he heard a series of war-whoops, followed by savage yells, and he knew that the battle had begun. he regretted now that he had not brought his bow and arrows with him. his only weapon was the flint tomahawk in his belt. there was much more light now. he could see everything clearly. but the camp was not in sight, because it was hidden in its hollow to the west. the sounds of the fight came to him plainly in the clear morning air. there was a knoll in front of him. he ran towards it, stooping low as in his wolf days. he had only just reached it, and had thrown himself flat on his stomach, when all at once he heard the running of many feet. the sound was coming in his direction. he lay where he was, absolutely still. all at once he was surrounded by indians. something struck him sharply at the back of his head, and he remembered nothing more. when he came to himself, he found himself lying across the back of an indian pony, with a horrible aching in his head. the pony was at the gallop. he felt that he was held in his place by the rider. he could not see the rider. he saw nothing but a blur of grass that seemed as if it billowed under him in flowing waves. the blood in his head made a singing like grasshoppers. there was a tightness there as if it were going to burst. he tried to think, but thoughts would not come. he could not tell why he was on the pony's back. only the sharp smell of its sweating flanks entered his brain as one smells things in a dream. then the seas of grass billowed away into nothingness, and it was a blackness where lightnings flashed. that was all he remembered of that long ride over the prairies, as he was carried by the assiniboines back to their hunting grounds in the far northwest. it was not till many moons afterwards that he learnt that, owing to his warning, their attack had only partially succeeded, and that his tribe had beaten them off after a fierce encounter in which both sides had lost heavily. when the assiniboines reached their camp, shasta was thrown into a tepee and left to come to himself as best he might. it was not long before he was forced to realize what had happened, and knew that he was a prisoner in the hands of the enemies of his tribe. what he did not know was that they had carried him off to kill him at their great sun-dance as a religious offering. quite unknown to himself, his fame as a medicine-man had travelled far and wide over the prairies, and had even reached the mountains in the west. this was the wolf-medicine which had made his tribe so powerful since his coming to them. once he could be killed, the medicine power would be destroyed also, but, as their own medicine-men assured them, it could be destroyed only by fire. the weeks went by. he was allowed out of the tepee by day, but bound with thongs every night, so that he could not move. he was given much food in order to make him fat and pleasant for the ceremony. as the time of the great dance grew near, the indians redoubled their watch upon him. he was not even allowed to come out of the tepee during the day. the heat and the lack of exercise made him suffer in body and in mind. all he knew of the outside world came to him through the hides of the tepee. he would lie awake in the night, listening to the sounds that stirred abroad, and longing unspeakably to be out in the cool air under the star-glimmer and the sky. and then the moon would rise and the interior of the tepee would appear in a silver gloom. it was at the moon-rising that shasta's restlessness increased till it was like a flame that licked along his bones. his brain was on fire. all the pulses of his body beat in the burning of the flames. then he would crouch, staring with bloodshot eyes that seemed as if they burnt holes in the tepee and pierced into the night. now and then he would moan a little, or make low wolf-noises in his dry throat, but for the most part he was silent, suffering dumbly, as animals suffer, feeling the old free wolf-life tugging at his heart. then there would come a moment when it was impossible to bear the torture in silence, and he would throw back his head and vent his misery in howl after howl. it was small wonder if the indians beat him for that. those dismal notes, ringing out in the deep silence of the night, were enough to make the toughest "brave" uneasy in his heart. so each night that shasta howled, he was beaten; and still the feeling was too strong to be overcome, and he was beaten again. then, when it was over, and he lay panting and bruised, he would fall upon his thongs in a blind rage, striving to tear them with his teeth. but his teeth were not the fangs of nitka, and the raw-hide thongs resisted his utmost efforts. so when dawn broke he would lie exhausted, and fall into an aching sort of slumber till they came to unbind him for the day. once or twice during these nightly howlings he fancied he heard an answering cry far off among the bills; and once there had been a scratching outside the tepee, and he was certain that a wolf was there. but before he could come to conversation with it an indian had arrived to beat him, and it had slipped away. at last the night came before the great dance that was to take place next morning at the rising of the sun. it was in the beginning of the dance that a great fire would be lighted, and that shasta would be burned, bound fast to a stake driven into the ground. no one told him that this was his last night, and that it was on the morrow that he would be killed. yet for all that, some instinct warned him that some terrible thing was afoot, and that the end was close at hand. it was in vain that he had waited all these weeks for his tribe to follow and rescue him. either they had been too severely punished by the assiniboines to dare to follow till they had increased their strength, or else they had delayed too long and now had lost the trail. so long he had looked for that rescue from the southeast; and the sun had risen and set and the moon had waxed and waned, and waxed again, and still there had sounded through the foot-hills no thunder of ponies' hoofs, nor ringing war-cry as the avenging braves swept on. the night was very still. moon-rise was at hand. for two nights in succession something had stolen to the outside of shasta's tepee. it had stayed only a short time, sniffing and scratching, and then had melted into the shadowy masses of the hills. shasta had spoken to it. he had said very little, but then, being wolf-taught, he knew just what to say. and so the mysterious visitor had departed wiser than it came. no one saw this creature, either when it entered the camp or departed. even the husky dogs did not detect it in their sleep. on softly-cushioned feet it glided noiselessly straight to the spot it sought; and when it had paid its visit, it seemed to float along the ground mountainwards like a trail of black mist. and now, in a terrible suspense, shasta was waiting, wondering if the thing would come on this, the last night, and whether its coming would bring a message of hope. suddenly his eyes shone and a thrill passed through him. outside, close against the bottom of the tepee, he heard a sniff. it was the sound a wolf makes when it takes the air deeply into its lungs and then sends it out quickly. shasta began to talk wolf-talk close to the edge of the tepee. the creature outside answered. then in a few moments, it melted into the night. when it was gone, shasta felt more utterly alone than before. he was restless, excited, nervous to a high degree. it was little wonder if he gave voice to the pent-up wretchedness within him in howl after piercing howl. they let him howl that night without beating him, because they thought it was the last time the "medicine"-boy would lift his wolf-voice to the moon, and it was his death-song that he sang. shasta did not howl for long at a time. he contented himself by howling at intervals, that were longer or shorter, as his feelings mastered him. but presently his reason for howling changed. down the long throats of the canyons between the hills there came, now in solo, now in concert, a series of calls that set shasta's blood ablaze. he answered the calls time after time. he knew every variation of them, from the deep-throated note that was almost a bellow, to the thin sharp call of the half-grown cub yearning for a kill. and as shasta sent out his desperate messages in reply, he used every note of the wolf-language that he knew. up and down the hills, wailing along the ridges, sobbing in the hollows, went the wild cries for help, and the answering cries that help was at hand. at daybreak the howling ceased. over all the wilderness stole the grey silence--the silence of the dawn. shasta, lying bound in his tepee, watched the cold light as it slowly grew. all at once, directly above his head, a clear song trilled forth. it was a lark-sparrow perched upon the top of a lodge-pole, and welcoming the day. often and often he had listened to that song before and loved it for its gladsome sound. but then he had been safe among his own people, and free to go in and out as he chose. now the song brought home to him afresh the sense of his loneliness and utter helplessness, bound by the cruel thongs. the song ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and almost immediately afterwards the tepee was entered by two indians. without unbinding shasta, they lifted him up and carried him outside. there he found an old white war-horse attached to a travois, or indian carriage. shasta had seen a travois before, but had never ridden in one. it was a sort of seat, or basket, fastened to poles, the thin ends of which crossed in front of the horse, while the thick ends trailed along the ground. the indians placed him on the travois and then stood beside him, waiting for the signal to start. on all sides shasta saw that the camp was in movement. all the braves were in their war paint, and wore their big war bonnets stiff with feathers. it was plain to be seen that it was a very great occasion, and that no pains would be spared to make it a success. chapter xviii the wolves avenge presently, at a given sign, the procession started. it was led by an old medicine-man, who moved slowly forward, singing a medicine-chant as he walked. he was extremely old and shrivelled and was smothered in paint and feathers. and he had a husky voice that cut the air like a saw. behind him rode the chief on horseback, a splendid figure of a man, upright as a dart, and magnificently dressed. immediately after him came shasta on the travois. the braves followed in a long line. shasta's heart was heavy with fear. no one told him what was going to be done with him, yet a terrible foreboding made him shiver now and then. and yet the birds twittered, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the dew-drenched grass, and the sky blue between the trails of mist. all the world seemed full of life, and free, except himself only, bound and aching on the travois. when the procession reached the top of a high ridge, the travois was stopped. the indians lifted shasta out and bound him to a stake driven into the ground. around the stake they piled fagots of wood. when this was finished, the medicine-man sprinkled dried sweet grass over the pile so that when the flames rose up there might be a pleasant smell. during the preparations the braves arranged themselves in a large circle about the stake. as soon as the arrangements were completed, they waited for the medicine-man to light the fire, and sing the words which would be the signal for the opening of the dance. there was a pause. for a few moments nothing happened. it was one of those strange pieces of silence which drop sometimes even into the centre of civilized life, and people become uneasy--they could not tell you why. only the mist went on, trailing over the ridge, swaying weirdly as the air pushed. it was still cold with the freshness left by the dawn. and although the sun had already risen, his beams were not strong enough as yet to dispel the dense masses of mist that kept rising from all the lower grounds. near or distant, so far as shasta's keen ears could detect, nothing stirred. the fat blue grouse which had been feeding on the blueberries had fled at the indians' approach. the old coyote who had made her den on the south side of the hill was out hunting with her young ones and had not yet returned. for any sight or sound that declared itself, the lonely ridge at the edge of the prairies was a dead lump of burnt-up summer grass where not a living creature stirred. in that tremendous pause when all the world seemed to be waiting, shasta threw back his head and gave the long gathering-cry of the wolves. that call for help went ringing out far from the summit of the ridge. the hollow places sucked it in, and gave back sobbing echoes of its desperate need. one long cry that was not an echo, came from the hills in answer. that was all. then the silence of the wild closed down, and you could hear your heart beat in your side. from the prairies, from the hills, from the mountains beyond, no sound came. the familiar shapes of things were there as before; but they were dumb, blind, motionless, strangled in the mist. close by a small fire already burning, the medicine-man stood with a forked stick in his hand, ready to take the live coal which should light the fagots about the stake. and as he stood, he kept repeating to himself now and again the strange words of a world-old medicine-chant, so strange and old that even for him the original meaning of the words had departed, leaving crooked shapes and sounds behind. the eyes of all the assembled indians were fastened intently upon him. when he should have finished the chant, he would take the live coal from the fire, and the great death dance would begin. it was the dance by which they would celebrate the burning of the evil spirit or "medicine" which they believed shasta embodied, and which, once destroyed, would enable them to vanquish all their foes. and then, when the dance began, and became wilder and wilder as the flames mounted higher at the stake, the whole hill-top would be alive with indian shapes that swayed madly in the mist. but what shapes were those coming down from the foothills--those long, flowing shapes with tongues that lolled and eyes that shone? there was no warning sound that told of their coming. they flowed down the hillsides in a grey flood that rippled but did not break. down the hills, past the indian camp, through the valley bottom, out on the prairie, it flowed uninterruptedly till it reached the foot of the ridge. and still, to all outward seeming, the world appeared exactly as it was before, as if the sun himself, with all the vast lonely spaces of sky and earth, and all the creatures they contained, were waiting for that terrible moment when the medicine-chant should cease. as for shasta himself, after that first despairing cry, he had not moved a muscle of his body. he felt that the end was near at hand; that nothing but a miracle could save him now. the medicine-chant was drawing to a close. the medicine-man moved a pace or two nearer to the fire. round the great circle of expectant braves there passed a thrill that went through them like swift flame. for a second or two shasta felt as if his heart had stopped. at that instant, a short, deep-throated bellow came up from the mist below. it was the signal for the attack. and there was no other warning. yet there they all were--nitka, shoomoo, the foster-brothers who remembered shasta, and the other brothers who did not, and many others besides, belonging to widely-sundered packs, hundreds and hundreds of them, all united under the leadership of the giant shoomoo for the one great purpose of rescuing shasta from the hands of his cruel foes. up the sides of the ridge they bounded--those long, grey bodies that seemed buoyant like the mist. when they reached the summit, there was not an instant's pause. in one ringing wolf-voice, the whole of the united packs gave tongue. already the medicine-man had taken the live coal on the stick and was just about to set it to the dried grass round the stake when he was hurled to the earth by the leaping form of a tremendous wolf--none other than shoomoo himself! as he fell, an indian darted forward, intending to bury his tomahawk in the wolf. but before he could do so, shoomoo had leaped away from the prostrate figure, and in an instant had thrown himself on his assailant. there was a gleam as the raised tomahawk caught the light. yet though it descended it inflicted no fatal wound, and the indian was borne helplessly to the ground, from which he never rose again. the indians fought desperately, but they were hopelessly outnumbered from the first. there were wolves everywhere. if one was killed or disabled, half-a-dozen more instantly filled his place. they came from all quarters, surging up from the lower ground in waves that seemed as if they would never end. on every hand the fight raged furiously. on all sides it was the same mass of dark, leaping bodies, gleaming eyes, and white fangs that tore and slashed. and everywhere it was shoomoo, nitka, and the wolf-brothers that did the deadliest work. shoomoo, himself, seemed to be everywhere at once. over and over again, shasta, shivering, and frenzied with excitement as he watched the progress of the fight, saw the giant form of the great father wolf hurl itself through the air, and strike some struggling indian to the ground. would the wolves win? would the wolves win?--that was the agonizing thought that made shasta shake from head to foot. if they did, he was saved. if not--then all was lost. he would be doomed to die the terrible death by fire. he wrenched and strained in a vain attempt to loose his bonds. his utmost efforts were of no avail. whatever was the result of the contest, he knew that he must remain helpless to the end. once or twice a wild despair seized him. there came a pause in the fight, as if the wolves wavered. suppose, after all, the indians were able to hold their own? in spite of their terrible losses, they had killed many of their wolfish foes. numbers of them lay dead or dying. it would be small wonder if, after all, the rest should grow intimidated, and slink off. yet after each temporary lull, there would be a fresh attack led by shoomoo or nitka, and again the air would ring with the terrible gathering cry of the packs. at last the indians could hold out no longer. utterly unprepared as they were for this fearful horde of undreamed-of enemies; feeling, too, that their "medicine" had deserted them and that the great spirit, being offended, had abandoned them to their fate,--the survivors lost their presence of mind and fled shrieking down the hill. few, very few, ever found their way back to camp. it was the wolf triumph, the wolf revenge. the ridge, from end to end, was strewn with indian dead. it was nitka herself who released shasta, and her famous teeth which tore the thongs from his arms and legs, and, after long and patient work, at last set him free. and when he lay on the ground, almost too dazed to understand, with his whole body feeling like one big bruise, it was her loving tongue that comforted him, caressing him back to life. the sun was already high in the heavens before shasta was strong enough to move. then, with nitka on one side and shoomoo on the other, and the wolf-brothers all about on every hand, shasta started for home. but it was not the home of his indian kin. it was the cave upon the bargloosh, far away from the tread of human feet; the old strange home whose rocky walls seemed to him to hold the beginnings of his life. * * * * * * * did he go back to his people later? did he say good-bye to the wolf-folk for ever, and forget the ways of the wild? perhaps. who can say? perhaps gomposh could tell you, or even goohooperay. or you might entice it out of shoshawnee when his face goes red on the lookout butte towards the setting sun. but _if_ he went back, which is possible, i do not think he would ever forget. for the wild, and the ways of its folk, are too great to be forgotten. and then, you see, he was shasta of the _wolves_! the end the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ the story starts in the city of st louis, towards the end of the summer of some year in the nineteenth century. reid collects together a group of six men who would pay to take part in an expedition, camping and hunting, into the prairies. they take with them a couple of paid men, professionals who would give them very necessary guidance. they all make a pact that they would each tell a round of tales around the camp fire, such stories to be amusing and instructive. reid himself is something of a naturalist, as we can learn from his many other books. we are given these tales just as they are told, in good english if told by an educated man, and in the dialect of the less educated ones. this latter arrangement makes the checking of the ocr transcriptions a little difficult, but never mind. what people may find a little tedious is reid's habit of giving the naturalists' latin names for the various animals and plants described. ________________________________________________________________________ the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. a hunting party. on the western bank of the mississippi, twelve miles below the _embouchure_ of the missouri, stands the large town of saint louis, poetically known as the "mound city." although there are many other large towns throughout the mississippi valley, saint louis is the true metropolis of the "far west"--of that semi-civilised, ever-changing belt of territory known as the "frontier." saint louis is one of those american cities in the history of which there is something of peculiar interest. it is one of the oldest of north-american settlements, having been a french trading port at an early period. though not so successful as their rivals the english, there was a degree of picturesqueness about french colonisation, that, in the present day, strongly claims the attention of the american poet, novelist, and historian. their dealings with the indian aborigines--the facile manner in which they glided into the habits of the latter--meeting them more than half-way between civilisation and savage life--the handsome nomenclature which they have scattered freely, and which still holds over the trans-mississippian territories--the introduction of a new race (the half blood--peculiarly french)--the heroic and adventurous character of their earliest pioneers, de salle marquette, father hennepin, etcetera--their romantic explorations and melancholy fate--all these circumstances have rendered extremely interesting the early history of the french in america. even the quixotism of some of their attempts at colonisation cannot fail to interest us, as at gallipolis on the ohio, a colony composed of expatriated people of the french court;-- perruquiers, coachbuilders, tailors, _modistes_, and the like. here, in the face of hostile indians, before an acre of ground was cleared, before the slightest provision was made for their future subsistence, the first house erected was a large log structure, to serve as the _salon du lal_! besides its french origin, saint louis possesses many other points of interest. it has long been the _entrepot_ and _depot_ of commerce with the wild tribes of prairie-land. there the trader is supplied with his stock for the indian market--his red and green blanket--his beads and trinkets--his rifles, and powder, and lead; and there, in return, he disposes of the spoils of the prairie collected in many a far and perilous wandering. there the emigrant rests on the way to his wilderness home; and the hunter equips himself before starting forth on some new expedition. to the traveller, saint louis is a place of peculiar interest. he will hear around him the language of every nation in the civilised world. he will behold faces of every hue and variety of expression. he will meet with men of every possible calling. all this is peculiarly true in the latter part of the summer season. then the motley population of new orleans fly from the annual scourge of the yellow fever, and seek safety in the cities that lie farther north. of these, saint louis is a favourite "city of refuge,"--the creole element of its population being related to that kindred race in the south, and keeping up with it this annual correspondence. in one of these streams of migration i had found my way to saint louis, in the autumn of --. the place was at the time filled with loungers, who seemed to have nothing else to do but kill time. every hotel had its quota, and in every verandah and at the corners of the streets you might see small knots of well-dressed gentlemen trying to entertain each other, and laugh away the hours. most of them were the annual birds of passage from new orleans, who had fled from "yellow jack," and were sojourning here till the cold frosty winds of november should drive that intruder from the "crescent city;" but there were many other _flaneurs_ as well. there were travellers from europe:--men of wealth and rank who had left behind them the luxuries of civilised society to rough it for a season in the wild west--painters in search of the picturesque-- naturalists whose love of their favourite study had drawn them from their comfortable closets to search for knowledge under circumstances of extremest difficulty--and sportsmen, who, tired of chasing small game, were on their way to the great plains to take part in the noble sport of hunting the buffalo. i was myself one of the last-named fraternity. there is no country in the world so addicted to the _table d'hote_ as america, and that very custom soon makes idle people acquainted with each other. i was not very long in the place before i was upon terms of intimacy with a large number of these loungers, and i found several, like myself, desirous of making a hunting expedition to the prairies. this chimed in with my plans to a nicety, and i at once set about getting up the expedition. i found five others who were willing to join me. after several _conversaziones_, with much discussion, we succeeded at length in "fixing" our plan. each was to "equip" according to his own fancy, though it was necessary for each to provide himself with a riding horse or mule. after that, a general fund was to be "raised," to be appropriated to the purchase of a waggon and team, with tents, stores, and cooking utensils. a couple of professional hunters were to be engaged; men who knew the ground to be traversed, and who were to act as guides to the expedition. about a week was consumed in making the necessary preparations, and at the end of that time, under the sunrise of a lovely morning, a small cavalcade was seen to issue from the back suburbs of saint louis, and, climbing the undulating slopes in its rear, head for the far-stretching wilderness of the prairies. it was our hunting expedition. the cavalcade consisted of eight mounted men, and a waggon with its full team of six tough mules. these last were under the _manege_ of "jake"-- a free negro, with a shining black face, a thick full mop, and a set of the best "ivories," which were almost always uncovered in a smile. peeping from under the tilt of the waggon might be seen another face strongly contrasting with that of jake. this had been originally of a reddish hue, but sun-tan, and a thick sprinkling of freckles, had changed the red to golden-yellow. a shock of fiery hair surmounted this visage, which was partially concealed under a badly-battered hat. though the face of the black expressed good-humour, it might have been called sad when brought into comparison with that of the little red man, which peeped out beside it. upon the latter, there was an expression irresistibly comic--the expression of an actor in broad farce. one eye was continually on the wink, while the other looked knowing enough for both. a short clay-pipe, stuck jauntily between the lips, added to the comical expression of the face, which was that of mike lanty from limerick. no one ever mistook the nationality of michael. who were the eight cavaliers that accompanied the waggon? six of them were gentlemen by birth and education. at least half that number were scholars. the other two laid no claim either to gentleness or scholarship--they were rude trappers--the hunters and guides of the expedition. a word about each one of the eight, for there was not one of them without his peculiarity. first, there was an englishman--a genuine type of his countrymen--full six feet high, well proportioned, with broad chest and shoulders, and massive limbs. hair of a light brown, complexion florid, moustache and whiskers full and hay-coloured, but suiting well the complexion and features. the last were regular, and if not handsome, at least good humoured and noble in their expression. the owner was in reality a nobleman--a true nobleman--one of that class who, while travelling through the "states," have the good sense to carry their umbrella along, and leave their title behind them. to us he was known as mr thompson, and, after some time, when we had all become familiar with each other, as plain "thompson." it was only long after, and by accident, that i became acquainted with his rank and title; some of our companions do not know it to this day, but that is of no consequence. i mention the circumstance here to aid me in illustrating the character of our travelling companion, who was "close" and modest almost to a fault. his costume was characteristic. a "tweed" shooting jacket, of course, with eight pockets--a vest of the same material with four--tweed browsers, and a tweed cap. in the waggon was _the hat-box_; of strong yellow leather, with straps and padlock. this was supposed to contain the dress hat; and some of the party were merry about it. but no--mr thompson was a more experienced traveller than his companions thought him at first. the contents of the hat-case were sundry brushes-- including one for the teeth--combs, razors, and pieces of soap. the hat had been left at saint louis. but the umbrella had _not_. it was then under thompson's arm, with its full proportions of whalebone and gingham. under that umbrella he had hunted tigers in the jungles of india--under that umbrella he had chased the lion upon the plains of africa--under that umbrella he had pursued the ostrich and the vicuna over the pampas of south america; and now under that same hemisphere of blue gingham he was about to carry terror and destruction among the wild buffaloes of the prairies. besides the umbrella--strictly a weapon of defence--mr thompson carried another, a heavy double-barrelled gun, marked "bishop, of bond street," no bad weapon with a loading of buck-shot, and with this both barrels were habitually loaded. so much for mr thompson, who may pass for number of the hunting party. he was mounted on a strong bay cob, with tail cut short, and english saddle, both of which objects--the short tail and the saddle-- were curiosities to all of the party except mr thompson and myself. number was as unlike number as two animals of the same species could possibly be. he was a kentuckian, full six inches taller than thompson, or indeed than any of the party. his features were marked, prominent and irregular, and this irregularity was increased by a "cheekful" of half-chewed tobacco. his complexion was dark, almost olive, and the face quite naked, without either moustache or whisker; but long straight hair, black as an indian's, hung down to his shoulders. in fact, there was a good deal of the indian look about him, except in his figure. that was somewhat slouched, with arms and limbs of over-length, loosely hung about it. both, however, though not modelled after the apollo, were evidently full of muscle and tough strength, and looked as though their owner could return the hug of a bear with interest. there was a gravity in his look, but that was not from any gravity of spirits; it was his swarth complexion that gave him this appearance, aided, no doubt, by several lines of "ambeer" proceeding from the corners of his mouth in the direction of the chin. so far from being grave, this dark kentuckian was as gay and buoyant as any of the party. indeed, a light and boyish spirit is a characteristic of the kentuckian as well as of all the natives of the mississippi valley--at least such has been my observation. our kentuckian was costumed just as he would have been upon a cool morning riding about the "woodland" of his own plantation, for a "planter" he was. he wore a "jeans" frock, and over that a long-tailed overcoat of the best green blanket, with side pockets and flaps. his jeans pantaloons were stuck into a pair of heavy horse-leather pegged boots, sometimes known as "nigger" boots; but over these were "wrappers" of green baize, fastened with a string above the knees. his hat was a "broad-brimmed felt," costly enough, but somewhat crushed by being sat upon and slept in. he bestrode a tall raw-boned stood that possessed many of the characteristics of the rider; and in the same proportion that the latter overtopped his companions, so did the steed out-size all the other horses of the cavalcade. over the shoulders of the kentuckian were suspended, by several straps, pouch, horn, and haversack, and resting upon his toe was the butt of a heavy rifle, the muzzle of which reached to a level with his shoulder. he was a rich kentucky planter, and known in his native state as a great deer-hunter. some business or pleasure had brought him to saint louis. it was hinted that kentucky was becoming too thickly settled for him-- deer becoming scarce, and bear hardly to be found--and that his visit to saint louis had something to do with seeking a new "location" where these animals were still to be met with in greater plenty. the idea of buffalo-hunting was just to his liking. the expedition would carry him through the frontier country, where he might afterwards choose his "location"--at all events the sport would repay him, and he was one of the most enthusiastic in regard to it. he that looms up on the retrospect of my memory as number was as unlike the kentuckian, as the latter was to thompson. he was a disciple of esculapius--not thin and pale, as these usually are, but fat, red, and jolly. i think he was originally a "yankee," though his long residence in the western states had rubbed the yankee out of him to a great extent. at all events he had few of their characteristics about him. he was neither staid, sober, nor, what is usually alleged as a trait of the true bred yankee, "stingy." on the contrary, our doctor was full of talk and joviality--generous to a fault. a fault, indeed; for, although many years in practice in various parts of the united states, and having earned large sums of money, at the date of our expedition we found him in saint louis almost without a dollar, and with no great stock of patients. the truth must be told; the doctor was of a restless disposition, and liked his glass too well. he was a singer too, a fine amateur singer, with a voice equal to mario's. that may partly account for his failure in securing a fortune. he was a favourite with all--ladies included--and so fond of good company, that he preferred the edge of the jovial board to the bed-side of a patient. not from any fondness for buffalo-hunting, but rather through an attachment to some of the company, had the doctor volunteered. indeed, he was solicited by all to make one of us--partly on account of his excellent society, and partly that his professional services might be called into requisition before our return. the doctor still preserved his professional costume of black--somewhat russet by long wear--but this was modified by a close-fitting fur cap, and wrappers of brown cloth, which he wore around his short thick legs. he was not over-well mounted--a very spare little horse was all he had, as his funds would not stretch to a better. it was quite a quiet one, however, and carried the doctor and his "medical saddle-bags" steadily enough, though not without a good deal of spurring and whipping. the doctor's name was "jopper"--dr john jopper. a very elegant youth, with fine features, rolling black eyes, and luxuriant curled hair, was one of us. the hands were well formed and delicate; the complexion silky, and of nearly an olive tint; but the purplish-red broke through upon his cheeks, giving the earnest of health, as well as adding to the picturesque beauty of his face. the form was perfect, and full of manly expression, and the pretty sky-blue plaited pantaloons and close-fitting jacket of the same material, sat gracefully on his well-turned limbs and arms. these garments were of "cottonade," that beautiful and durable fabric peculiar to louisiana, and so well suited to the southern climate. a costly panama hat cast its shadow over the wavy curls and pictured cheek of this youth, and a cloak of fine broad cloth, with velvet facings, hung loosely from his shoulders. a slight moustache and imperial lent a manlier expression to his chiselled features. this young fellow was a creole of louisiana--a student of one of the jesuit colleges of that state--and although very unlike what would be expected from such a dashing personage, he was an ardent, even passionate, lover of nature. though still young, he was the most accomplished botanist in his state, and had already published several discoveries in the _flora_ of the south. of course the expedition was to him a delightful anticipation. it would afford the finest opportunity for prosecuting his favourite study in a new field; one as yet almost unvisited by the scientific traveller. the young creole was known as jules besancon. he was not the only naturalist of the party. another was with us; one who had already acquired a world-wide fame; whose name was as familiar to the _savans_ of europe as to his own countrymen. he was already an old man, almost venerable in his aspect, but his tread was firm, and his arm still strong enough to steady his long, heavy, double-barrelled rifle. an ample coat of dark blue covered his body; his limbs were enveloped in long buttoned leggings of drab cloth, and a cap of sable surmounted his high, broad forehead. under this his blueish grey eye glanced with a calm but clear intelligence, and a single look from it satisfied you that you were in the presence of a superior mind. were i to give the name of this person, this would readily be acknowledged. for certain reasons i cannot do this. suffice it to say, he was one of the most distinguished of modern zoologists, and to his love for the study we were indebted for his companionship upon our hunting expedition. he was known to us as mr a-- the "hunter-naturalist." there was no jealousy between him and the young besancon. on the contrary, a similarity of tastes soon brought about a mutual friendship, and the creole was observed to treat the other with marked deference and regard. i may set myself down as number of the party. let a short description of me suffice. i was then but a young fellow, educated somewhat better than common; fond of wild sports; not indifferent to a knowledge of nature; fond almost to folly of a good horse, and possessing one of the very best; not ill-looking in the face, and of middle stature; costumed in a light hunting-shirt of embroidered buckskin, with fringed cape and skirt; leggings of scarlet cloth, and cloth forage-cap, covering a flock of dark hair. powder-flask and pouch of tasty patterns; belt around the waist, with hunting-knife and pistols--revolvers. a light rifle in one hand, and in the other a bridle-rein, which guided a steed of coal blackness; one that would have been celebrated in song by a troubadour of the olden time. a deep spanish saddle of stamped leather; holsters with bearskin covers in front; a scarlet blanket, folded and strapped on the croup; lazo and haversack hanging from the "horn"--_voila tout_! there are two characters still undescribed. characters of no mean importance were they--the "guides." they were called respectively, isaac bradley and mark redwood. a brace of trappers they were, but as different from each other in personal appearance as two men could well be. redwood was a man of large dimensions, and apparently as strong as a buffalo, while his _confrere_ was a thin, wiry, sinewy mortal, with a tough, weasel-like look and gait. the expression of redwood's countenance was open and manly, his eyes were grey, his hair light-coloured, and huge brown whiskers covered his cheeks. bradley, on the other hand, was dark--his eyes small, black, and piercing--his face as hairless as an indian's, and bronzed almost to the indian hue, with the black hair of his head closely cropped around it. both these men were dressed in leather from head to foot, yet they were very differently dressed. redwood wore the usual buckskin hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, but all of full proportions and well cut, while his large 'coon-skin cap, with the plume-like tail, had an imposing appearance. bradley's garments, on the contrary, were tight-fitting and "skimped." his hunting-shirt was without cape, and adhered so closely to his body that it appeared only an outer skin of the man himself. his leggings were pinched and tight. shirt, leggings, and moccasins were evidently of the oldest kind, and as dirty as a cobbler's apron. a close-fitting otter cap, with a mackinaw blanket, completed the wardrobe of isaac bradley. he was equipped with a pouch of greasy leather hanging by an old black strap, a small buffalo-horn suspended by a thong, and a belt of buffalo-leather, in which was stuck a strong blade, with its handle of buckhorn. his rifle was of the "tallest" kind--being full six feet in height--in fact, taller than he was, and at least four fifths of the weapon consisted of barrel. the straight narrow stock was a piece of manufacture that had proceeded from the hands of the trapper himself. redwood's rifle was also a long one, but of more modern build and fashion, and his equipments--pouch, powder-horn and belt--were of a more tasty design and finish. such were our guides, redwood and bradley. they were no imaginary characters these. mark redwood was a celebrated "mountain-man" at that time, and isaac bradley will be recognised by many when i give him the name and title by which he was then known,--viz. "old ike, the wolf-killer." redwood rode a strong horse of the half-hunter breed, while the "wolf-killer" was mounted upon one of the scraggiest looking quadrupeds it would be possible to imagine--an old mare "mustang." chapter two. the camp and camp-fire. our route was west by south. the nearest point with which we expected to fall in with the buffalo was two hundred miles distant. we might travel three hundred without seeing one, and even much farther at the present day; but a report had reached saint louis that the buffalo had been seen that year upon the osage river, west of the ozark hills, and towards that point we steered our course. we expected in about twenty days to fall in with the game. fancy a cavalcade of hunters making a journey of twenty days to get upon the field! the reader will, no doubt, say we were in earnest. at the time of which i am writing, a single day's journey from saint louis carried the traveller clear of civilised life. there were settlements beyond; but these were sparse and isolated--a few small towns or plantations upon the main watercourses--and the whole country between them was an uninhabited wilderness. we had no hope of being sheltered by a roof until our return to the mound city itself, but we had provided ourselves with a couple of tents, part of the freight of our waggon. there are but few parts of the american wilderness where the traveller can depend upon wild game for a subsistence. even the skilled hunter when stationary is sometimes put to his wits' end for "daily bread." upon the "route" no great opportunity is found of killing game, which always requires time to approach it with caution. although we passed through what appeared to be excellent cover for various species of wild animals, we reached our first camp without having ruffled either hair or feathers. in fact, neither bird nor quadruped had been seen, although almost every one of the party had been on the look out for game during most of the journey. this was rather discouraging, and we reasoned that if such was to be our luck until we got into the buffalo-range we should have a very dull time of it. we were well provisioned, however, and we regretted the absence of game only on account of the sport. a large bag of biscuit, and one of flour, several pieces of "hung bacon," some dry ox-tongues, a stock of green coffee, sugar, and salt, were the principal and necessary stores. there were "luxuries," too, which each had provided according to his fancy, though not much of these, as every one of the party had had some time or other in his life a little experience in the way of "roughing it." most of the loading of the waggon consisted of provender for our horses and mules. we made full thirty miles on the first day. our road was a good one. we passed over easy undulations, most of them covered with "black-jack." this is a species of dwarf oak, so called from the very dark colour of its wrinkled bark. it is almost worthless as a timber, being too small for most purposes. it is ornamental, however, forming copse-like groves upon the swells of the prairie, while its dark green foliage contrasts pleasantly with the lighter green of the grasses beneath its shade. the young botanist, besancon, had least cause to complain. his time had been sufficiently pleasant during the day. new foliage fell under his observation--new flowers opened their corollas to his delighted gaze. he was aided in making his collections by the hunter-naturalist, who of course was tolerably well versed in this kindred science. we encamped by the edge of a small creek of clear water. our camp was laid out in due form, and everything arranged in the order we designed habitually to follow. every man unsaddled his own horse. there are no servants in prairie-land. even lanty's services extended not beyond the _cuisine_, and for this department he had had his training as the cook of a new orleans trading ship. jake had enough to do with his mules; and to have asked one of our hunter-guides to perform the task of unsaddling your horse, would have been a hazardous experiment. menial service to a free trapper! there are no servants in prairie-land. our horses and mules were picketed on a piece of open ground, each having his "trail-rope," which allowed a circuit of several yards. the two tents were pitched side by side, facing the stream, and the waggon drawn up some twenty feet in the rear. in the triangle between the waggon and the tents was kindled a large fire, upon each side of which two stakes, forked at the top, were driven into the ground. a long sapling resting in the forks traversed the blaze from side to side. this was lanty's "crane,"--the fire was his kitchen. let me sketch the camp more minutely, for our first camp was a type of all the others in its general features. sometimes indeed the tents did not front the same way, when these openings were set to "oblige the wind," but they were always placed side by side in front of the waggon. they were small tents of the old-fashioned conical kind, requiring only one pole each. they were of sufficient size for our purpose, as there were only three of us to each--the guides, with jake and lanty, finding their lodgment under the tilt of the waggon. with their graceful shape, and snowy-white colour against the dark green foliage of the trees, they formed an agreeable contrast; and a _coup d'oeil_ of the camp would have been no mean picture to the eye of an artist. the human figures may be arranged in the following manner. supper is getting ready, and lanty is decidedly at this time the most important personage on the ground. he is stooping over the fire, with a small but long-handled frying-pan, in which he is parching the coffee. it is already browned, and lanty stirs it about with an iron spoon. the crane carries the large coffee-kettle of sheet iron, full of water upon the boil; and a second frying-pan, larger than the first, is filled with sliced ham, ready to be placed upon the hot cinders. our english friend thompson is seated upon a log, with the hat-box before him. it is open, and he has drawn out from it his stock of combs and brushes. he has already made his ablutions, and is now giving the finish to his toilet, by putting his hair, whiskers, moustache, teeth, and even his nails, in order. your englishman is the most comfortable traveller in the world. the kentuckian is differently engaged. he is upon his feet; in one hand gleams a knife with ivory handle and long shining blade. it is a "bowie," of that kind known as an "arkansas toothpick." in the other hand you see an object about eight inches in length, of the form of a parallelogram, and of a dark brown colour. it is a "plug" of real "james's river tobacco." with his knife the kentuckian cuts off a piece--a "chunk," as he terms it--which is immediately transferred to his mouth, and chewed to a pulp. this is his occupation for the moment. the doctor, what of him? doctor jopper may be seen close to the water's edge. in his hand is a pewter flask, of the kind known as a "pocket pistol." that pistol is loaded with brandy, and dr jopper is just in the act of drawing part of the charge, which, with a slight admixture of cool creek water, is carried aloft and poured into a very droughty vessel. the effect, however, is instantly apparent in the lively twinkle of the doctor's round and prominent eyes. besancon is seated near the tent, and the old naturalist beside him. the former is busy with the new plants he has collected. a large portfolio-looking book rests upon his knees, and between its leaves he is depositing his stores in a scientific manner. his companion, who understands the business well, is kindly assisting him. their conversation is interesting, but every one else is too busy with his affairs to listen to it just now. the guides are lounging about the waggon. old ike fixes a new flint in his rifle, and redwood, of a more mirthful disposition, is occasionally cracking a joke with mike or the "darkey." jake is still busy with his mules, and i with my favourite steed, whose feet i have washed in the stream, and anointed with a little spare grease. i shall not always have the opportunity of being so kind to him, but he will need it the less, as his hoofs become more hardened by the journey. around the camp are strewed our saddles, bridles, blankets, weapons, and utensils. these will all be collected and stowed under cover before we go to rest. such is a picture of our camp before supper. when that meal is cooked, the scene somewhat changes. the atmosphere, even at that season, was cool enough, and this, with mike's announcement that the coffee was ready, brought all the party-- guides as well--around the blazing pile of logs. each found his own platter, knife, and cup; and, helping himself from the general stock, set to eating on his own account. of course there were no fragments, as a strict regard to economy was one of the laws of our camp. notwithstanding the fatigue, always incidental to a first day's march, we enjoyed this _al fresco_ supper exceedingly. the novelty had much to do with our enjoyment of it, and also the fine appetites which we had acquired since our luncheon at noon halt. when supper was over, smoking followed, for there was not one of the party who was not an inveterate burner of the "noxious weed." some chose cigars, of which we had brought a good stock, but several were pipe-smokers. the zoologist carried a meerschaum; the guides smoked out of indian calumets of the celebrated steatite, or red claystone. mike had his dark-looking "dudeen," and jake his pipe of corn "cob" and cane-joint shank. our english friend thompson had a store of the finest havannahs, which he smoked with the grace peculiar to the english cigar smoker; holding his cigar impaled upon the point of his knife-blade. kentucky also smoked cigars, but his was half buried within his mouth, slanted obliquely towards the right cheek. besancon preferred the paper cigarette, which he made extempore, as he required them, out of a stock of loose tobacco. this is creole fashion--now also the _mode de paris_. a song from the doctor enlivened the conversation, and certainly so melodious a human voice had never echoed near the spot. one and all agreed that the grand opera had missed a capital "first tenor" in not securing the services of our companion. the fatigue of our long ride caused us to creep into our tents at an early hour, and rolling ourselves in our blankets we went to sleep. of course everything had been carefully gathered in lest rain might fall in the night. the trail-ropes of our animals were looked to: we did not fear their being stolen, but horses on their first few days' journey are easily "stampeded," and will sometimes stray home again. this would have been a great misfortune, but most of us were old travellers, and every caution was observed in securing against such a result. there was no guard kept, though we knew the time would come when that would be a necessary duty. chapter three. besancon's adventure in the swamps. the prairie traveller never sleeps after daybreak. he is usually astir before that time. he has many "_chores_" to perform, unknown to the ordinary traveller who rests in the roadside inn. he has to pack up his tent and bed, cook his own breakfast, and saddle his horse. all this requires time, therefore an early start is necessary. we were on our feet before the sun had shown his disc above the black-jacks. lanty had the start of us, and had freshened up his fire. already the coffee-kettle was bubbling audibly, and the great frying-pan perfumed the camp with an incense more agreeable than the odours of araby. the raw air of the morning had brought everybody around the fire. thompson was pruning and cleansing his nails; the kentuckian was cutting a fresh "chunk" from his plug of "james's river;" the doctor had just returned from the stream, where he had refreshed himself by a "nip" from his pewter flask; besancon was packing up his portfolios; the zoologist was lighting his long pipe, and the "captain" was looking to his favourite horse, while inhaling the fragrance of an "havannah." the guides stood with their blankets hanging from their shoulders silent and thoughtful. in half an hour breakfast was over, the tents and utensils were restored to the waggon, the horses were brought in and saddled, the mules "hitched up," and the expedition once more on its way. this day we made not quite so good a journey. the roads were heavier, the country more thickly timbered, and the ground more hilly. we had several small streams to ford, and this retarded our progress. twenty miles was the extent of our journey. we encamped again without any of us having killed or seen game. although we had beaten the bushes on both sides of our course, nothing bigger than the red-bird (scarlet tanager, _pyranga rubra_), a screaming jay, or an occasional flight of finches, gratified our sight. we reached our camp somewhat disappointed. even old ike and redwood came into camp without game, alleging also that they had not met with the sign of a living quadruped. our second camp was also on the bank of a small stream. shortly after our arrival on the ground, thompson started out afoot, taking with him his gun. he had noticed a tract of marsh at no great distance off. he thought it promised well for snipe. he had not been long gone, when two reports echoed back, and then shortly after another and another. he had found something to empty his gun at. presently we saw him returning with a brace and a half of birds that looked very much like large snipe. so he thought them, but that question was set at rest by the zoologist, who pronounced them at once to be the american "curlew" of wilson (_numenius longirostris_). curlew or snipe, they were soon divested of the feathery coat, and placed in lanty's frying-pan. excellent eating they proved, having only the fault that there was not enough of them. these birds formed the topic of our after-supper conversation, and then it generalised to the different species of wading birds of america, and at length that singular creature, the "ibis," became the theme. this came round by besancon remarking that a species of ibis was brought by the indians to the markets of new orleans, and sold there under the name of "spanish curlew." this was the white ibis (_tantalus albas_), which the zoologist stated was found in plenty along the whole southern coast of the united states. there were two other species, he said, natives of the warm parts of north america, the "wood-ibis" (_tantalus loculator_), which more nearly resembles the sacred ibis of egypt, and the beautiful "sacred ibis" (_tantalus ruber_), which last is rarer than the others. our venerable companion, who had the ornithology of america, if i may use the expression, at his fingers' ends, imparted many curious details of the habits of these rare birds. all listened with interest to his statements--even the hunter-guides, for with all their apparent rudeness of demeanour, there was a dash of the naturalist in these fellows. when the zoologist became silent, the young creole took up the conversation. talking of the ibis, he said, reminded him of an adventure he had met with while in pursuit of these birds among the swamps of his native state. he would relate it to us. of course we were rejoiced at the proposal. we were just the audience for an "adventure," and after rolling a fresh cigarette, the botanist began his narration. "during one of my college vacations i made a botanical excursion to the south-western part of louisiana. before leaving home i had promised a dear friend to bring him the skins of such rare birds as were known to frequent the swampy region i was about to traverse, but he was especially desirous i should obtain for him some specimens of the red ibis, which he intended to have `mounted.' i gave my word that no opportunity should be lost of obtaining these birds, and i was very anxious to make good my promise. "the southern part of the state of louisiana is one vast labyrinth of swamps, bayous, and lagoons. the bayous are sluggish streams that glide sleepily along, sometimes running one way, and sometimes the very opposite, according to the season of the year. many of them are outlets of the mississippi, which begins to shed off its waters more than miles from its mouth. these bayous are deep, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, with islets in their midst. they and their contiguous swamps are the great habitat of the alligator and the fresh-water shark--the gar. numerous species of water and wading fowl fly over them, and plunge through their dark tide. here you may see the red flamingo, the egret, the trumpeter-swan, the blue heron, the wild goose, the crane, the snake-bird, the pelican, and the ibis; you may likewise see the osprey, and the white-headed eagle robbing him of his prey. both swamps and bayous produce abundantly fish, reptile, and insect, and are, consequently, the favourite resort of hundreds of birds which prey upon these creatures. in some places, their waters form a complete net-work over the country, which you may traverse with a small boat in almost any direction; indeed, this is the means by which many settlements communicate with each other. as you approach southward towards the gulf, you get clear of the timber; and within some fifty miles of the sea, there is not a tree to be seen. "in the first day or two that i was out, i had succeeded in getting all the specimens i wanted, with the exception of the ibis. this shy creature avoided me; in fact i had only seen one or two in my excursions, and these at a great distance. i still, however, had hopes of finding them before my return to my friend. "about the third or fourth day i set out from a small settlement on the edge of one of the larger bayous. i had no other company than my gun. i was even unattended by a dog, as my favourite spaniel had the day before been bitten by an alligator while swimming across the bayou, and i was compelled to leave him at the settlement. of course the object of my excursion was a search after new flora, but i had become by this time very desirous of getting the rare ibis, and i was determined half to neglect my botanising for that purpose. i went of course in a boat, a light skiff, such as is commonly used by the inhabitants of these parts. "occasionally using the paddles, i allowed myself to float some four or live miles down the main bayou; but as the birds i was in search of did not appear, i struck into a `branch,' and sculled myself up-stream. this carried me through a solitary region, with marshes stretching as far as the eye could see, covered with tall reeds. there was no habitation, nor aught that betokened the presence of man. it was just possible that i was the first human being who had ever found a motive for propelling a boat through the dark waters of this solitary stream. "as i advanced, i fell in with game; and i succeeded in bagging several, both of the great wood-ibis and the white species. i also shot a fine white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_), which came soaring over my boat, unconscious of danger. but the bird which i most wanted seemed that which could not be obtained. i wanted the scarlet ibis. "i think i had rowed some three miles up-stream, and was about to take in my oars and leave my boat to float back again, when i perceived that, a little farther up, the bayou widened. curiosity prompted me to continue; and after pulling a few hundred strokes, i found myself at the end of an oblong lake, a mile or so in length. it was deep, dark, marshy around the shores, and full of alligators. i saw their ugly forms and long serrated backs, as they floated about in all parts of it, hungrily hunting for fish and eating one another; but all this was nothing new, for i had witnessed similar scenes during the whole of my excursion. what drew my attention most, was a small islet near the middle of the lake, upon one end of which stood a row of upright forms of a bright scarlet colour. these red creatures were the very objects i was in search of. they might be flamingoes: i could not tell at that distance. so much the better, if i could only succeed in getting a shot at them; but these creatures are even more wary than the ibis; and as the islet was low, and altogether without cover, it was not likely they would allow me to come within range: nevertheless, i was determined to make the attempt. i rowed up the lake, occasionally turning my head to see if the game had taken the alarm. the sun was hot and dazzling; and as the bright scarlet was magnified by refraction, i fancied for a long time they were flamingoes. this fancy was dissipated as i drew near. the outlines of the bills, like the blade of a sabre, convinced me they were the ibis; besides, i now saw that they were less than three feet in height, while the flamingoes stand five. there were a dozen of them in all. these were balancing themselves, as is their usual habit, on one leg, apparently asleep, or _buried in deep thought_. they were on the upper extremity of the islet, while i was approaching it from below. it was not above sixty yards across; and could i only reach the point nearest me, i knew my gun would throw shot to kill at that distance. i feared the stroke of the sculls would start them, and i pulled slowly and cautiously. perhaps the great heat--for it was as hot a day as i can remember--had rendered them torpid or lazy. whether or not, they sat still until the cut-water of my skiff touched the bank of the islet. i drew my gun up cautiously, took aim, and fired both barrels almost simultaneously. when the smoke cleared out of my eyes, i saw that all the birds had flown off except one, that lay stretched out by the edge of the water. "gun in hand, i leaped out of the boat, and ran across the islet to bag my game. this occupied but a few minutes; and i was turning to go back to the skiff, when, to my consternation, i saw it out upon the lake, and rapidly floating downward! "in my haste i had left it unfastened, and the bayou current had carried it off. it was still but a hundred yards distant, but it might as well have been a hundred miles, for at that time i could not swim a stroke. "my first impulse was to rush down to the lake, and after the boat. this impulse was checked on arriving at the water's edge, which i saw at a glance was fathoms in depth. quick reflection told me that the boat was gone--irrecoverably gone! "i did not at first comprehend the full peril of my situation; nor will you, gentlemen. i was on an islet, in a lake, only half a mile from its shores--alone, it is true, and without a boat; but what of that? many a man had been so before, with not an idea of danger. "these were first thoughts, natural enough; but they rapidly gave place to others of a far different character. when i gazed after my boat, now beyond recovery--when i looked around, and saw that the lake lay in the middle of an interminable swamp, the shores of which, even could i have reached them, did not seem to promise me footing--when i reflected that, being unable to swim, i could _not_ reach them--that upon the islet there was neither tree, nor log, nor bush; not a stick out of which i might make a raft--i say, when i reflected upon all these things, there arose in my mind a feeling of well-defined and absolute horror. "it is true i was only in a lake, a mile or so in width; but so far as the peril and helplessness of my situation were concerned, i might as well have been upon a rock in the middle of the atlantic. i knew that there was no settlement within miles--miles of pathless swamp. i knew that no one could either see or hear me--no one was at all likely to come near the lake; indeed, i felt satisfied that my faithless boat was the first keel that had ever cut its waters. the very tameness of the birds wheeling round my head was evidence of this. i felt satisfied, too, that without some one to help me, i should never go out from that lake: i must die on the islet, or drown in attempting to leave it! "these reflections rolled rapidly over my startled soul. the facts were clear, the hypothesis definite, the sequence certain; there was no ambiguity, no supposititious hinge upon which i could hang a hope; no, not one. i could not even expect that i should be missed and sought for; there was no one to search for me. the simple _habitans_ of the village i had left knew me not--i was a stranger among them: they only knew me as a stranger, and fancied me a strange individual; one who made lonely excursions, and brought home hunches of weeds, with birds, insects, and reptiles, which they had never before seen, although gathered at their own doors. my absence, besides, would be nothing new to them, even though it lasted for days: i had often been absent before, a week at a time. there was no hope of my being missed. "i have said that these reflections came and passed quickly. in less than a minute, my affrighted soul was in full possession of them, and almost yielded itself to despair. i shouted, but rather involuntarily than with any hope that i should be heard; i shouted loudly and fiercely: my answer--the echoes of my own voice, the shriek of the osprey, and the maniac laugh of the white-headed eagle. "i ceased to shout, threw my gun to the earth, and tottered down beside it. i can imagine the feelings of a man shut up in a gloomy prison-- they are not pleasant. i have been lost upon the wild prairie--the land sea--without bush, break, or star to guide me--that was worse. there you look around; you see nothing; you hear nothing: you are alone with god, and you tremble in his presence; your senses swim; your brain reels; you are afraid of yourself; you are afraid of your own mind. deserted by everything else, you dread lest it, too, may forsake you. there is horror in this--it is very horrible--it is hard to bear; but i have borne it all, and would bear it again twenty times over rather than endure once more the first hour i spent on that lonely islet in that lonely lake. your prison may be dark and silent, but you feel that you are not utterly alone; beings like yourself are near, though they be your jailers. lost on the prairie, you are alone; but you are free. in the islet, i felt that i was alone; that i was not free: in the islet i experienced the feelings of the prairie and the prison combined. "i lay in a state of stupor--almost unconscious; how long i know not, but many hours i am certain; i knew this by the sun--it was going down when i awoke, if i may so term the recovery of my stricken senses. i was aroused by a strange circumstance: i was surrounded by dark objects of hideous shape and hue--reptiles they were. they had been before my eyes for some time, but i had not seen them. i had only a sort of dreamy consciousness of their presence; but i heard them at length: my ear was in better tune, and the strange noises they uttered reached my intellect. it sounded like the blowing of great bellows, with now and then a note harsher and louder, like the roaring of a bull. this startled me, and i looked up and bent my eyes upon the objects: they were forms of the _crocodilidae_, the giant lizards--they were alligators. "huge ones they were, many of them; and many were they in number--a hundred at least were crawling over the islet, before, behind, and on all sides around me. their long gaunt jaws and channelled snouts projected forward so as almost to touch my body; and their eyes, usually leaden, seemed now to glare. "impelled by this new danger, i sprang to my feet, when, recognising the upright form of man, the reptiles scuttled off, and plunging hurriedly into the lake; hid their hideous bodies under the water. "the incident in some measure revived me. i saw that i was not alone; there was company even in the crocodiles. i gradually became more myself; and began to reflect with some degree of coolness on the circumstances that surrounded me. my eyes wandered over the islet; every inch of it came under my glance; every object upon it was scrutinised--the moulted feathers of wildfowl, the pieces of mud, the fresh-water mussels (_unios_) strewed upon its beach--all were examined. still the barren answer--no means of escape. "the islet was but the head of a sand-bar, formed by the eddy, perhaps gathered together within the year. it was bare of herbage, with the exception of a few tufts of grass. there was neither tree nor bush upon it: not a stick. a raft indeed! there was not wood enough to make a raft that would have floated a frog. the idea of a raft was but briefly entertained; such a thought had certainly crossed my mind, but a single glance round the islet dispelled it before it had taken shape. "i paced my prison from end to end; from side to side i walked it over. i tried the water's depth; on all sides i sounded it, wading recklessly in; everywhere it deepened rapidly as i advanced. three lengths of myself from the islet's edge, and i was up to the neck. the huge reptiles swam around, snorting and blowing; they were bolder in this element. i could not have waded safely ashore, even had the water been shallow. to swim it--no--even though i swam like a duck, they would have closed upon and quartered me before i could have made a dozen strokes. horrified by their demonstrations, i hurried back upon dry ground, and paced the islet with dripping garments. "i continued walking until night, which gathered around me dark and dismal. with night came new voices--the hideous voices of the nocturnal swamp; the qua-qua of the night-heron, the screech of the swamp-owl, the cry of the bittern, the cl-l-uk of the great water-toad, the tinkling of the bell-frog, and the chirp of the savanna-cricket--all fell upon my ear. sounds still harsher and more, hideous were heard around me--the plashing of the alligator, and the roaring of his voice; these reminded me that i must not go to sleep. to sleep! i durst not have slept for a single instant. even when i lay for a few minutes motionless, the dark reptiles came crawling round me--so close that i could have put forth my hand and touched them. "at intervals, i sprang to my feet, shouted, swept my gun around, and chased them back to the water, into which they betook themselves with a sullen plunge, but with little semblance of fear. at each fresh demonstration on my part they showed less alarm, until i could no longer drive them either with shouts or threatening gestures. they only retreated a few feet, forming an irregular circle round me. "thus hemmed in, i became frightened in turn. i loaded my gun and fired; i killed none. they are impervious to a bullet, except in the eye, or under the forearm. it was too dark to aim at these parts; and my shots glanced harmlessly from the pyramidal scales of their bodies. the loud report, however, and the blaze frightened them, and they fled, to return again after a long interval. i was asleep when they returned; i had gone to sleep in spite of my efforts to keep awake. i was startled by the touch of something cold; and half-stilled by the strong musky odour that filled the air. i threw out my arms; my fingers rested upon an object slippery and clammy: it was one of these monsters--one of gigantic size. he had crawled close alongside me, and was preparing to make his attack; as i saw that he was bent in the form of a bow, and i knew that these creatures assume that attitude when about to strike their victim. i was just in time to spring aside, and avoid the stroke of his powerful tail, that the next moment swept the ground where i had lain. again i fired, and he with the rest once more retreated to the lake. "all thoughts of going to sleep were at an end. not that i felt wakeful; on the contrary, wearied with my day's exertion--for i had had a long pull under a hot tropical sun--i could have lain down upon the earth, in the mud, anywhere, and slept in an instant. nothing but the dread certainty of my peril kept me awake. once again before morning, i was compelled to battle with the hideous reptiles, and chase them away with a shot from my gun. "morning came at length, but with it no change in my perilous position. the light only showed me my island prison, but revealed no way of escape from it. indeed, the change could not be called for the better, for the fervid rays of an almost vertical sun poured down upon me until my skin blistered. i was already speckled by the bites of a thousand swamp-flies and mosquitoes, that all night long had preyed upon me. there was not a cloud in the heavens to shade me; and the sunbeams smote the surface of the dead bayou with a double intensity. "towards evening, i began to hunger; no wonder at that: i had not eaten since leaving the village settlement. to assuage thirst, i drank the water of the lake, turbid and slimy as it was. i drank it in large quantities, for it was hot, and only moistened my palate without quenching the craving of my appetite. of water there was enough; i had more to fear from want of food. "what could i eat? the ibis. but how to cook it? there was nothing wherewith to make a fire--not a stick. no matter for that. cooking is a modern invention, a luxury for pampered palates. i divested the ibis of its brilliant plumage, and ate it raw. i spoiled my specimen, but at the time there was little thought of that: there was not much of the naturalist left in me. i anathematised the hour i had ever promised to procure the bird. i wished my friend up to his neck in a swamp. "the ibis did not weigh above three pounds, bones and all. it served me for a second meal, a breakfast; but at this _dejeuner sans fourchette_ i picked the bones. "what next? starve? no--not yet. in the battles i had had with the alligators during the second night, one of them had received a shot that proved mortal. the hideous carcass of the reptile lay dead upon the beach. i need not starve; i could eat that. such were my reflections. i must hunger, though, before i could bring myself to touch the musky morsel. "two more days' fasting conquered my squeamishness. i drew out my knife, cut a steak from the alligator's tail, and ate it--not the one i had first killed, but a second; the other was now putrid, rapidly decomposing under the hot sun: its odour filled the islet. "the stench had grown intolerable. there was not a breath of air stirring, otherwise i might have shunned it by keeping to windward. the whole atmosphere of the islet, as well as a large circle around it, was impregnated with the fearful effluvium. i could bear it no longer. with the aid of my gun, i pushed the half-decomposed carcass into the lake; perhaps the current might carry it away. it did: i had the gratification to see it float off. "this circumstance led me into a train of reflections. why did the body of the alligator float? it was swollen--inflated with gases. ha! "an idea shot suddenly through my mind--one of those brilliant ideas, the children of necessity. i thought of the floating alligator, of its intestines--what if i inflated them? yes, yes! buoys and bladders, floats and life-preservers! that was the thought. i would open the alligators, make a buoy of their intestines, and that would bear me from the islet! "i did not lose a moment's time; i was full of energy: hope had given me new life. my gun was loaded--a huge crocodile that swam near the shore received the shot in his eye. i dragged him on the beach; with my knife i laid open his entrails. few they were, but enough for my purpose. a plume-quill from the wing of the ibis served me for a blow-pipe. i saw the bladder-like skin expand, until i was surrounded by objects like great sausages. those were tied together, and fastened to my body, and then, with a plunge, i entered the waters of the lake, and floated downward. i had tied on my life-preservers in such a way that i sat in the water in an upright position, holding my gun with both hands. this i intended to have, used as a club in case i should be attacked by the alligators; but i had chosen the hot hour of noon, when these creatures lie in a half-torpid state, and to my joy i was not molested. "half an hour's drifting with the current carried me to the end of the lake, and i found myself at the _debouchure_ of the bayou. here, to my great delight, i saw my boat in the swamp, where it had been caught and held fast by the sedge. a few minutes more, and i had swung myself over the gunwale, and was sculling with eager strokes down the smooth waters of the bayou. "of course my adventure was ended, and i reached the settlement in safety, but without the object of my excursion. i was enabled, however, to procure it some days after, and had the gratification of being able to keep my promise to my friend." besancon's adventure had interested all of us; the old hunter-naturalist seemed delighted with it. no doubt it revived within him the memories of many a perilous incident in his own life. it was evident that in the circle of the camp-fire there was more than one pair of lips ready to narrate some similar adventure, but the hour was late, and all agreed it would be better to go to rest. on to-morrow night, some other would take their turn; and, in fact, a regular agreement was entered into that each one of the party who had at any period of his life been the hero or participator in any hunting adventure should narrate the same for the entertainment of the others. this would bring out a regular "round of stories by the camp-fire," and would enable us to kill the many long evenings we had to pass before coming up with the buffalo. the conditions were, that the stories should exclusively relate to birds or animals--in fact, any hunted game belonging to the _fauna_ of the american continent: furthermore, that each should contribute his _quota_ of information about whatever animal should chance to be the subject of the narration--about its habits, its geographical range; in short, its general natural history, as well as the various modes of hunting it, practised in different places by different people. this, it was alleged, would render our camp conversation instructive as well as entertaining. the idea originated with the old hunter-naturalist, who very wisely reasoned that among so many gentlemen of large hunting experience he might collect new facts for his favourite science--for to just such men, and not to the closet-dreamer, is natural history indebted for its most interesting chapters. of course every one of us, guides and all, warmly applauded the proposal, for there was no one among us averse to receiving a little knowledge of so entertaining a character. no doubt to the naturalist himself we should be indebted for most part of it; and his mode of communicating was so pleasant, that even the rude trappers listened to him with wonder and attention. they saw that he was no "greenhorn" either in woodcraft or prairie knowledge, and that was a sufficient claim to their consideration. there is no character less esteemed by the regular "mountain-man" than a "greenhorn,"--that is, one who is new to the ways of their wilderness life. with the design of an early start, we once more crept into our several quarters, and went to sleep. chapter four. the passenger-pigeons. after an early breakfast we lit our pipes and cigars, and took to the road. the sun was very bright, and in less than two hours after starting we were sweltering under a heat almost tropical. it was one of those autumn days peculiar to america, where even a high latitude seems to be no protection against the sun, and his beams fall upon one with as much fervour as they would under the line itself. the first part of our journey was through open woods of black-jack, whose stunted forms afforded no shade, but only shut off the breeze which might otherwise have fanned us. while fording a shallow stream, the doctor's scraggy, ill-tempered horse took a fit of kicking quite frantical. for some time it seemed likely that either the doctor himself, or his saddle-bags, would be deposited in the bottom of the creek, but after a severe spell of whipping and kicking on the part of the rider, the animal moved on again. what had set it dancing? that was the question. it had the disposition to be "frisky," but usually appeared to be lacking in strength. the buzz of a horse-fly sounding in our ears explained all. it was one of those large insects--the "horse-bug,"--peculiar to the mississippi country, and usually found near watercourses. they are more terrible to horses than a fierce dog would be. i have known horses gallop away from them as if pursued by a beast of prey. there is a belief among western people that these insects are propagated by the horses themselves; that is, that the eggs of the female are deposited upon the grass, so that the horses may swallow them; that incubation goes on within the stomach of the animal, and that the chrysalis is afterwards voided. i have met with others who believed in a still stranger theory; that the insect itself actually sought, and found, a passage into the stomach of the horse, some said by passing down his throat, others by boring a hole through his abdomen; and that in such cases the horse usually sickened, and was in danger of dying! after the doctor's mustang had returned to proper behaviour, these odd theories became the subject of discussion. the kentuckian believed in them--the englishman doubted them--the hunter-naturalist could not endorse them--and besancon ignored them entirely. shortly after the incident we entered the bottom lands of a considerable stream. these were heavily-timbered, and the shadow of the great forest trees afforded us a pleasant relief from the hot sun. our guides told us we had several miles of such woods to pass through, and we were glad of the information. we noticed that most of the trees were beech, and their smooth straight trunks rose like columns around us. the beech (_fagus sylvatica_) is one of the most beautiful of american forest trees. unlike most of the others, its bark is smooth, without fissures, and often of a silvery hue. large beech-trees standing by the path, or near a cross road, are often seen covered with names, initials, and dates. even the indian often takes advantage of the bark of a beech-tree to signalise his presence to his friends, or commemorate some savage exploit. indeed, the beautiful column-like trunk seems to invite the knife, and many a souvenir is carved upon it by the loitering wayfarer. it does not, however, invite the axe of the settler. on the contrary, the beechen woods often remain untouched, while others fall around them--partly because these trees are not usually the indices of the richest soil, but more from the fact that clearing a piece of beech forest is no easy matter. the green logs do not burn so readily as those of the oak, the elm, the maple, or poplar, and hence the necessity of "rolling" them off the ground to be cleared--a serious thing where labour is scarce and dear. we were riding silently along, when all at once our ears were assailed by a strange noise. it resembled the clapping of a thousand pairs of hands, followed by a whistling sound, as if a strong wind had set suddenly in among the trees. we all knew well enough what it meant, and the simultaneous cry of "pigeons," was followed by half a dozen simultaneous cracks from the guns of the party, and several bluish birds fell to the ground. we had stumbled upon a feeding-place of the passenger-pigeon (_columba migratoria_). our route was immediately abandoned, and in a few minutes we were in the thick of the flock, cracking away at them both with shot-gun and rifle. it was not so easy, however, to bring them down in any considerable numbers. in following them up we soon strayed from each other, until our party was completely scattered, and nearly two hours elapsed before we got back to the road. our game-bag, however, made a fine show, and about forty brace were deposited in the waggon. with the anticipation of roast pigeon and "pot-pie," we rode on more cheerily to our night-camp. all along the route the pigeons were seen, and occasionally large flocks whirled over our heads under the canopy of the trees. satiated with the sport, and not caring to waste our ammunition, we did not heed them farther. in order to give lanty due time for the duties of the _cuisine_, we halted a little earlier than usual. our day's march had been a short one, but the excitement and sport of the pigeon-hunt repaid us for the loss of time. our dinner-supper--for it was a combination of both--was the dish known in america as "pot-pie," in which the principal ingredients were the pigeons, some soft flour paste, with a few slices of bacon to give it a flavour. properly speaking, the "pot-pie" is not a pie, but a stew. ours was excellent, and as our appetites wore in a similar condition, a goodly quantity was used up in appeasing them. of course the conversation of the evening was the "wild pigeon of america," and the following facts regarding its natural history-- although many of them are by no means new--may prove interesting to the reader, as they did to those who listened to the relation of them around our camp-fire. the "passenger" is less in size than the house pigeon. in the air it looks not unlike the kite, wanting the forked or "swallow" tail. that of the pigeon is cuneiform. its colour is best described by calling it a nearly uniform slate. in the male the colours are deeper, and the neck-feathers present the same changeable hues of green, gold, and purple-crimson, generally observed in birds of this species. it is only in the woods, and when freshly caught or killed, that these brilliant tints can be seen to perfection. they fade in captivity, and immediately after the bird has been shot. they seem to form part of its life and liberty, and disappear when it is robbed of either. i have often thrust the wild pigeon, freshly killed, into my game-bag, glittering like an opal. i have drawn it forth a few hours after of a dull leaden hue, and altogether unlike the same bird. as with all birds of this tribe, the female is inferior to the male, both in size and plumage. the eye is less vivid. in the male it is of the most brilliant fiery orange, inclosed in a well-defined circle of red. the eye is in truth its finest feature, and never fails to strike the beholder with admiration. the most singular fact in the natural history of the "passenger," is their countless numbers. audubon saw a flock that contained "one billion one hundred and sixteen millions of birds!" wilson counted, or rather computed, another flock of "two thousand two hundred and thirty millions!" these numbers seem incredible. i have no doubt of their truth. i have no doubt that they are _under_ rather than _over_ the numbers actually seen by both these naturalists, for both made most liberal allowances in their calculations. where do these immense flocks come from? the wild pigeons breed in all parts of america. their breeding-places are found as far north as the hudson's bay, and they have been seen in the southern forests of louisiana and texas. the nests are built upon high trees, and resemble immense rookeries. in kentucky, one of their breeding-places was forty miles in length, by several in breadth! one hundred nests will often be found upon a single tree, and in each nest there is but one "squab." the eggs are pure white, like those of the common kind, and, like them, they breed several times during the year, but principally when food is plenty. they establish themselves in great "roosts," sometimes for years together, to which each night they return from their distant excursions--hundreds of miles, perhaps; for this is but a short fly for travellers who can pass over a mile in a single minute, and some of whom have even strayed across the atlantic to england! they, however, as i myself have observed, remain in the same woods where they have been feeding for several days together. i have also noticed that they prefer roosting in the low underwood, even when tall trees are close at hand. if near water, or hanging over a stream, the place is still more to their liking; and in the morning they may be seen alighting on the bank to drink, before taking to their daily occupation. the great "roosts" and breeding-places are favourite resorts for numerous birds of prey. the small vultures (_cathartes aura_ and _atratus_), or, as they are called in the west, "turkey buzzard," and "carrion crow," do not confine themselves to carrion alone. they are fond of live "squabs," which they drag out of their nests at pleasure. numerous hawks and kites prey upon them; and even the great white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_) may be seen soaring above, and occasionally swooping down for a dainty morsel. on the ground beneath move enemies of a different kind, both biped and quadruped. fowlers with their guns and long poles; farmers with waggons to carry off the dead birds; and even droves of hogs to devour them. trees fall under the axe, and huge branches break down by the weight of the birds themselves, killing numbers in their descent. torches are used--for it is usually a night scene, after the return of the birds from feeding,-- pots of burning sulphur, and other engines of destruction. a noisy scene it is. the clapping of a million pair of wings, like the roaring of thunder; the shots; the shouts; men hoarsely calling to each other; women and children screaming their delight; the barking of dogs; the neighing of horses; the "crashes" of breaking branches; and the "chuck" of the woodman's axe, all mingled together. when the men--saturated with slaughter, and white with ordure--have retired beyond the borders of the roost to rest themselves for the night, their ground is occupied by the prowling wolf and the fox; the racoon and the cougar; the lynx and the great black bear. with so many enemies, one would think that the "passengers" would soon be exterminated. not so. they are too prolific for that. indeed, were it not for these enemies, they themselves would perish for want of food. fancy what it takes to feed them! the flock seen by wilson would require eighteen million bushels of grain every day!--and it, most likely, was only one of many such that at the time were traversing the vast continent of america. upon what do they feed? it will be asked. upon the fruits of the great forest--upon the acorns, the nuts of the beech, upon buck-wheat, and indian corn; upon many species of berries, such as the huckleberry (_whortleberry_), the hackberry (_celtis crassifolia_), and the fruit of the holly. in the northern regions, where these are scarce, the berries of the juniper tree (_juniperus communis_) form the principal food. on the other hand, among the southern plantations, they devour greedily the rice, as well as the nuts of the chestnut-tree and several species of oaks. but their staple food is the beech-nut, or "mast," as it is called. of this the pigeons are fond, and fortunately it exists in great plenty. in the forests of western america there are vast tracts covered almost entirely with the beech-tree. as already stated, these beechen forests of america remain almost intact, and so long as they shower down their millions of bushels of "mast," so long will the passenger-pigeons flutter in countless numbers amidst their branches. their migration is semi-annual; but unlike most other migratory birds, it is far from being regular. their flight is, in fact, not a periodical migration, but a sort of nomadic existence--food being the object which keeps them in motion and directs their course. the scarcity in one part determines their movement to another. when there is more than the usual fall of snow in the northern regions, vast flocks make their appearance in the middle states, as in ohio and kentucky. this may in some measure account for the overcrowded "roosts" which have been occasionally seen, but which are by no means common. you may live in the west for many years without witnessing a scene such as those described by wilson and audubon, though once or twice every year you may see pigeons enough to astonish you. it must not be imagined that the wild pigeons of america are so "tame" as they have been sometimes represented. that is their character only while young at the breeding-places, or at the great roosts when confused by crowding upon each other, and mystified by torch-light. far different are they when wandering through the open woods in search of food. it is then both difficult to approach and hard to kill them. odd birds you may easily reach; you may see them perched upon the branches on all sides of you, and within shot-range; but the _thick_ of the flock, somehow or other, always keeps from one to two hundred yards off. the sportsman cannot bring himself to fire at single birds. no. there is a tree near at hand literally black with pigeons. its branches creak under the weight. what a fine havoc he will make if he can but get near enough! but that is the difficulty; there is no cover, and he must approach as he best can without it. he continues to advance; the birds sit silent, watching his movements. he treads lightly and with caution; he inwardly anathematises the dead leaves and twigs that make a loud rustling under his feet. the birds appear restless; several stretch out their necks as if to spring off. at length he deems himself fairly within range, and raises his gun to take aim; but this is a signal for the shy game, and before he can draw trigger they are off to another tree! some stragglers still remain; and at them he levels his piece and fires. the shot is a random one; for our sportsman, having failed to "cover" the flock, has become irritated and careless, and in all such cases the pigeons fly off with the loss of a few feathers. the gun is reloaded, and our amateur hunter, seeing the thick flock upon another tree, again endeavours to approach it, but with like success. chapter five. hunt with a howitzer. when the conversation about the haunts and habits of these birds began to flag, some one called for a "pigeon story." who could tell a pigeon story? to our surprise the doctor volunteered one, and all gathered around to listen. "yes, gentlemen," began the doctor, "i have a pigeon adventure, which occurred to me some years ago. i was then living in cincinnati, following my respectable calling, when i had the good fortune to set a broken leg for one colonel p--, a wealthy planter, who lived upon the bank of the river some sixty miles from the city. i made a handsome set of if, and won the colonel's friendship for ever. shortly after, i was invited to his house, to be present at a great pigeon-hunt which was to come off in the fall. the colonel's plantation stood among beech woods, and he had therefore an annual visitation of the pigeons, and could tell almost to a day when they would appear. the hunt he had arranged for the gratification of his numerous friends. "as you all know, gentlemen, sixty miles in our western travel is a mere bagatelle; and tired of pills and prescriptions, i flung myself into a boat, and in a few hours arrived at the colonel's stately home. a word or two about this stately home and its proprietor. "colonel p-- was a splendid specimen of the backwoods' gentleman--you will admit there _are_ gentlemen in the backwoods." (here the doctor glanced good-humouredly, first at our english friend thompson, and then at the kentuckian, both of whom answered him with a laugh.) "his house was the type of a backwoods mansion; a wooden structure, both walls and roof. no matter. it has distributed as much hospitality in its time as many a marble palace; that was one of its backwoods' characteristics. it stood, and i hope still stands, upon the north bank of the ohio--that beautiful stream--`_la belle riviere_,' as the french colonists, and before their time the indians, used to call it. it was in the midst of the woods, though around it were a thousand acres of `clearing,' where you might distinguish fields of golden wheat, and groves of shining maize plants waving aloft their yellow-flower tassels. you might note, too, the broad green leaf of the nicotian `weed,' or the bursting pod of the snow-white cotton. in the garden you might observe the sweet potato, the common one, the refreshing tomato, the huge water-melon, cantelopes, and musk melons, with many other delicious vegetables. you could see pods of red and green pepper growing upon trailing plants; and beside them several species of peas and beans--all valuable for the colonel's _cuisine_. there was an orchard, too, of several acres in extent. it was filled with fruit-trees, the finest peaches in the world, and the finest apples--the newton pippins. besides, there were luscious pears and plums, and upon the espaliers, vines bearing bushels of sweet grapes. if colonel p-- lived in the woods, it cannot be said that he was surrounded by a desert. "there were several substantial log-houses near the main building or mansion. they were the stable--and good horses there were in that stable; the cow-house, for milk cattle; the barn, to hold the wheat and maize-corn; the smoke-house, for curing bacon; a large building for the dry tobacco; a cotton-gin, with its shed of clap-boards; bins for the husk fodder, and several smaller structures. in one corner you saw a low-walled erection that reminded you of a kennel, and the rich music that from time to time issued from its apertures would convince you that it _was_ a kennel. if you had peeped into it, you would have seen a dozen of as fine stag-hounds as ever lifted a trail. the colonel was somewhat partial to these pets, for he was a `mighty hunter.' you might see a number of young colts in an adjoining lot; a pet deer, a buffalo-calf, that had been brought from the far prairies, pea-fowl, guinea-hens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and the usual proportion of common fowls. rail-fences zigzagged off in all directions towards the edge of the woods. huge trees, dead and divested of their leaves, stood up in the cleared fields. turkey buzzards and carrion, crows might be seen perched upon their grey naked limbs; upon their summit you might observe the great rough-legged falcon; and above all, cutting sharply against the blue sky, the fork-tailed kite sailing gently about." here the doctor's auditory interrupted him with a murmur of applause. the doctor was in fine spirits, and in a poetical mood. he continued. "such, gentlemen, was the sort of place i had come to visit; and i saw at a glance that i could spend a few days there pleasantly enough--even without the additional attractions of a pigeon-hunt. "on my arrival i found the party assembled. it consisted of a score and a half of ladies and gentlemen, nearly all young people. the pigeons had not yet made their appearance, but were looked for every hour. the woods had assumed the gorgeous tints of autumn, that loveliest of seasons in the `far west.' already the ripe nuts and berries were scattered profusely over the earth offering their annual banquet to god's wild creatures. the `mast' of the beech-tree, of which the wild pigeon is so fond, was showering down among the dead leaves. it was the very season at which the birds were accustomed to visit the beechen woods that girdled the colonel's plantation. they would no doubt soon appear. with this expectation everything was made ready; each of the gentlemen was provided with a fowling-piece, or rifle if he preferred it; and even some of the ladies insisted upon being armed. "to render the sport more exciting, our host had established certain regulations. they were as follows:--the gentlemen were divided into two parties, of equal numbers. these were to go in opposite directions, the ladies upon the first day of the hunt accompanying whichever they chose. upon all succeeding days, however, the case would be different. the ladies were to accompany that party which upon the day previous had bagged the greatest number of birds. the victorious gentlemen, moreover, were endowed with other privileges, which lasted throughout the evening; such as the choice of partners for the dinner-table and the dance. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that in these conditions existed powerful motives for exertion. the colonel's guests were the _elite_ of western society. most of the gentlemen were young men or bachelors; and among the ladies there were _belles_; three or four of them rich and beautiful. on my arrival i could perceive signs of incipient flirtations. attachments had already arisen; and by many it would have been esteemed anything but pleasant to be separated in the manner prescribed. a strong _esprit du corps_ was thus established; and, by the time the pigeons arrived, both parties had determined to do their utmost. in fact, i have never known so strong a feeling of rivalry to exist between two parties of amateur sportsmen. "the pigeons at length arrived. it was a bright sunny morning, and yet the atmosphere was darkened, as the vast flock, a mile in breadth by several in length, passed across the canopy. the sound of their wings resembled a strong wind whistling among tree-tops, or through the rigging of a ship. we saw that they hovered over the woods, and settled among the tall beeches. "the beginning of the hunt was announced, and we set forth, each party taking the direction allotted to it. with each went a number of ladies, and even some of these were armed with light fowling-pieces, determined that the party of their choice should be the victorious one. after a short ride, we found ourselves fairly `in the woods,' and in the presence of the birds, and then the cracking commenced. "in our party we had eight guns, exclusive of the small fowling-pieces (two of those), with which a brace of our heroines were armed, and which, truth compels me to confess, were less dangerous to the pigeons than to ourselves. some of our guns were double-barrelled shot-guns, others were rifles. you will wonder at rifles being used in such a sport, and yet it is a fact that the gentlemen who carried rifles managed to do more execution than those who were armed with the other species. this arose from the circumstance that they were contented to aim at single birds, and, being good shots, they were almost sure to bring these down. the woods were filled with straggling pigeons. odd birds were always within rifle range; and thus, instead of wasting their time in endeavouring to approach the great flocks, our riflemen did nothing but load and fire. in this way they soon counted their game by dozens. "early in the evening, the pigeons, having filled their crops with the mast, disappeared. they flew off to some distant `roost.' this of course concluded our sport for the day. we got together and counted our numbers. we had birds. we returned home full of hope; we felt certain that we had won for that day. our antagonists had arrived before us. they showed us dead pigeons. we were beaten. "i really cannot explain the chagrin which this defeat occasioned to most of our party. they felt humiliated in the eyes of the ladies, whose company they were to lose on the morrow. to some there was extreme bitterness in the idea; for, as i have already stated, attachments had sprung up, and jealous thoughts were naturally their concomitants. it was quite tantalising, as we parted next morning, to see the galaxy of lovely women ride off with our antagonists, while we sought the woods in the opposite direction, dispirited and in silence. "we went, however, determined to do our best, and win the ladies for the morrow. a council was held, and each imparted his advice and encouragement; and then we all set to work with shot-gun and rifle. "on this day an incident occurred that aided our `count' materially. as you know, gentlemen, the wild pigeons, while feeding, sometimes cover the ground so thickly that they crowd upon each other. they all advance in the same direction, those behind continually rising up and fluttering to the front, so that the surface presents a series of undulations like sea-waves. frequently the birds alight upon each other's backs, for want of room upon the ground, and a confused mass of winged creatures is seen rolling through the woods. at such times, if the sportsman can only `head' the flock, he is sure of a good shot. almost every pellet tells, and dozens may be brought down at a single discharge. "in my progress through the woods, i had got separated from my companions, when i observed an immense flock approaching me after the manner described. i saw from their plumage that they were young birds, and therefore not likely to be easily alarmed. i drew my horse (i was mounted) behind a tree, and awaited their approach. this i did more from curiosity than any other motive, as, unfortunately i carried a rifle, and could only have killed one or two at the best. the crowd came `swirling' forward, and when they were within some ten or fifteen paces distant, i fired into their midst. to my surprise, the flock did not take flight, but continued to advance as before, until they were almost among the horse's feet. i could stand it no longer. i drove the spurs deeply, and galloped into their midst, striking right and left as they fluttered up round me. of course they were soon off; but of those that had been trodden upon by my horse, and others i had knocked down, i counted no less than twenty-seven! proud of my exploit, i gathered the birds into my bag, and rode in search of my companions. "our party on this day numbered over head killed; but, to our surprise and chagrin, our antagonists had beaten us by more than a hundred! "the gentlemen of `ours' were wretched. the belles were monopolised by our antagonists; we were scouted, and debarred every privilege. "it was not to be endured; something must be done. what was to be done? counselled we. if fair means will not answer, we must try the opposite. it was evident that our antagonists were better shots than we. "the colonel, too, was one of them, and he was sure to kill every time he pulled trigger. the odds were against us; some plan must be devised; some _ruse_ must be adopted, and the idea of one had been passing through my mind during the whole of that day. it was this:--i had noticed, what has been just remarked, that, although the pigeons will not allow the sportsman to come within range of a fowling-piece, yet at a distance of little over a hundred yards they neither fear man nor beast. at that distance they sit unconcerned, thousands of them upon a single tree. it struck me that a gun large enough to throw shot among them would be certain of killing hundreds at each discharge; but where was such a gun to be had? as i reflected thus, `mountain howitzers' came into my mind. i remembered the small mountain howitzers i had seen at covington. one of these loaded with shot would be the very weapon. i knew there was a battery of them at the barracks. i knew that a friend of mine commanded the battery. by steamer, should one pass, it was but a few hours to covington. i proposed sending for a `mountain howitzer.' "i need hardly say that my proposal was hailed with a universal welcome on the part of my companions; and without dropping a hint to the other party, it was at once resolved that the design should be carried into execution. it was carried into execution. an `up-river' boat chanced to pass in the nick of time. a messenger was forthwith, despatched to covington, and before twelve o'clock upon the following day another boat on her down trip brought the howitzer, and we had it secretly landed and conveyed to a place in the woods previously agreed upon. my friend, captain c--, had sent a `live corporal' along with it, and we had no difficulty in its management. "as i had anticipated, it answered our purpose as though it had been made for it. every shot brought down a shower of dead birds, and after one discharge alone the number obtained was ! at night our `game-bag' counted over three thousand birds! we were sure of the ladies for the morrow. "before returning home to our certain triumph, however, there were some considerations. to-morrow we should have the ladies in our company; some of the fair creatures would be as good as sure to `split' upon the howitzer. what was to be done to prevent this? "we eight had sworn to be staunch to each other. we had taken every precaution; we had only used our `great gun' when far off, so that its report might not reach the ears of our antagonists; but how about to-morrow? could we trust our fair companions with a secret? decidedly not. this was the unanimous conclusion. a new idea now came to our aid. we saw that we might dispense with the howitzer, and still manage to out-count our opponents. we would make a depository of birds in a safe place. there was a squatter's house near by: that would do. so we took the squatter into our council, and left some birds in his charge, the remainder being deemed sufficient for that day. from the thus left, we might each day take a few hundred to make up our game-bag just enough to out-number the other party. we did not send home the corporal and his howitzer. we might require him again; so we quartered him upon the squatter. "on returning home, we found that our opponents had also made a `big day's work of it;' but they were beaten by hundreds. the ladies were ours! "and we kept them until the end of the hunt, to the no little mortification of the gentlemen in the `minority:' to their surprise, as well; for most of them being crack-shots, and several of us not at all so, they could not comprehend why they were every day beaten so outrageously. we had hundreds to spare, and barrels of the birds were cured for winter use. "another thing quite puzzled our opponents, as well as many good people in the neighbourhood. that was the loud reports that had been heard in the woods. some argued they were thunder, while others declared they must have proceeded from an earthquake. this last seemed the more probable, as the events i am narrating occurred but a few years after the great earthquake in the mississippi valley, and people's minds were prepared for such a thing. "i need not tell you how the knowing ones enjoyed the laugh for several days, and it was not until the colonel's _reunion_ was about to break up, that our secret was let out, to the no small chagrin of our opponents, but to the infinite amusement of our host himself, who, although one of the defeated party, often narrates to his friends the story of the `hunt with a howitzer.'" chapter six. killing a cougar. although we had made a five miles' march from the place where we had halted to shoot the pigeons, our night-camp was still within the boundaries of the flock. during the night we could hear them at intervals at no great distance off. a branch occasionally cracked, and then a fluttering of wings told of thousands dislodged or frightened by its fall. sometimes the fluttering commenced without any apparent cause. no doubt the great-horned owl (_strix virginiana_), the wild cat (_felis rufa_), and the raccoon, were busy among them, and the silent attacks of these were causing the repeated alarms. before going to rest, a torch-hunt was proposed by way of variety, but no material for making good torches could be found, and the idea was abandoned. torches should be made of dry pine-knots, and carried in some shallow vessel. the common frying-pan, with a long handle, is best for the purpose. link-torches, unless of the best pitch-pine (_pinus resinosa_), do not burn with sufficient brightness to stultify the pigeons. they will flutter off before the hunter can get his long pole within reach, whereas with a very brilliant light, he may approach almost near enough to lay his hands upon them. as there were no pitch-pine-trees in the neighbourhood, nor any good torch-wood, we were forced to give up the idea of a night-hunt. during the night strange noises were heard by several who chanced to be awake. some said they resembled the howling of dogs, while others compared them to the screaming of angry cats. one party said they were produced by wolves; another, that the wild cats (lynxes) made them. but there was one that differed from all the rest. it was a sort of prolonged hiss, that all except ike believed to be the snort of the black bear, lice, however, declared that it was not the bear, but the "sniff," as he termed it, of the "painter" (cougar). this was probable enough, considering the nature of the place. the cougar is well-known to frequent the great roosts of the passenger-pigeon, and is fond of the flesh of these birds. in the morning our camp was still surrounded by the pigeons, sweeping about among the tree-trunks, and gathering the mast as they went. a few shots were fired, not from any inclination to continue the sport of killing them, but to lay in a fresh stock for the day's dinner. the surplus from yesterday's feast was thrown away, and left by the deserted camp--a banquet for the preying creatures that would soon visit the spot. we moved on, still surrounded by masses upon the wing. a singular incident occurred as we were passing through a sort of avenue in the forest. it was a narrow aisle, on both sides walled in by the thick foliage of the beeches. we were fairly within this hall-like passage, when it suddenly darkened at the opposite end. we saw that a cloud of pigeons had entered it, flying towards us. they were around our heads before they had noticed us. seeing our party, they suddenly attempted to diverge from their course, but there was no other open to them, except to rise upward in a vertical direction. this they did on the instant--the clatter of their wings producing a noise like the continued roar of thunder. some had approached so near, that the men on horseback, striking with their guns, knocked several to the ground; and the kentuckian, stretching upward his long arm, actually caught one of them on the wing. in an instant they were out of sight; but at that instant two great birds appeared before us at the opening of the forest, which were at once recognised as a brace of white-headed eagles (_falco leucocephalus_). this accounted for the rash flight of the pigeons; for the eagles had evidently been in pursuit of them, and had driven them to seek shelter under the trees. we were desirous of emptying our guns at the great birds of prey, and there was a simultaneous spurring of horses and cocking of guns: to no purpose, however. the eagles were on the alert. they had already espied us; and, uttering their maniac screams, they wheeled suddenly, and disappeared over the tree-tops. we had hardly recovered from this pleasant little bit of excitement, when the guide ike, who rode in the advance, was seen suddenly to jerk up, exclaiming-- "painter, by god! i know'd i heard a painter." "where? where?" was hurriedly uttered by several voices, while all pressed forward to the guide. "yander!" replied ike, pointing to a thicket of young beeches. "he's tuk to the brush: ride round, fellers. mark, boy, round! quick, damn you!" there was a scramble of horsemen, with excited, anxious looks and gestures. every one had his gun cocked and ready, and in a few seconds the small copse of beeches, with their golden-yellow leaves, was inclosed by a ring of hunters. had the cougar got away, or was he still within the thicket? several large trees grew out of its midst. had he taken to one? the eyes of the party were turned upwards. the fierce creature was nowhere visible. it was impossible to see into every part of the jungle from the outside, as we sat in our saddles. the game might be crouching among the grass and brambles. what was to be done? we had no dogs. how was the cougar to be started? it would be no small peril to penetrate the thicket afoot. who was to do it? the question was answered by redwood, who was now seen dismounting from his horse. "keep your eyes about you," cried he. "i'll make the varmint show if he's thur. look sharp, then!" we saw redwood enter fearlessly, leaving his horse hitched over a branch. we heard him no longer, as he proceeded with that stealthy silence known only to the indian fighter. we listened, and waited in profound suspense. not even the crackling of a branch broke the stillness. full five minutes we waited, and then the sharp crack of a rifle near the centre of the copsewood relieved, us. the next moment was heard redwood's voice crying aloud-- "look out thur? by god! i've missed him." before we had time to change our attitudes another rifle cracked, and another voice was heard, crying in answer to redwood-- "but, by god! i hain't." "he's hyur," continued the voice; "dead as mutton. come this a way, an' yu'll see the beauty." ike's voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where it proceeded from. at his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead. there was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where ike's bullet had penetrated. in trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar had halted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before ike's face, and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance through his sights, and send the fatal bullet. of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though he pretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew well that killing a "painter" was no everyday adventure. the skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to the waggon. such a trophy is rarely left in the woods. the hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the body for the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. these consisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, an enormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previous night--having captured them no doubt upon the trees. this adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the rest of our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. his habits and history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is given below. chapter seven. the cougar. the cougar (_felis concolor_) is the only indigenous long-tailed cat in america north of the parallel of degrees. the "wild cats" so called, are lynxes with short tails; and of these there are three distinct species. but there is only one true representative of the genus felis, and that is the animal in question. this has received many trivial appellations. among anglo-american hunters, it is called the panther--in their _patois_, "painter." in most parts of south america, as well as in mexico, it receives the grandiloquent title of "lion" (_leon_), and in the peruvian countries is called the "puma," or "poma." the absence of stripes, such as those of the tiger--or spots, as upon the leopard--or rosettes, as upon the jaguar, have suggested the name of the naturalists, _concolor_. _discolor_ was formerly in use; but the other has been generally adopted. there are few wild animals so regular in their colour as the cougar: very little variety has been observed among different specimens. some naturalists speak of spotted cougars--that is, having spots that may be seen in a certain light. upon young cubs, such markings do appear; but they are no longer visible on the full-grown animal. the cougar of mature age is of a tawny red colour, almost uniform over the whole body, though somewhat paler about the face and the parts underneath. this colour is not exactly the tawny of the lion; it is more of a reddish hue--nearer to what is termed calf-colour. the cougar is far from being a well-shaped creature: it appears disproportioned. its back is long and hollow; and its tail does not taper so gracefully as in some other animals of the cat kind. its legs are short and stout; and although far from clumsy in appearance, it does not possess the graceful _tournure_ of body so characteristic of some of its congeners. though considered the representative of the lion in the new world, its resemblance to the royal beast is but slight; its colour seems to be the only title it has to such an honour. for the rest, it is much more akin to the tigers, jaguars, and true panthers. cougars are rarely more than six feet in length, including the tail, which is usually about a third of that measurement. the range of the animal is very extensive. it is known from paraguay to the great lakes of north america. in no part of either continent is it to be seen every day, because it is for the most part not only nocturnal in its activity, but one of those fierce creatures that, fortunately, do not exist in large numbers. like others of the genus, it is solitary in its habits, and at the approach of civilisation betakes itself to the remoter parts of the forest. hence the cougar, although found in all of the united states, is a rare animal everywhere, and seen only at long intervals in the mountain-valleys, or in other difficult places of the forest. the appearance of a cougar is sufficient to throw any neighbourhood into an excitement similar to that which would be produced by the chase of a mad dog. it is a splendid tree-climber. it can mount a tree with the agility of a cat; and although so large an animal, it climbs by means of its claws--not by hugging, after the manner of the bears and opossums. while climbing a tree, its claws can be heard crackling along the bark as it mounts upward. it sometimes lies "squatted" along a horizontal branch, a lower one, for the purpose of springing upon deer, or such other animals as it wishes to prey upon. the ledge of a cliff is also a favourite haunt, and such are known among the hunters as "panther-ledges." it selects such a position in the neighbourhood of some watering-place, or, if possible, one of the salt or soda springs (licks) so numerous in america. here it is more certain that its vigil will not be a protracted one. its prey--elk, deer, antelope, or buffalo--soon appears beneath, unconscious of the dangerous enemy that cowers over them. when fairly within reach, the cougar springs, and pouncing down upon the shoulders of the victim, buries its claws in the flesh. the terrified animal starts forward, leaps from side to side, dashes into the papaw thickets, or breasts the dense cane-brake, in hopes of brushing off its relentless rider. all in vain! closely clasping its neck, the cougar clings on, tearing its victim in the throat, and drinking its blood throughout the wild gallop. faint and feeble, the ruminant at length totters and falls, and the fierce destroyer squats itself along the body, and finishes its red repast. if the cougar can overcome several animals at a time, it will kill them all, although but the twentieth part may be required to satiate its hunger. unlike the lion in this, even in repletion it will kill. with it, destruction of life seems to be an instinct. there is a very small animal, and apparently a very helpless one, with which the cougar occasionally quarrels, but often with ill success--this is the canada porcupine. whether the cougar ever succeeds in killing one of these creatures is not known, but that it attacks them is beyond question, and its own death is often the result. the quills of the canada porcupine are slightly barbed at their extremities; and when stuck into the flesh of a living animal, this arrangement causes them to penetrate mechanically deeper and deeper as the animal moves. that the porcupine can itself discharge them to some distance, is not true, but it is true that it can cause them to be easily _detached_; and this it does when rashly seized by any of the predatory animals. the result is, that these remarkable spines become fast in the tongue, jaws, and lips of the cougar, or any other creature which may make an attack on that seemingly unprotected little animal. the fisher (_mustela canadensis_) is said to be the only animal that can kill the porcupine with impunity. it fights the latter by first throwing it upon its back, and then springing upon its upturned belly, where the spines are almost entirely wanting. the cougar is called a cowardly animal: some naturalists even assert that it will not venture to attack man. this is, to say the least, a singular declaration, after the numerous well-attested instances in which men have been attacked, and even killed by cougars. there are many such in the history of early settlement in america. to say that cougars are cowardly now when found in the united states--to say they are shy of man, and will not attack him, may be true enough. strange, if the experience of years' hunting, and by such hunters too, did not bring them to that. we may safely believe, that if the lions of africa were placed in the same circumstances, a very similar shyness and dread of the upright biped would soon exhibit itself. what all these creatures--bears, cougars, lynxes, wolves, and even alligators--are now, is no criterion of their past. authentic history proves that their courage, at least so far as regards man, has changed altogether since they first heard the sharp detonation of the deadly rifle. even contemporaneous history demonstrates this. in many parts of south america, both jaguar and cougar attack man, and numerous are the deadly encounters there. in peru, on the eastern declivity of the andes, large settlements and even villages have been abandoned solely on account of the perilous proximity of those fierce animals. in the united states, the cougar is hunted by dog and gun. he will run from the hounds, because he knows they are backed by the unerring rifle of the hunter; but should one of the yelping pack approach too near, a single blow of the cougar's paw is sufficient to stretch him out. when closely pushed, the cougar takes to a tree, and, halting in one of its forks, humps his back, bristles his hair, looks downward with gleaming eyes, and utters a sound somewhat like the purring of a cat, though far louder. the crack of the hunter's rifle usually puts an end to these demonstrations, and the cougar drops to the ground either dead or wounded. if only the latter, a desperate fight ensues between him and the dogs, with several of whom he usually leaves a mark that distinguishes them for the rest of their lives. the scream of the cougar is a common phrase. it is not very certain that the creature is addicted to the habit of screaming, although noises of this kind heard in the nocturnal forest have been attributed to him. hunters, however, have certainly never heard him, and they believe that the scream talked about proceeds from one of the numerous species of owls that inhabit the deep forests of america. at short intervals, the cougar does make himself heard in a note which somewhat resembles a deep-drawn sigh, or as if one were to utter with an extremely guttural expression the syllables "co-oa," or "cougar." is it from this that he derives his trivial name? chapter eight. old ike's adventure. now a panther story was the natural winding-up of this day, and it had been already hinted that old ike had "rubbed out" several of these creatures in his time, and no doubt could tell more than one "painter" story. "wal, strengers," began he, "it's true thet this hyur ain't the fust painter i've comed acrosst. about fifteen yeern ago i moved to loozyanny, an' thur i met a painter, an' a queer story it are." "let us have it by all means," said several of the party, drawing closer up and seating themselves to listen attentively. we all knew that a story from ike could not be otherwise than "queer," and our curiosity was on the _qui vive_. "wal then," continued he, "they have floods dowd thur in loozyanny, sich as, i guess, you've never seen the like o' in england." here ike addressed himself specially to our english comrade. "england ain't big enough to hev sich floods. one o' 'm ud kiver yur hul country, i hev heern said. i won't say that ar's true, as i ain't acquainted with yur jography. i know, howsomdever, they're mighty big freshets thur, as i hev sailed a skift more 'n a hundred mile acrosst one o' 'm, whur thur wan't nothin' to be seen but cypress tops peep in out o' the water. the floods, as ye know, come every year, but them ar big ones only oncest in a while. "wal, as i've said about fifeteen yeern ago, i located in the red river bottom, about fifty mile or tharabout below nacketosh, whur i built me a shanty. i hed left my wife an' two young critters in massissippi state, intendin' to go back for 'em in the spring; so, ye see, i wur all alone by meself, exceptin' my ole mar, a collins's axe, an' of coorse my rifle. "i hed finished the shanty all but the chinkin' an' the buildin' o' a chimbly, when what shed come on but one o' 'm tarnation floods. it wur at night when it begun to make its appearance. i wur asleep on the floor o' the shanty, an' the first warnin' i hed o' it wur the feel o' the water soakin' through my ole blanket. i hed been a-dreamin', an' thort it wur rainin', an' then agin i thort that i wur bein' drownded in the massissippi; but i wan't many seconds awake, till i guessed what it wur in raality; so i jumped to my feet like a started buck, an' groped my way to the door. "a sight that wur when i got thur. i hed chirred a piece o' ground around the shanty--a kupple o' acres or better--i hed left the stumps a good three feet high: thur wan't a stump to be seen. my clearin', stumps an' all, wur under water; an' i could see it shinin' among the trees all round the shanty. "of coorse, my fust thoughts wur about my rifle; an i turned back into the shanty, an' laid my claws upon that quick enough. "i next went in search o' my ole mar. she wan't hard to find; for if ever a critter made a noise, she did. she wur tied to a tree close by the shanty, an' the way she wur a-squealin' wur a caution to cats. i found her up to the belly in water, pitchin' an' flounderin' all round the tree. she hed nothin' on but the rope that she wur hitched by. both saddle an' bridle hed been washed away: so i made the rope into a sort o' halter, an' mounted her bare-backed. "jest then i begun to think whur i wur agoin'. the hul country appeared to be under water: an' the nearest neighbour i hed lived acrosst the parairy ten miles off. i knew that his shanty sot on high ground, but how wur i to get thur? it wur night; i mout lose my way, an' ride chuck into the river. "when i thort o' ibis, i concluded it mout be better to stay by my own shanty till mornin'. i could hitch the mar inside to keep her from bein' floated away; an' for meself, i could climb on the roof. "while i wur thinkin' on this, i noticed that the water wur a-deepenin', an' it jest kim into my head, that it ud soon be deep enough to drownd my ole mar. for meself i wan't frightened. i mout a clomb a tree, an' stayed thur till the flood fell; but i shed a lost the mar, an' that critter wur too valleyble to think o' such a sacryfize; so i made up my mind to chance crossin' the parairy. thur wan't no time to be wasted-- ne'er a minnit; so i gin the mar a kick or two in the ribs an' started. "i found the path out to the edge of the parairy easy enough. i hed blazed it when i fust come to the place; an', as the night wur not a very dark one, i could see the blazes as i passed atween the trees. my mar knew the track as well as meself, an' swaltered through at a sharp rate, for she knew too thur wan't no time to be wasted. in five minnites we kim out on the edge o' the pairairy, an' jest as i expected, the hul thing wur kivered with water, an' lookin' like a big pond, i could see it shinin' clur acrosst to the other side o' the openin'. "as luck ud hev it, i could jest git a glimp o' the trees on the fur side o' the parairy. thur wur a big clump o' cypress, that i could see plain enough; i knew this wur clost to my neighbour's shanty; so i gin my critter the switch, an' struck right for it. "as i left the timmer, the mar wur up to her hips. of coorse, i expected a good grist o' heavy wadin'; but i hed no idee that the water wur a-gwine to git much higher; thur's whur i made my mistake. "i hedn't got more'n a kupple o' miles out when i diskivered that the thing wur a-risin' rapidly, for i seed the mar wur a-gettin' deeper an' deeper. "'twan't no use turnin' back now. i ud lose the mar to a dead sartinty, if i didn't make the high ground; so i spoke to the critter to do her best, an' kep on. the poor beast didn't need any whippin'--she knew as well's i did meself thur wur danger, an' she wur a-doin' her darndest, an' no mistake. still the water riz, an' kep a-risin', until it come clur up to her shoulder. "i begun to git skeart in airnest. we wan't more 'n half acrosst, an' i seed if it riz much more we ud hav to swim for it. i wan't far astray about that. the minnit arter it seemed to deepen suddintly, as if thur wur a hollow in the parairy: i heerd the mar give a loud gouf, an' then go down, till i wur up to the waist. she riz agin the next minnit, but i could tell from the smooth ridin' that she wur off o' the bottom. she wur swimmin', an' no mistake. "at fust i thort o' headin' her back to the shanty; an' i drew her round with that intent; but turn her which way i would, i found she could no longer touch bottom. "i guess, strengers, i wur in a quandairy about then. i 'gun to think that both my own an' my mar's time wur come in airnest, for i hed no idee that the critter could iver swim to the other side, 'specially with me on her back, an' purticklarly as at that time these hyur ribs had a sight more griskin upon 'em than they hev now. "wal, i wur about reckinin' up. i hed got to thinkin' o' mary an' the childer, and the old shanty in the mississippi, an' a heap o' things that i hed left unsettled, an' that now come into my mind to trouble me. the mar wur still plungin' ahead; but i seed she wur sinkin' deeper an' deeper an' fast loosin' her strength, an' i knew she couldn't hold out much longer. "i thort at this time that if i got off o' her back, an' tuk hold o' the tail, she mout manage a leetle hotter. so i slipped backwards over her hips, an' grupped the long hair. it did do some good, for she swum higher; but we got mighty slow through the water, an' i hed but leetle behopes we should reach land. "i wur towed in this way about a quarter o' a mile, when i spied somethin' floatin' on the water a leetle ahead. it hed growed considerably darker; but thur wur still light enough to show me that the thing wur a log. "an idee now entered my brain-pan, that i mout save meself by takin' to the log. the mar ud then have a better chance for herself; an' maybe, when eased o' draggin' my carcass, that wur a-keepin' her back, she mout make footin' somewhur. so i waited till she got a leetle closter; an' then, lettin' go o' her tail, i clasped the log, an' crawled on to it. "the mar swum on, appeerintly 'ithout missin' me. i seed her disappear through the darkness; but i didn't as much as say good-bye to her, for i wur afeard that my voice mout bring her back agin', an' she mout strike the log with her hoofs, an' whammel it about. so i lay quiet, an' let her hev her own way. "i wan't long on the log till i seed it wur a-driftin', for thur wur a current in the water that set tol'uble sharp acrosst the parairy. i hed crawled up at one eend, an' got stride-legs; but as the log dipped considerable, i wur still over the hams in the water. "i thort i mout be more comfortable towards the middle, an' wur about to pull the thing more under me, when all at once i seed thur wur somethin' clumped up on t'other eend o' the log. "'twan't very clur at the time, for it had been a-growin' cloudier ever since i left the shanty, but 'twur clur enough to show me that the thing wur a varmint: what sort, i couldn't tell. it mout be a bar, an' it mout not; but i had my suspects it wur eyther a bar or a painter. "i wan't left long in doubt about the thing's gender. the log kep makin' circles as it drifted, an' when the varmint kim round into a different light, i caught a glimp o' its eyes. i knew them eyes to be no bar's eyes: they wur painter's eyes, an' no mistake. "i reckin, strengers, i felt very queery jest about then. i didn't try to go any nearer the middle o' the log; but instead of that, i wriggled back until i wur right plum on the eend of it, an' could git no further. "thur i sot for a good long spell 'ithout movin' hand or foot. i dasen't make a motion, as i wur afeard it mout tempt the varmint to attackt me. "i hed no weepun but my knife; i hed let go o' my rifle when i slid from the mar's back, an' it hed gone to the bottom long since. i wan't in any condition to stand a tussle with the painter nohow; so i 'wur determined to let him alone as long's he ud me. "wal, we drifted on for a good hour, i guess, 'ithout eyther o' us stirrin'. we sot face to face; an' now an' then the current ud set the log in a sort o' up-an'-down motion, an' then the painter an' i kep bowin' to each other like a pair o' bob-sawyers. i could see all the while that the varmint's eyes wur fixed upon mine, an' i never tuk mine from hisn; i know'd 'twur the only way to keep him still. "i wur jest prospectin' what ud be the eendin' o' the business, when i seed we wur a-gettin' closter to the timmer: 'twan't more 'n two miles off, but 'twur all under water 'ceptin' the tops o' the trees. i wur thinkin' that when the log shed float in among the branches, i mout slip off, an' git my claws upon a tree, 'ithout sayin anythin' to my travellin' companion. "jest at that minnit somethin' appeared dead ahead o' the log. it wur like a island; but what could hev brought a island thur? then i recollects that i hed seed a piece o' high ground about that part o' the parairy--a sort o' mound that hed been made by injuns, i s'pose. this, then, that looked like a island, wur the top o' that mound, sure enough. "the log wur a-driftin' in sich a way that i seed it must pass within twenty yards o' the mound. i detarmined then, as soon as we shed git alongside, to put out for it, an' leave the painter to continue his voyage 'ithout me. "when i fust sighted the island i seed somethin' that; hed tuk for bushes. but thur wan't no bushes on the mound--that i knowd. "howsomdever, when we got a leetle closter, i diskivered that the bushes wur beests. they wur deer; for i spied a pair o' buck's horns atween me an' the sky. but thur wur a somethin' still bigger than a deer. it mout be a hoss, or it mout be an opelousa ox, but i thort it wur a hoss. "i wur right about that, for a horse it wur, sure enough, or rayther i shed say, a _mar_, an' that mar no other than my ole crittur! "arter partin' company, she hed turned with the current; an', as good luck ud hev it, hed swum in a beeline for the island, an' thur she stood lookin' as slick as if she hed been greased. "the log hed by this got nigh enough, as i kalklated; an', with as little rumpus as possible, i slipped over the eend an' lot go my hold o' it. i wan't right spread in the water, afore i heerd a plump, an' lookin' round a bit, i seed the painter hed left the log too, an' tuk to the water. "at fust, i thort he wur arter me; an' i drawed my knife with one hand, while i swum with the other. but the painter didn't mean fight that time. he made but poor swimmin' himself, an' appeared glad enough to get upon dry groun' 'ithout molestin' me; so we swum on side by side, an' not a word passed atween us. "i didn't want to make a race o' it; so i let him pass me, rayther than that he should fall behind, an' get among my legs. "of coorse, he landed fust; an' i could hear by the stompin' o' hoofs, that his suddint appearance hed kicked up a jolly stampede among the critters upon the island. i could see both deer and mar dancing all over the groun', as if old nick himself hed got among 'em. "none o' 'em, howsomdever, thort o' takin' to the water. they hed all hed enough o' that, i guess. "i kep a leetle round, so as not to land near the painter; an' then, touchin' bottom, i climbed quietly up on the mound. i hed hardly drawed my drippin' carcass out o' the water, when i heerd a loud squeal, which i knew to be the whigher o' my ole mar; an' jest at that minnit the critter kim runnin' up, an' rubbed her nose agin my shoulder. i tuk the halter in my hand, an' sidling round a leetle, i jumped upon her back, for i still wur in fear o' the painter; an' the mar's back appeared to me the safest place about, an' that wan't very safe, eyther. "i now looked all round to see what new company i hed got into. the day wur jest breakin', an' i could distinguish a leetle better every minnit. the top o' the mound which, wur above water wan't over half an acre in size, an' it wur as clur o' timmer as any other part o' the parairy, so that i could see every inch o' it, an' everythin' on it as big as a tumble-bug. "i reckin, strengers, that you'll hardly believe me when i tell you the concatenation o' varmints that wur then an' thur caucused together. i could hardly believe my own eyes when i seed sich a gatherin', an' i thort i hed got aboard o' noah's ark. thur wur--listen, strengers--fust my ole mar an' meself, an' i wished both o' us anywhur else, i reckin-- then thur wur the painter, yur old acquaintance--then thur wur four deer, a buck an' three does. then kim a catamount; an' arter him a black bar, a'most as big as a buffalo. then thur wur a 'coon an' a 'possum, an' a kupple o' grey wolves, an' a swamp rabbit, an', darn the thing! a stinkin' skunk. perhaps the last wan't the most dangerous varmint on the groun', but it sartintly wur the most disagreeableest o' the hul lot, for it smelt only as a cussed polecat kin smell. "i've said, strengers, that i wur mightily tuk by surprise when i fust seed this curious clanjamfrey o' critters; but i kin tell you i wur still more dumbfounded when i seed thur behaveyur to one another, knowin' thur different naturs as i did. thur wur the painter lyin' clost up to the deer--its nat'ral prey; an' thur wur the wolves too; an' thur wur the catamount standin' within three feet o' the 'possum an' the swamp rabbit; an' thur wur the bar an' the cunnin' old 'coon; an' thur they all wur, no more mindin' one another than if they hed spent all thur days together in the same penn. "'twur the oddest sight i ever seed, an' it remembered me o' bit o' scripter my ole mother hed often read from a book called the bible, or some sich name--about a lion that wur so tame he used to squat down beside a lamb, 'ithout layin' a claw upon the innocent critter. "wal, stranger, as i'm sayin', the hul party behaved in this very way. they all appeared down in the mouth, an' badly skeart about the water; but for all that, i hed my fears that the painter or the bar--i wan't afeard o' any o' the others--mout git over thur fright afore the flood fell; an' thurfore i kept as quiet as any one o' them during the hul time i wur in thur company, an' stayin' all the time clost by the mar. but neyther bar nor painter showed any savage sign the hul o' the next day, nor the night that follered it. "strengers, it ud tire you wur i to tell you all the movements that tuk place among these critters durin' that long day an' night. ne'er a one o' 'em laid tooth or claw on the other. i wur hungry enough meself, and ud a liked to hev taken a steak from the buttocks o' one o' the deer, but i dasen't do it. i wur afeard to break the peace, which mout a led to a general shindy. "when day broke, next mornin' arter, i seed that the flood wur afallin'; and as soon as it wur shallow enough, i led my mar quietly into the water, an' climbin' upon her back, tuk a silent leave o' my companions. the water still tuk my mar up to the flanks, so that i knew none o' the varmint could follow 'ithout swimmin', an' ne'er a one seemed inclined to try a swim. "i struck direct for my neighbour's shanty, which i could see about three mile off, an', in a hour or so, i wur at his door. thur i didn't stay long, but borrowin' an extra gun which he happened to hev, an' takin' him along with his own rifle, i waded my mar back to the island. we found the game not exactly as i hed left it. the fall o' the flood hed given the painter, the cat, an' the wolves courage. the swamp rabbit an' the 'possum wur clean gone--all but bits o' thur wool--an' one o' the does wur better 'n half devoured. "my neighbour tuk one side, an' i the other, an' ridin' clost up, we surrounded the island. "i plugged the painter at the fust shot, an' he did the same for the bar. we next layed out the wolves, an' arter that cooney, an' then we tuk our time about the deer--these last and the bar bein' the only valley'ble things on the island. the skunk we kilt last, as we didn't want the thing to stink us off the place while we wur a-skinnin' the deer. "arter killin' the skunk, we mounted an' left, of coorse loaded with our bar-meat an' venison. "i got my rifle arter all. when the flood went down, i found it near the middle of the parairy, half buried in the sludge. "i saw i hed built my shanty in the wrong place; but i soon looked out a better location, an' put up another. i hed all ready in the spring, when i went back to massissippi, an' brought out mary and the two young uns." the singular adventure of old ike illustrates a point in natural history that, as soon as the trapper had ended, became the subject of conversation. it was that singular trait in the character of predatory animals, as the cougar, when under circumstances of danger. on such occasions fear seems to influence them so much as to completely subdue their ferocity, and they will not molest other animals sharing the common danger, even when the latter are their natural and habitual prey. nearly every one of us had observed this at some time or other; and the old naturalist, as well as the hunter-guides, related many incidents confirming the strange fact. humboldt speaks of an instance observed by him on the orinoco, where the fierce jaguar and some other creatures were seen quietly and peacefully floating together on the same log--all more or less frightened at their situation! ike's story had very much interested the doctor, who rewarded him with a "nip" from the pewter flask; and, indeed, on this occasion the flask was passed round, as the day had been one of unusual interest. the killing of a cougar is a rare adventure, even in the wildest haunts of the backwoods' country. chapter nine. the musquash. our next day's march was unenlivened by any particular incident. we had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the "oak openings." not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. this occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went "rat-hunting." the burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. the family proved to be "not at home." the incident, however, brought the muskrat on the _tapis_. the "muskrat" of the states is the musquash of the fur-traders (_fiber sibethicus_). he is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. musquash is said to be an indian appellative--a strange coincidence, as the word, "musk" is of arabic origin, and "musquash" would seem a compound of the french _musque_, as the early canadian fur-traders were french, or of french descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. naturalists have used the name of "musk beaver" on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (_castor fiber_). indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, i should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers. the teeth--those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation--have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound--indeed, far more. so like are they in a general sense, that the indians call them "cousins." in form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. it is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. the hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. those of the beaver are full-webbed. there is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. both are almost naked of hair, and covered with "scales," and both are flat. the tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. the tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. the tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon. tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. it possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter. its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. there are eccentricities, however, in this respect. specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. the fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. there are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail. the habits of the muskrat are singular--perhaps not less so than those of his "cousin" the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter. like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. its "range" extends over the whole continent of north america, wherever "grass grows and water runs." it is most probable it is an inhabitant of the southern continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told. unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. the beaver is now found in america, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. although formerly an inhabitant of the atlantic states, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a "terrier beaver," ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth. the muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. there is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. the male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred. in early spring commences the season of his loves. his musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. he takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. after the "honeymoon" a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. the entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. the nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. in this the female brings forth five or six "cubs," which she nourishes with great care, training them to her own habits. the male takes no part in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. in autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to "take care of themselves." the "old father" now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. they forsake the "home of their nativity," and build a very different sort of a habitation. the favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. by the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. the materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. the entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. in situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand. the house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. in spring they desert this habitation and never return to it. of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. the heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within. now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. it shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. by philosophers it is termed "instinct"; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables mr hobbs to pick a "chubb" lock. it is this:-- in southern climates--in louisiana, for instance--the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. there the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. he can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons. in the north it is different. there for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. the muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. if the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. the running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food--the roots and stems of water-plants. these the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter--man--except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. how cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! in the extreme north--in the hyperborean regions of the hudson's bay company--lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. the shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. how is the muskrat to get under water there? thus, then, he manages the matter:-- upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. the house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. its entrance is in the floor--the hole which has already been made--and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food--the water-plants of the lake. this peculiar construction of the muskrat's dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies--the beasts of prey--and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. but with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy--man. the food of the muskrat is varied. it loves the roots of several species of _nymphae_, but its favourite is _calamus_ root (_calamus_ or _acorus aromaticus_). it is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (_unios_) are often found near its retreat. some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. this point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. for my part, i have but little faith in the "teeth," since i have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl. the muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. it is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. indians and canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. they are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that "lives, breathes, and moves." many canadians, however, are fond of the flesh. it is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. its fur is the important consideration. this is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. it is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or american sable (_mustela martes_), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. it is one of the regular articles of the hudson's bay company's commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination. the mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. it is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a "catch" is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. as an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. the amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. the creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. of course once in the pool it is seen no more. many tribes of indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. they have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. a winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection. chapter ten. a rat-hunt. "chingawa," began he, "a chippeway or ojibway indian, better-known at the fort as `old foxey,' was a noted hunter of his tribe. i had grown to be a favourite with him. my well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which i had no farther use. the knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made `old foxey' my best friend; and all his `hunter-craft'--the gatherings of about sixty winters--became mine. "i had not yet been inducted into the mystery of `rat-catching,' but the season for that `noble' sport at length arrived, and the indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt. "taking our `traps' on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. this was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort. "the traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long straight shaft, and a light pole about a dozen feet in length, quite straight and supple. "we had provided ourselves with a small stock of eatables as well as materials for kindling a fire--but no indian is ever without these. we had also carried our blankets along with us, as we designed to make a night of it by the lakes. "after trudging for several hours through the silent winter forests, and crossing both lakes and rivers upon the ice, we reached the great marsh. of course, this, as well as the lakes, was frozen over with thick ice; we could have traversed it with a loaded waggon and horses without danger of breaking through. "we soon came to some dome-shaped heaps rising above the level of the ice. they were of mud, bound together with grass and flags, and were hardened by the frost. within each of these rounded heaps, old foxey knew there was at least half a dozen muskrats--perhaps three times that number--lying snug and warm and huddled together. "since there appeared no hole or entrance, the question was how to get at the animals inside. simply by digging until the inside should be laid open, thought i. this of itself would be no slight labour. the roof and sides, as my companion informed me, were three feet in thickness; and the tough mud was frozen to the hardness and consistency of a fire-brick. but after getting through this shell, where should we find the inmates? why, most likely, we should not find them at all after all this labour. so said my companion, telling me at the same time that there were subterranean, or rather subaqueous, passages, by which the muskrats would be certain to make off under the ice long before he had penetrated near them. "i was quite puzzled to know how we should proceed. not so old foxey. he well knew what he was about, and pitching his traps down by one of the `houses,' commenced operations. "the one he had selected stood out in the lake, some distance from its edge. it was built entirely upon the ice; and, as the hunter well knew, there was a hole in its floor by which the animals could get into the water at will. how then was he to prevent them from escaping by the hole, while we removed the covering or roof? this was what puzzled me, and i watched his movements with interest. "instead of digging into the house, he commenced cutting a hole in the ice with his ice-chisel about two feet from the edge of the mud. that being accomplished, he cut another, and another, until four holes were pierced forming the corners of a square, and embracing the house of the muskrat within. "leaving this house, he then proceeded to pierce a similar set of holes around another that also stood out on the open lake. after that he went to a third one, and this and then a fourth were prepared in a similar manner. "he now returned to the first, this time taking care to tread lightly upon the ice and make as little stir as possible. having arrived there, he took out from his bag a square net made of twisted deer-thongs, and not much, bigger than a blanket. this in a most ingenious manner he passed under the ice, until its four corners appeared opposite the four holes; where, drawing them through, he made all last and `taut' by a line stretching from one corner to the other. "his manner of passing the net under the ice i have pronounced ingenious. it was accomplished by reeving a line from hole to hole by means of the long slender pole already mentioned. the pole, inserted through one of the holes, conducted the line, and was itself conducted by means of two forked sticks that guided it, and pushed it along to the other holes. the line being attached to the comers of the net made it an easy matter to draw the latter into its position. "all the details of this curious operation were performed with a noiseless adroitness which showed `old foxey' was no novice at `rat-catching.' "the net being now quite taut along the lower surface of the ice, must of course completely cover the hole in the `floor.' it followed, therefore, that if the muskrats were `at home,' they were now `in the trap.' "my companion assured me that they would be found inside. the reason why he had not used the net on first cutting the holes, was to give any member of the family that had been frightened out, a chance of returning; and this he knew they would certainly do, as these creatures cannot remain very long under the water. "he soon satisfied me of the truth of his statement. in a few minutes, by means of the ice-chisel and pickaxe, we had pierced the crust of the dome; and there, apparently half asleep,--because dazzled and blinded by the sudden influx of light--were no less than eight full-grown musquashes! "almost before i could count them, old foxey had transfixed the whole party, one after the other, with his long spear. "we now proceeded to another of the houses, at which the holes had been cut. there my companion went through a similar series of operations; and was rewarded by a capture of six more `rats.' "in the third of the houses only three were found. "on opening a fourth, a singular scene met our eyes. there was but, one muskrat alive, and that one seemed to be nearly famished to death. its body was wasted to mere `skin and bone;' and the animal had evidently been a long time without food. beside it lay the naked skeletons of several small animals that i at once saw were those of the muskrat. a glance at the bottom of the nest explained all. the hole, which in the other houses had passed through the ice, and which we found quite open, in this one was frozen up. the animals had neglected keeping it open, until the ice had got too thick for them to break through; and then, impelled by the cravings of hunger, they had preyed upon each other, until only one, the strongest, survived! "i found upon counting the skeletons that no less than eleven had tenanted this ice-bound prison. "the indian assured me that in seasons of very severe frost such an occurrence is not rare. at such times the ice forms so rapidly, that the animals--perhaps not having occasion to go out for some hours--find themselves frozen in; and are compelled to perish of hunger, or devour one another! "it was now near night--for we had not reached the lake until late in the day--and my companion proposed that we should leave farther operations until the following morning. of course i assented to the proposal, and we betook ourselves to some pine-trees that grew on a high bank near the shore, where we had determined to pass the night. "there we kindled a roaring fire of pine-knots; but we had grown very hungry, and i soon found that of the provisions i had brought, and upon which i had already dined, there remained but a scanty fragment for supper. this did not trouble my companion, who skinned several of the `rats,' gave them a slight warming over the fire, and then ate them up with as much _gout_ as if they had been partridges. i was hungry, but not hungry enough for that; so i sat watching him with some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of disgust. "it was a beautiful moonlight night, one of the clearest i ever remember. there was a little snow upon the ground, just enough to cover it; and up against the white sides of the hills could be traced the pyramidal outlines of the pines, with their regular gradations of dark needle-clothed branches. they rose on all sides around the lake, looking like ships with furled sails and yards square-set. "i was in a reverie of admiration, when i was suddenly aroused by a confused noise, that resembled the howling and baying of hounds. i turned an inquiring look upon my companion. "`wolves!' he replied, unconcernedly, chawing away at his `roast rat.' "the howling sounded nearer and nearer; and then there was a rattling among dead trees, and the quickly-repeated `crunch, crunch,' as of the hoofs of some animal breaking through frozen snow. the next moment a deer dashed past in full run, and took to the ice. it was a large buck, of the `caribou' or reindeer species (_cervus tarandus_), and i could see that he was smoking with heat, and almost run down. "he had hardly passed the spot when the howl again broke out in a continued strain, and a string of forms appeared from out the bushes. they were about a dozen in all; and they were going at full speed like a pack of hounds on the view. their long muzzles, erect ears, and huge gaunt bodies, were outlined plainly against the snowy ground. i saw that they were wolves. they were white wolves, and of the largest species. "i had suddenly sprung to my feet, not with the intention of saving the deer, but of assisting in its capture; and for this purpose i seized the spear, and ran out. i heard my companion, as i thought, shouting some caution after me; but i was too intent upon the chase to pay any attention to what he said. i had at the moment a distinct perception of hunger, and an indistinct idea of roast venison for supper. "as i got down to the shore, i saw that the wolves had overtaken the deer, and dragged it down upon the ice. the poor creature made but poor running on the slippery track, sprawling at every bound; while the sharp claws of its pursuers enabled them to gallop over the ice like cats. the deer had, no doubt, mistaken the ice for water, which these creatures very often do, and thus become an easy prey to wolves, dogs, and hunters. "i ran on, thinking that i would soon scatter the wolves, and rob them of their prey. in a few moments i was in their midst, brandishing my spear; but to my surprise, as well as terror, i saw that, instead of relinquishing the deer, several of them still held on it, while the rest surrounded me with open jaws, and eyes glancing like coals of fire. "i shouted and fought desperately, thrusting the spear first at one and then at another; but the wolves only became more bold and fierce, incensed by the wounds i was inflicting. "for several minutes i continued this unexpected conflict. i was growing quite exhausted; and a sense of terrible dread coming over me, had almost paralysed me, when the tall, dark form of the indian, hurrying over the ice, gave me new courage; and i plied the spear with all my remaining strength, until several of my assailants lay pierced upon the ice. the others, now seeing the proximity of my companion with his huge ice-chisel, and frighted, moreover, by his wild indian yells, turned tail and scampered off. "three of them, however, had uttered their last howl, and the deer was found close by--already half devoured! "there was enough left, however, to make a good supper for both myself and my companion; who, although, he had already picked the bones of three muskrats, made a fresh attack upon the venison, eating of it as though he had not tasted food for a fortnight." chapter eleven. musquitoes and their antidote. our next day's journey brought us again into heavy timber--another creek bottom. the soil was rich and loamy, and the road we travelled was moist, and in some places very heavy for our waggon. several times the latter got stalled in the mud, and then the whole party were obliged to dismount, and put their shoulders to the wheel. our progress was marked by some noise and confusion, and the constant din made by jake talking to his team, his loud sonorous "woha!" as they were obliged to halt, and the lively "gee-up--gee-up" as they moved on again--frighted any game long before we could come up with it. of course we were compelled to keep by the waggon until we had made the passage of the miry flat. we were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitoes, particularly the doctor, of whose blood they seemed to be especially fond! this is a curious fact in relation to the mosquitoes--of two persons sleeping in the same apartment, one will sometimes be bitten or rather punctured, and half bled to death, while the other remains untouched! is it the quality of the blood or the thickness of the skin that guides to this preference? this point was discussed amongst us--the doctor taking the view that it was always a sign of good blood when one was more than usually subject to the attack of mosquitoes. he was himself an apt illustration of the fact. this statement of course produced a general laugh, and some remarks at the doctor's expense, on the part of the opponents of his theory. strange to say, old ike was fiercely assailed by the little blood-suckers. this seemed to be an argument against the doctor's theory, for in the tough skinny carcass of the old trapper, the blood could neither have been very plenteous nor delicate. most of us smoked as we rode along, hoping by that means to drive off the ferocious swarm, but although tobacco smoke is disagreeable to the mosquitoes, they cannot be wholly got rid of by a pipe or cigar. could one keep a constant _nimbus_ of the smoke around his face it might be effective, but not otherwise. a sufficient quantity of tobacco smoke will kill mosquitoes outright, as i have more than once proved by a thorough fumigation of my sleeping apartment. these insects are not peculiar, as sometimes supposed, to the inter-tropical regions of america. they are found in great numbers even to the shores of the arctic sea, and as fierce and bloodthirsty as anywhere else--of course only in the summer season, when, as before remarked, the thermometer in these northern latitudes mounts to a high figure. their haunts are the banks of rivers, and particularly those of a stagnant and muddy character. there is another singular fact in regard to them. upon the banks of some of the south-american rivers, life is almost unendurable on account of this pest--the "_plaga de mosquitos_," as the spaniards term it-- while upon other streams in the very same latitude musquitoes are unknown. these streams are what are termed "_rios negros_," or black-water rivers--a peculiar class of rivers, to which many tributaries of the amazon and orinoco belong. our english comrade, who had travelled all over south america, gave us this information as we rode along. he stated, that he had often considered it a great relief, a sort of escape from purgatory, while on his travels he parted from one of the yellow or white water streams, to enter one of the "_rios negros_." many indian tribes settled upon the banks of the latter solely to get clear of the "_plaga de mosquitos_." the indians who reside in the mosquito districts habitually paint their bodies, and smear themselves with oil, as a protection against their bites; and it is a common thing among the natives, when speaking of any place, to inquire into the "character" of its mosquitoes! on some tributaries of the amazon the mosquitoes are really a life torment, and the wretched creatures who inhabit such places frequently bury their bodies in the sand in order to get sleep! even the pigments with which they anoint themselves are pierced by the poisoned bills of their tormentors. besancon and the kentuckian both denied that any species of ointment would serve as a protection against mosquitoes. the doctor joined them in their denial. they asserted that they had tried everything that could be thought of--camphor, ether, hartshorn, spirits of turpentine, etcetera. some of us were of a different opinion, and ike settled the point soon after in favour of the dissentients by a practical illustration. the old trapper, as before stated, was a victim to the fiercest attacks, as was manifested by the slapping which he repeatedly administered to his cheeks, and an almost constant muttering of bitter imprecations. he knew a remedy he said in a "sartint weed," if he could only "lay his claws upon it." we noticed that from time to time as he rode along his eyes swept the ground in every direction. at length a joyous exclamation told that he had discovered the "weed." "thur's the darned thing at last," muttered he, as he flung himself to the ground, and commenced gathering the stalks of a small herb that grew plentifully about. it was an annual, with leaves very much of the size and shape of young garden box-wood, but of a much brighter green. of course we all knew well enough what it was, for there is not a village "common" in the western united states that is not covered with it. it was the well-known "penny-royal" (_hedcoma pulegioides_), not the english herb of that name, which is a species of _mentha_. redwood also leaped from his horse, and set to plucking the "weed." he too, from experience, knew its virtues. we all drew bridle, watching the guides. both operated in a similar manner. having collected a handful of the tenderest tops, they rubbed them violently between their palms--rough and good for such service--and then passed the latter over the exposed skin of their necks and laces. ike took two small bunches of the stalks, crushed them under his heel, and then stuck them beneath his cap, so that the ends hung down over his cheeks. this being done, he and his comrade mounted their horses and rode on. some of us--the hunter-naturalist, the englishman, and myself-- dismounted and imitated ike--of course under a volley of laughter and "pooh-poohs" from besancon, the kentuckian, and the doctor; but we had not ridden two hundred paces until the joke changed sides. from that moment not a mosquito approached us, while our three friends were bitten as badly as ever. in the end they were convinced, and the torment of the mosquitoes proving stronger than the fear of our ridicule, all three sprang out of their saddles, and made a rush at the next bed of penny-royal that came in sight. whether it is the highly aromatic odour of the penny-royal that keeps off these insects, or whether the juice when touched by them burns the delicate nerves of their feet i am unable to say. certain it is they will not alight upon the skin which has been plentifully anointed with it. i have tried the same experiment often since that time with a similar result, and in fact have never since travelled through a mosquito country without a provision of the "essence of penny-royal." this is better than the herb itself, and can be obtained from any apothecary. a single drop or two spilled in the palm of the hand is sufficient to rub over all the parts exposed, and will often ensure sleep, where otherwise such a thing would be impossible. i have often lain with my face so smeared, and listened to the sharp hum of the mosquito as it approached, fancying that the next moment i should feel its tiny touch, as it settled down upon my cheek, or brow. as soon, however, as it came within the influence of the penny-royal i could hear it suddenly tack round and wing its way off again, until its disagreeable "music" was no longer heard. the only drawback in the use of the penny-royal lies in the burning sensation which the fluid produces upon the skin; and this in a climate where the thermometer is pointing to degrees is no slight disqualification of the remedy. the use of it is sometimes little better than "hobbson's choice." the application of it on the occasion mentioned restored the spirits of our party, which had been somewhat kept under by the continuous attacks of the mosquitoes, and a lively little incident that occurred soon after, viz. the hunt and capture of a raccoon, made us all quite merry. cooney, though a night prowler, is sometimes abroad during the day, but especially in situations where the timber is high, and the woods dark and gloomy. on the march we had come so suddenly upon this one, that he had not time to strike out for his own tree, where he would soon have hidden from us in its deep cavity. he had been too busy with his own affairs--the nest of a wild turkey upon the ground, under some brush and leaves, the broken eggs in which told of the delicious meal he had made. taken by surprise--for the guides had ridden nearly on top of him--he galloped up the nearest tree, which fortunately contained neither fork nor cavity in which he could shelter himself; and a well-directed shot from redwood's rifle brought him with a heavy "thump" back to the ground again. we were all stirred up a little by this incident; in fact, the unusual absence of game rendered ever so trifling an occurrence an "event" with us. no one, however, was so pleased as the black waggoner jake, whose eyes fairly danced in his head at the sight of a "coon." the "coon" to jake was well-known game--natural and legitimate--and jake preferred "roast coon" to fried bacon at any time. jake knew that none of us would care to eat of his coonship. he was therefore sure of his supper; and the "varmint" was carefully deposited in the corner of the waggon. jake did not have it all to himself. the trappers liked fresh meat too, even "coon-meat;" and of course claimed their share. none of the rest of the party had any relish for such a fox-like carcass. after supper, cooney was honoured with a description, and for many of the facts of his history we are indebted to jake himself. chapter twelve. the 'coon, and his habits. foremost of all the wild creatures of america in point of being generally known is the raccoon (_procyon lotor_). none has a wider geographical distribution, as its "range" embraces the entire continent, from the polar sea to terra del fuego. some naturalists have denied that it is found in south america. this denial is founded on the fact, that neither ulloa nor molina have spoken of it. but how many other animals have these crude naturalists omitted to describe? we may safely assert that the raccoon exists in south america, as well in the tropical forests of guyana as in the colder regions of the table land--everywhere that there exists tree-timber. in most parts where the spanish language is spoken, it is known as the "_zorro negro_," or black fox. indeed, there are two species in south america, the common one (_procyon lotor_), and the crab-eater (_procyon cancrivorus_). in north america it is one of the most common of wild animals. in all parts you may meet with it. in the hot lowlands of louisiana--in the tropical "chapparals" of mexico--in the snowy regions of canada--and in the vernal valleys of california. unlike the deer, the wild cat, and the wolverine, it is never mistaken for any other animal, nor is any animal taken for it. it is as well-known in america as the red fox is in england, and with a somewhat similar reputation. although there is a variety in colour and size, there is no ambiguity about species or genus. wherever the english language is spoken, it has but one name, the "raccoon." in america, every man, woman and child knows the "sly ole 'coon." this animal has been placed by naturalists in the family _ursidae_, genus _procyon_. linnaeus made it a _bear_, and classed it with _ursus_. it has, in our opinion, but little in common with the bear, and far more resembles the fox. hence the spanish name of "_zorro negro_" (black fox). a writer quaintly describes it thus:--"the limbs of a bear, the body of a badger, the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey." we cannot admit the similarity of its tail to that of a cat. the tail of the raccoon is full and bushy, which is not true of the cat's tail. there is only a similarity in the annulated or banded appearance noticed in the tails of some cats, which in that of the raccoon is a marked characteristic. the raccoon, to speak in round terms, is about the size of an english fox, but somewhat thicker and "bunchier" in the body. its legs are short in proportion, and as it is _plantigrade_ in the hind-feet, it stands and runs low, and cat-like. the muzzle is extremely pointed and slender, adapted to its habit of prying into every chink and corner, in search of spiders, beetles, and other creatures. the general colour of the raccoon is dark brown (nearly black) on the upper part of the body, mixed with iron-grey. underneath it is of a lighter hue. there is, here and there, a little fawn colour intermixed. a broad black band runs across the eyes and unites under the throat. this band is surrounded and sharply defined with a margin of greyish-white, which gives a unique expression to the "countenance" of the "'coon." one of the chief beauties of this animal is its tail, which is characteristic in its markings. it exhibits twelve annulations or ring-bands, six black and six greyish-white, in regular alternation. the tip is black, and the tail itself is very full or "bushy." when the 'coon-skin is made into a cap--which it often is among hunters and frontiers-men--the tail is left to hang as a drooping plume; and such a head-dress is far from ungraceful. in some "settlements" the 'coon-skin cap is quite the fashion among the young "backwoodsmen." the raccoon is an animal of an extremely amorous disposition; but there is a fact connected with the sex of this creature which is curious: the female is larger than the male. not only larger, but in every respect a finer-looking animal. the hair, long on both, is more full and glossy upon the female, its tints deeper and more beautiful. this is contrary to the general order of nature. by those unacquainted with this fact, the female is mistaken for the male, and _vice versa_, as in the case of hawks and eagles. the fur of the raccoon has long been an article of commerce, as it is used in making beaver hats; but as these have given place in most countries to the silk article, the 'coon-skin now commands but a small price. the raccoon is a tree-climber of the first quality. it climbs with its sharp-curved claws, not by hugging, as is the case with the bear tribe. its lair, or place of retreat, is in a tree--some hollow, with its entrance high up. such trees are common in the great primeval forests of america. in this tree-cave it has its nest, where the female brings forth three, four, five, or six "cubs" at a birth. this takes place in early spring--usually the first week in april. the raccoon is a creature of the woods. on the prairies and in treeless regions it is not known. it prefers heavy "timber," where there are huge logs and hollow trees in plenty. it requires the neighbourhood of water, and in connection with this may be mentioned a curious habit it has, that of plunging all its food into the water before devouring it. it will be remembered that the otter has a similar habit. it is from this peculiarity that the raccoon derives its specific name of _lotor_ (washer). it does not always moisten its morsel thus, but pretty generally. it is fond, moreover, of frequent ablutions, and no animal is more clean and tidy in its habits. the raccoon is almost omnivorous. it eats poultry or wild fowls. it devours frogs, lizards, lame, and insects without distinction. it is fond of sweets, and is very destructive to the sugar-cane and indian corn of the planter. when the ear of the maize is young, or, as it is termed, "in the milk," it is very sweet. then the raccoon loves to prey upon it. whole troops at night visit the corn-fields and commit extensive havoc. these mischievous habits make the creature many enemies, and in fact it has but few friends. it kills hares, rabbits, and squirrels when it can catch them, and will rob a bird's nest in the most ruthless manner. it is particularly fond of shell-fish; and the _unios_, with which many of the fresh-water lakes and rivers of america abound, form part of its food. these it opens as adroitly with its claws as an oyster-man could with his knife. it is partial to the "soft-shell" crabs and small tortoises common in the american waters. jake told us of a trick which the 'coon puts in practice for catching the small turtles of the creek. we were not inclined to give credence to the story, but jake almost swore to it. it is certainly curious if true, but it smacks very much of buffon. it may be remarked, however, that the knowledge which the plantation negroes have of the habits of the raccoon surpasses that of any mere naturalist. jake boldly declares that the 'coon fishes for turtles! that it squats upon the bank of the stream, allowing its bushy tail to hang over into the water; that the turtles swimming about in search of food or amusement, spies the hairy appendage and lays hold of it; and that the 'coon, feeling the nibble, suddenly draws the testaceous swimmer upon dry land, and then "cleans out de shell" at his leisure! the 'coon is often domesticated in america. it is harmless as a dog or cat except when crossed by children, when it will snarl, snap, and bite like the most crabbed cur. it is troublesome, however, where poultry is kept, and this prevents its being much of a favourite. indeed, it is not one, for it is hunted everywhere, and killed--wherever this can be done--on sight. there is a curious connection between the negro and the raccoon. it is not a tie of sympathy, but a kind of antagonism. the 'coon, as already observed, is the negro's legitimate game. 'coon-hunting is peculiarly a negro sport. the negro is the 'coon's mortal enemy. he kills the 'coon when and wherever he can, and cats it too. he loves its "meat," which is pork-tasted, and in young 'coons palatable enough, but in old ones rather rank. this, however, our "darkie" friend does not much mind, particularly if his master be a "stingy old boss," and keeps him on rice instead of meat rations. the negro, moreover, makes an odd "bit" (twelve and a half cents) by the skin, which he disposes of to the neighbouring "storekeeper." the 'coon-hunt is a "nocturnal" sport, and therefore does not interfere with the negro's regular labour. by right the night belongs to him, and he may then dispose of his time as he pleases, which he often does in this very way. the negro is not, allowed to carry fire-arms, and for this reason the squirrel may perch upon a high limb, jerk its tail about and defy him; the hare may run swiftly away, and the wild turkey may tantalise him with its incessant "gobbling." but the 'coon can be killed without fire-arms. the 'coon can be overtaken and "treed." the negro is not denied the use of an axe, and no man knows better how to handle it than he. the 'coon, therefore, is his natural game, and much sport does he have in its pursuit. nearly the same may be said of the opossum (_didelphis virginiana_); but the "'possum" is more rare, and it is not our intention now to describe that very curious creature. from both 'coon and 'possum does the poor negro derive infinite sport--many a sweet excitement that cheers his long winter nights, and chequers with brighter spots the dull and darksome monotony of his slave-life. i have often thought what a pity it would be if the 'coon and the opossum should be extirpated before slavery itself became extinct. i had often shared in this peculiar sport of the negro, and joined in a real 'coon-chase, but the most exciting of all was the first in which i had been engaged, and i proffered my comrades an account of it. chapter thirteen. a 'coon-chase. "my 'coon-chase took place in tennessee, where i was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. it was the first affair of the kind i had been present at, and i was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. my companion and inductor was a certain `uncle abe,' a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own jake here. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the western states every neighbourhood has its noted 'coon-hunter. he is usually a wary old `nigger,' who knows all the tricks and dodges of the 'coon. he either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master's, in that peculiar line. it is of little importance what breed the dog may be. i have known curs that were excellent `'coon-dogs.' all that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a 'coon when taken. this a very small dog cannot do, as the 'coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best `'coon-dogs.' "uncle abe was the mighty hunter, the nimrod of the neighbourhood in which i happened to be; and uncle abe's dog--a stout terrier--was esteemed the `smartest 'coon-dog' in a circle of twenty miles. in going out with uncle abe, therefore, i had full confidence that i should see sport. "on one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered `bottom', through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a `creek.' this bottom was a favourite _habitat_ of the 'coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (_vitis labrusca_), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond. "to this bottom, then, we directed our course, abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, pompo, in the leash abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while i had armed myself with a double-barrel. pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free. "we had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. between this and the timber was a zigzag fence-- the common `rail' fence of the american farmer. for some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek `bottom,' where the 'coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place. "we did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. abe knew better than that. the young corn was just then `in the milk,' and the 'coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. it was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field. "it was now night--two hours after sundown. the 'coon-chase, i have already said, is a nocturnal sport. the raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. he often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. i have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. we had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. during the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or 'coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. the dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. a view of a 'coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls. "pompo was now let loose in the corn; while abe and i walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high--a regular `ten rail, with stalks and riders.' a 'coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help. "we had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field. "`a varmint!' cried abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. i could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers. "`a varmint, massa!' repeated abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself. "i knew that in abe's vocabulary--for that night at least--a `varmint' meant a 'coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, i felt all the excitement of a 'coon-chase. "it was not a long one--i should think of about five minutes' duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. on hearing this, abe quietly announced-- "`the varmint am treed.' "our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the 'coon taken shelter in? "this was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. if a very large tree, we might whistle for the 'coon. abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result. "the bark of pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. it was not likely, therefore, that the 'coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not `hollow.' in that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. abe had but little hope. "`he hab reach him own tree, massa; an' that am sartin to be a big un wi' a hole near um top. wagh! 'twar dat ar fence. but for de dratted fence ole pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. wagh!' "from this i learned that one point in the character of a good 'coon-dog was speed. the 'coon runs well for a few hundred yards. he rarely strays farther from his lair. if he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. there is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous 'coon-hunter would not think of attempting. the labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen 'coons. a swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree--often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below. "in abe's opinion pompo would have `treed' his 'coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now-- "`told ye so, massa!' muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. `look dar! dar's de tree--trunk thick as a haystack. wagh!' "i looked in the direction indicated by my companion. i saw pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. before i had time to make any farther observations abe's voice again sounded in my ears. "`gollies! it am a buttonwood! why, pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake--de varmint ain't dar, 'cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood-- nebber--you oughter know better'n dat, ole fool!' "abe's speech drew my attention to the tree. i saw that it was the american sycamore (_platanus occidentalis_), familiarly known by the trivial name, `buttonwood,' from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. but why should the 'coon not `tree' upon it, as well as any other? i put the question to my companion. "`'cause, massa, its bark am slickery. de varmint nebber takes to 'im. he likes de oak, an' de poplum, an' de scaly-bark. gosh! but he am dar!' continued abe, raising his voice, and looking outward--`look yonder, massa! he had climb by de great vine. dat's right, pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga's a fool. hee--up, ole dog! hee--up!' "following the direction in which abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. this had no doubt been the ladder by which the 'coon had climbed. "this discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. the 'coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. the trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it. "we left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field. "the dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another `varmint' might have stolen into the corn. "our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second 'coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods. "pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this 'coon was also `treed' in a few minutes. "from the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the `varmints' had taken to the same tree! "with some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third 'coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber. "pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game. "we ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. if our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. the identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! the third 'coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity. "`wagh! massa!' ejaculated abe, in a voice of terror, `its de same varmint. it ain't no 'coon, it's de debil! for de lub o' god, massa, let's get away from here!' "of course i followed his advice, as to get at the 'coons was out of the question. "we returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of 'coons. it was still early, however, and i was determined not to give up the hunt until i had assisted in killing a 'coon. by abe's advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. some 'coon might be prowling there in search of birds' nests. so thought abe. "he was right in his conjecture. a fourth was started, and off went pompo after him. in a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. this time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree. "it proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground. "we were now sure of him, as we thought; and i had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the 'coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with pompo veiling in his track. "of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber. "we hastened forward, guided by the barking. to the extreme of my astonishment, and i fancy to the very extreme of abe's terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood. "abe's wool stood on end. superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but i am satisfied that he believed, that all the four 'coons were one and the same individual, and that individual `de debil.' "great 'coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if i had let him. but i had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. i was roused by the repeated disappointment. a new resolve had entered my mind. i was determined to get the 'coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. the tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it. "with this determination i caught hold of abe's axe, and struck the first blow. to my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. i repeated the stroke. the sharp axe went crashing inwards. the tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where i had commenced chopping, it was but a shell. "a few more blows, and i had made a hole large enough to put a head through. felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and i saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. the tree must come down. "abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. abe was a `first hand' at `chopping,' and the hole soon gaped wider. "`if de hole run clar up, massa,' said he, resting for a moment, `we can smoke out de varmint--wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. s'pose we try 'im, massa?' "`good!' cried i, catching at abe's suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds. "the smoke soon did its work. we saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the 'coon hole--at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. we heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward! "the scene that followed was indescribable. i had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a `squirrel's jump.' two of the 'coons came to the ground, badly wounded. pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner. "the other two ran back into the `funnel,' but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. we succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what abe declared to be the greatest `'coon-chase on de record.' "as it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the `back track to hum.'" chapter fourteen. wild hogs of the woods. next day while threading our way through a patch of oak forest--the ground covered thickly with fallen leaves--we were startled by a peculiar noise in front of us. it was a kind of bellows-like snort, exactly like that made by the domestic swine when suddenly affrighted. some of the party cried out "bear," and of course this announcement threw us all into a high state of excitement. even the buffalo itself would be but secondary game, when a bear was upon the ground. the "snuff" of the bear has a very considerable resemblance to that of terrified hogs, and even our guides were deceived. they thought it might be "bar" we had heard. it proved we were all wrong. no wonder we fancied the noise resembled that made by hogs. the animal that uttered it was nothing else than a wild boar. "what!" you will exclaim, "a wild boar in the forests of missouri? oh! a peccary i suppose." no, not a peccary; for these creatures do not range so far north as the latitude of missouri--not a wild boar, neither, if you restrict the meaning of the phrase to the true indigenous animal of that kind. for all that, it was a wild boar, or rather a boar _ran wild_. wild enough and savage too it appeared, although we had only a glimpse of its shaggy form as it dashed into the thicket with a loud grunt. half a dozen shots followed it. no doubt it was tickled with some of the "leaden hail" from the double-barrelled guns, but it contrived to escape, leaving us only the incident as a subject for conversation. throughout the backwoods there are large numbers of half-wild hogs, but they are usually the denizens of woods that are inclosed by a rail-fence, and therefore private property. one part of the year they are tamer, when a scarcity of food renders it necessary for them to approach the owner's house, and eat the corn placed for them in a well-known spot. at this season they answer to a call somewhat similar to the "milk oh!" of the london dairyman, but loud enough to be heard a mile or more through the woods. a traveller passing through the backwoods' settlements will often hear this singular call sounding afar off in the stillness of the evening. these hogs pick up most of their subsistence in the forest. the "mast" of the beech-tree, the nut of the hickory, the fruit of the chinquapin oak, the acorn, and many other seeds and berries, furnish them with food. many roots besides, and grasses, contribute to sustain them, and they make an occasional meal off a snake whenever they can get hold of one. indeed it may be safely asserted, that no other cause has contributed so much to the destruction of these reptiles, as the introduction of the domestic hog into the forests of america. wherever a tract of woods has been used as the "run" of a drove of hogs, serpents of every kind become exceedingly scarce, and you may hunt through such a tract for weeks without seeing one. the hog seems to have the strongest antipathy to the snake tribe; without the least fear of them. when one of the latter is discovered by a hog, and no crevice in the rocks, or hollow log, offers it a shelter, its destruction is inevitable. the hog rushes to the spot, and, bounding forward, crushes the reptile under his hoof's. should the first attempt not succeed, and the serpent glide away, the hog nimbly follows, and repeats his efforts until the victim lies helpless. the victor then goes to work with his powerful jaws, and quietly devours the prey. the fondness of the hog for this species of food proves that in a state of nature it is partially a carnivorous animal. the peccary, which is the true representative of the wild hog in america--has the very same habit, and is well-known to be one of the most fatal enemies of the serpent tribe to be found among american animals. the hog shows no fear of the snake. his thick hide seems to protect him. the "skin" of the rattle-snake or the "hiss" of the deadly "moccasin," are alike unheeded by him. he kills them as easily as he does the innocent "chicken snake" or the black constrictor. the latter often escapes from its dreaded enemy by taking to a bush or tree; but the rattle-snake and the moccasin are not tree-climbers, and either hide themselves in the herbage and dead leaves, or retreat to their holes. it is not true that the hog cats the body of the snake he has killed, leaving the head untouched, and thus avoiding the poisoned fangs. he devours the whole of the creature, head and all. the venom of the snake, like the "curari" poison of the south-american indians, is only effective when coming in contact with the blood. taken internally its effects are innoxious--indeed there are those who believe it to be beneficial, and the curari is often swallowed as a medicine. most of this information about the half-wild hogs of the backwoods was given by our kentucky comrade, who himself was the proprietor of many hundreds of them. an annual hog-hunt was part of the routine of his life. it was undertaken not merely for the sport of the thing--though that was by no means to be despised--and the season of the hog-hunting is looked forward to with pleasant anticipation by the domestics of the plantation, as well as a few select friends or neighbours who are invited to participate in it. when the time arrives, the proprietor, with his pack of hounds, and accompanied by a party mounted and armed with rifles, enters the large tract of woodland--perhaps miles in extent, and in many places covered with cane-brakes, and almost impenetrable thickets of undergrowth. to such places the hogs fly for shelter, but the dogs can penetrate wherever hogs can go; and of course the latter are soon driven out, and forced into the more open ground, where the mounted men are waiting to receive them with a volley of bullets. sometimes a keen pursuit follows, and the dogs in full cry are carried across the country, over huge logs, and through thickets and ravines, followed by the horsemen-- just as if an old fox was the game pursued. a large waggon with drivers and attendants follows the chase, and in this the killed are deposited, to be "hauled" home when the hunt is over. this, however, often continues for several days, until all, or at least all the larger hogs, are collected and brought home, and then the sport terminates. the produce of the hunt sometimes amounts to hundreds-- according to the wealth of the proprietor. of course a scene of slaughtering and bacon-curing follows. a part of the bacon furnishes the "smoke-house" for home consumption during the winter; while the larger part finds its way to the great pork-market of cincinnati. the kentuckian related to us a curious incident illustrating the instinct of the swinish quadruped; but which to his mind, as well as to ours, seemed more like a proof of a rational principle possessed by the animal. the incident he had himself been witness to, and in his own woodlands. he related it thus:-- "i had strayed into the woods in search of a wild turkey with nothing but my shot-gun, and having tramped about a good bit, i sat down upon a log to rest myself. i had not been seated live minutes when i heard a rustling among the dead leaves in front of me. i thought it might be deer, and raised my gun; but i was greatly disappointed on seeing some half dozen of my own hogs make their appearance, rooting as they went along. "i paid no more heed to them at the time; but a few minutes after, my attention was again drawn to them, by seeing them make a sudden rush across a piece of open ground, as if they were in pursuit of something. "sure enough they were. just before their snouts, i espied the long shining body of a black snake doing its best to get out of their way. in this it succeeded, for the next moment i saw it twisting itself up a pawpaw sapling, until it had reached the top branches, where it remained looking down at its pursuers. "the snake may have fancied itself secure at the moment, and so thought i, at least so far as the hogs were concerned. i had made up my mind to be its destroyer myself, and was just about to sprinkle it with shot, when a movement on the part of one of the hogs caused me to hold back and remain quiet. i need not tell you i was considerably astonished to see the foremost of these animals seize the sapling in its jaws and jerk it about in a determined manner, as if with the intention of shaking off the snake! of course it did not succeed in this, for the latter was wound around the branches, and it would have been as easy to have shaken off the bark. "as you all know, gentlemen, the pawpaw--not the pawpaw (_carica papaya_), but a small tree of the _anonas_ or custard apple tribe, common in the woods of western america--is one of the softest and most brittle of our trees, and the hog seemed to have discovered this, for he suddenly changed his tactics, and instead of shaking at the sapling, commenced grinding it between his powerful jaws. the others assisted him, and the tree fell in a few seconds. as soon as the top branches touched the ground, the whole drove dashed forward at the snake; and in less than the time i take in telling it, the creature was crushed and devoured." after hearing the singular tale, our conversation now returned to the hog we had just "jumped." all agreed that it must be some stray from the plantations that had wandered thus far from the haunts of men, for there was no settlement within twenty miles of where we then were. our trapper guides stated that wild hogs are frequently found in remote parts, and that many of them are not "strays," but have been "littered" and brought up in the forest. these are as shy and difficult to approach as deer, or any other hunted animals. they are generally of a small breed, and it is supposed that they are identical with the species found throughout mexico, and introduced by the spaniards. chapter fifteen. treed by peccaries. talking of these spanish hogs naturally led us to the subject of the peccary--for this creature is an inhabitant only of those parts of north america which have been hitherto in possession of the spanish race. of the peccary (_dicotyles_), there are two distinct species known--the "collared," and the "white-lipped." in form and habits they are very similar to each other. in size and colour they differ. the "white-lipped" is the larger. its colour is dark brown, nearly black, while that of the collared peccary is a uniform iron-grey, with the exception of the band or collar upon its shoulders. the distinctive markings are, on the former species a greyish-white patch along the jaws, and on the other a yellowish-white belt, embracing the neck and shoulders, as a collar does a horse. these markings have given to each its specific name. they are farther distinguished, by the forehead of the white-lipped peccary being more hollowed or concave than that of its congener. in most other respects these creatures are alike. both feed upon roots, fruits, frogs, toads, lizards, and snakes. both make their lair in hollow logs, or in caves among the rocks, and both are gregarious in their habits. in this last habit, however, they exhibit some difference. the white-lipped species associate in troops to the number of hundreds, and even as many as a thousand have been seen together; whereas the others do not live in such large droves, but are oftener met with in pairs. yet this difference of habit may arise from the fact that in the places where both have been observed, the latter have not been so plentiful as the white-lipped species. as many as a hundred of the collared peccary have been observed in one "gang," and no doubt had there been more of them in the neighbourhood, the flock would have been still larger. the white-lipped species does not extend to the northern half of the american continent. its _habitat_ is in the great tropical forests of guyana and brazil, and it is found much farther south, being common in paraguay. it is there known as the "vaquira," whence our word "peccary." the other species is also found in south america, and is distinguished as the "vaquira de collar" (collared peccary). of course, they both have trivial indian names, differing in different parts of the country. the former is called in paraguay "tagnicati," while the latter is the "taytetou." neither species is so numerous as they were informer times. they have been thinned off by hunting--not for the value either of their flesh or their skins, not for the mere sport either, but on account of their destructive habits. in the neighbourhood of settlements they make frequent forays into the maize and mandioc fields, and they will lay waste a plantation of sugar-cane in a single night. for this reason it is that a war of extermination has long been waged against them by the planters and their dependents. as already stated, it is believed that the white-lipped species is not found in north america. probably it does exist in the forests of southern mexico. the natural history of these countries is yet to be thoroughly investigated. the mexicans have unfortunately employed all their time in making revolutions. but a new period has arrived. the panama railroad, the nicaragua canal, and the route of tehuantepec, will soon be open, when among the foremost who traverse these hitherto unfrequented regions, will be found troops of naturalists, of the audubon school, who will explore every nook and corner of central america. indeed, already some progress has been made in this respect. the two species of peccaries, although so much alike never associate together, and do not seem to have any knowledge of a relationship existing between them. indeed, what is very singular, they are never found in the same tract of woods. a district frequented by the one is always without the other. the collared peccary is the species found in north america; and of it we more particularly speak. it is met with when you approach the more southern latitudes westward of the mississippi river. in that great wing of the continent, to the eastward of this river, and now occupied by the united states, no such animal exists, nor is there any proof that it was ever known to exist there in its wild state. in the territory of texas, it is a common animal, and its range extends westward to the pacific, and south throughout the remainder of the continent. as you proceed westwards, the line of its range rises considerably; and in new mexico it is met with as high as the rd parallel. this is just following the isothermal line, and proves that the peccary cannot endure the rigours of a severe winter climate. it is a production of the tropics and the countries adjacent. some naturalists assert that it is a forest-dwelling animal, and is never seen in open countries. others, as buffon, state that it makes its _habitat_ in the mountains, never the low countries and plains; while still others have declared that it is never found in the mountains! none of these "theories" appears to be the correct one. it is well-known to frequent the forest-covered plains of texas, and emory (one of the most talented of modern observers) reports having met with a large drove of peccaries in the almost treeless mountains of new mexico. the fact is, the peccary is a wide "ranger," and frequents either plains or mountains wherever he can find the roots or fruits which constitute his natural food. the haunts he likes best appear to be the dry hilly woods, where he finds several species of nuts to his taste-- such as the chinquapin (_castanea pumila_), the pecan (_juglans olivaformis_), and the acorns of several species of oak, with which the half-prairie country of western texas abounds. farther than to eat their fruit, the forest trees are of no use to the peccary. he is not a climber, as he is a hoofed animal. but in the absence of rocks, or crevices in the cliffs, he makes his lair in the bottoms of hollow trees, or in the great cavities so common in half-decayed logs. he prefers, however, a habitation among rocks, as experience has no doubt taught him that it is a safer retreat both from hunters and fire. the peccary is easily distinguished from the other forest animals by his rounded, hog-like form, and long, sharp snout. although pig-shaped, he is extremely active and light in his movements. the absence of a tail-- for that member is represented only by a very small protuberance or "knob"--imparts a character of lightness to his body. his jaws are those of the hog, and a single pair of tusks, protruding near the angles of the mouth, gives him a fierce and dangerous aspect. these tusks are seen in the old males or "boars." the ears are short, and almost buried in the long harsh hairs or bristles that cover the whole body, but which are much longer on the back. these, when erected or thrown forward--as is the case when the peccary is incensed--have the appearance of a stiff mane rising all along the neck, shoulders, and spine. at such times, indeed, the rigid, bristling coat over the whole body gives somewhat of a porcupine appearance to the animal. the peccary, as already stated, is gregarious. they wander in droves of twenty, or sometimes more. this, however, is only in the winter. in the season of love, and during the period of gestation, they are met with only in pairs--a male and female. they are very true to each other, and keep close together. the female produces two young at a litter. these are of a reddish-brown colour, and at first not larger than young puppies; but they are soon able to follow the mother through the woods; and then the "family party" usually consists of four. later in the season, several of these families unite, and remain together, partly perhaps from having met by accident, and partly for mutual protection; for whenever one of their number is attacked, all the drove takes part against the assailant, whether he be hunter, cougar, or lynx. as they use both their teeth, tusks, and sharp fore-hoofs with rapidity and effect, they become a formidable and dangerous enemy. the cougar is often killed and torn to pieces by a drove of peccaries, that he has been imprudent enough to attack. indeed, this fierce creature will not often meddle with the peccaries when he sees them in large numbers. he attacks only single ones; but their "grunting," which can be heard to the distance of nearly a mile, summons the rest, and he is surrounded before he is aware of it, and seized by as many as can get around him. the texan hunter, if afoot, will not dare to disturb a drove of peccaries. even when mounted, unless the woods be open, he will pass them by without rousing their resentment. but, for all this, the animal is hunted by the settlers, and hundreds are killed annually. their ravages committed upon the corn-fields make them many enemies, who go after them with a desire for wholesale slaughter. hounds are employed to track the peccary and bring it to bay, when the hunters ride up and finish the chase by their unerring rifles. a flock of peccaries, when pursued, will sometimes take shelter in a cave or cleft of the rocks, one of their number standing ready at the mouth. when this one is shot by the hunter, another will immediately rush out and take its place. this too being destroyed, will be replaced by a third, and so on until the whole drove has fallen. should the hounds attack the peccary while by themselves, and without the aid and encouragement of the hunter, they are sure to be "routed," and some of their number destroyed. indeed, this little creature, of not more than two feet in length, is a match for the stoutest bull-dog! i have myself seen a peccary (a caged one, too)--that had killed no less than six dogs of bull and mastiff breed--all of them considered fighting dogs of first-rate reputation. the kentuckian had a peccary adventure which had occurred to him while on an excursion to the new settlements of texas. "it was my first introduction to these animals," began he, "and i am not likely soon to forget it. it gave me, among the frontier settlers of texas, the reputation of a `mighty hunter,' though how far i deserved that name you may judge for yourselves. "i was for some weeks the guest of a farmer or `planter,' who lived upon the trinity bottom. we had been out in the `timber' several times, and had filled both bear, deer, and turkeys, but had not yet had the luck to fall in with the peccary, although we never went abroad without seeing their tracks, or some other indications of what my friend termed `peccary sign.' the truth is, that these animals possess the sense of smell in the keenest degree; and they are usually hidden long before the hunter can see them or come near them. as we had gone without dogs, of course we were not likely to discover which of the nine hundred and ninety-nine hollow logs passed in a day, was the precise one in which the peccaries had taken shelter. "i had grown very curious about these creatures. bear i had often hunted--deer i had driven; and turkeys i had both trapped and shot. but i had never yet killed a peccary; in fact, had never seen one. i was therefore very desirous of adding the tusk of one of these wild boars to my trophies of the chase. "my desire was gratified sooner than i expected, and to an extent i had never dreamt of; for in one morning--before tasting my breakfast--i caused no less than nineteen of these animals to utter their last squeak! but i shall give the details of this `feat' as they happened. "it was in the autumn season--the most beautiful season of the forest-- when the frondage obtains its tints of gold, orange, and purple. i was abed in the house of my friend, but was awakened out of my sleep by the `gobbling' of wild turkeys that sounded close to the place. "although there was not a window in my room, the yellow beams streaming in through the chinks of the log wall told me that it was after `sun-up.' "i arose, drew on my garments and hunting-habiliments, took my rifle, and stole out. i said nothing to any one, as there was no one--neither `nigger' nor white man--to be seen stirring about the place. i wanted to steal a march upon my friend, and show him how smart i was by bagging a fat young `gobbler' for breakfast. "as soon as i had got round the house, i saw the turkeys--a large `gang' of them. they were out in an old corn-field, feeding upon such of the seeds as had been dropped in the corn-gathering. they were too far off for my gun to reach them, and i entered among the corn-stalks to get near them. "i soon perceived that they were feeding towards the woods, and that they were likely to enter them at a certain point. could i only reach that point before them, reflected i, i should be sure of a fair shot. i had only to go back to the house and keep around the edge of the field, where there happened to be some `cover.' in this way i should be sure to `head' them--that is, could i but reach the woods in time. "i lost not a moment in setting out; and, running most of the way, i reached the desired point. "i was now about a mile from my friend's house--for the corn-field was a very large one--such as you may only see in the great plantations of the far western world. i saw that i had `headed' the turkeys, with some time to spare; and choosing a convenient log, i sat down to await their coming. i placed myself in such a situation that i was completely hidden by the broad green leaves of some bushy trees that grew over the log. "i had not been in that position over a minute i should think, when a slight rustling among the leaves attracted my attention. i looked, and saw issuing from under the rubbish the long body of a snake. as yet, i could not see its tail, which was hidden by the grass; but the form of the head and the peculiar chevron-like markings of the body, convinced me it was the `banded rattle-snake.' it was slowly gliding out into some open ground, with the intention of crossing to a thicket upon the other side. i had disturbed it from the log, where it had no doubt been sunning itself; and it was now making away from me. "my first thought was to follow the hideous reptile, and kill it; but reflecting that if i did so i should expose myself to the view of the turkeys, i concluded to remain where i was, and let it escape. "i watched it slowly drawing itself along--for this species makes but slow progress--until it was near the middle of the glade, when i again turned my attention to the birds that had now advanced almost within range of my gun. "i was just getting ready to fire, when a strange noise, like the grunt of a small pig, sounded in my ears from the glade, and again caused me to look in that direction. as i did so, my eyes fell upon a curious little animal just emerging from the bushes. its long, sharp snout--its pig-like form--the absence of a tail--the high rump, and whitish band along the shoulders, were all marks of description which i remembered. the animal could be no other than a peccary. "as i gazed upon it with curious eyes, another emerged from the bushes, and then another, and another, until a good-sized drove of them were in sight. "the rattle-snake, on seeing the first one, had laid his head flat upon the ground; and evidently terrified, was endeavouring to conceal himself in the grass. but it was a smooth piece of turf, and he did not succeed. the peccary had already espied him; and upon the instant his hinder parts were raised to their full height, his mane became rigid, and the hair over his whole body stood erect, radiating on all sides outwards. the appearance of the creature was changed in an instant, and i could perceive that the air was becoming impregnated with a disagreeable odour, which the incensed animal emitted from its dorsal gland. without stopping longer than a moment, he rushed forward, until he stood within three feet of the body of the snake. "the latter, seeing he could no longer conceal himself, threw himself into a coil, and stood upon his defence. his eyes glared with a fiery lustre: the skir-r-r of his rattles could be heard almost incessantly; while with his upraised head he struck repeatedly in the direction of his enemy. "these demonstrations brought the whole drove of peccaries to the spot, and in a moment a circle of them had formed around the reptile, that did not know which to strike at, but kept launching out its head recklessly in all directions. the peccaries stood with their backs highly arched and their feet drawn up together, like so many angry cats, threatening and uttering shrill grunts. then one of them, i think the first that had appeared, rose suddenly into the air, and with his four hoofs held close together, came pounce down upon the coiled body of the snake. another followed in a similar manner, and another, and another, until i could see the long carcase of the reptile unfolded, and writhing over the ground. "after a short while it lay still, crushed beneath their feet. the whole squad then seized it in their teeth, and tearing it to pieces, devoured it almost instantaneously. "from the moment the peccaries had appeared in sight, i had given up all thoughts about the turkeys. i had resolved to send my leaden messenger in quite a different direction. turkeys i could have at almost any time; but it was not every day that peccaries appeared. so i `slewed' myself round upon the log, raised my rifle cautiously, `marked' the biggest `boar' i could see in the drove, and fired. "i heard the boar squeak (so did all of them), and saw him fall over, either killed or badly wounded. but i had little time to tell which, for the smoke had hardly cleared out of my eyes, when i perceived the whole gang of peccaries, instead of running away, as i had expected, coming full tilt towards me. "in a moment i was surrounded by a dark mass of angry creatures, leaping wildly at my legs, uttering shrill grunts, and making their teeth crack like castanets. "i ran for the highest part of the log, but this proved no security. the peccaries leaped upon it, and followed. i struck with the butt of my clubbed gun, and knocked them off; but again they surrounded me, leaping upward and snapping at my legs, until hardly a shred remained of my trousers. "i saw that i was in extreme peril, and put forth all my energies. i swept my gun wildly around me; but where one of the fierce brutes was knocked over, another leaped into his place, as determined as he. still i had no help for it, and i shouted at the top of my voice, all the while battling with desperation. "i still kept upon the highest point of the log, as there they could not all come around me at once; and i saw that i could thus better defend myself. but even with this advantage, the assaults of the animals were so incessant, and my exertions in keeping them off so continuous, that i was in danger of falling into their jaws from very exhaustion. "i was growing weak and wearied--i was beginning to despair for my life--when on winding my gun over my head in order to give force to my blows, i felt it strike against something behind me. it was the branch of a tree, that stretched over the spot where i was standing. "a new thought came suddenly into my mind. could i climb the tree? i knew that they could not, and in the tree i should be safe. "i looked upward; the branch was within reach. i seized upon it and brought it nearer. i drew a long breath, and with all the strength that remained in my body sprang upward. "i succeeded in getting upon the limb, and the next moment i had crawled along it, and sat close in by the trunk. i breathed freely--i was safe. "it was some time before i thought of anything else than resting myself. i remained a full half-hour before i moved in my perch. occasionally i looked down at my late tormentors. i saw that instead of going off, they were still there. they ran around the root of the tree, leaping up against its trunk, and tearing the bark with their teeth. they kept constantly uttering their shrill, disagreeable grunts; and the odour, resembling the smell of musk and garlic, which they emitted from their dorsal glands, almost stifled me. i saw that they showed no disposition to retire, but, on the contrary, were determined to make me stand siege. "now and then they passed out to where their dead comrade lay upon the grass, but this seemed only to bind their resolution the faster, for they always returned again, grunting as fiercely as ever. "i had hopes that my friend would be up by this time, and would come to my rescue; but it was not likely neither, as he would not `miss' me until i had remained long enough to make my absence seem strange. as it was, that would not be until after night, or perhaps far in the next day. it was no unusual thing for me to wander off with my gun, and be gone for a period of at least twenty hours. "i sat for hours on my painful perch--now looking down at the spiteful creatures beneath--now bending my eyes across the great corn-field, in hopes of seeing some one. at times the idea crossed my mind, that even upon the morrow i might not be missed! "i might perish with hunger, with thirst--i was suffering from both at the moment--or even if i kept alive, i might become so weak as not to be able to hold on to the tree. my seat was far from being an easy one. the tree was small--the branch was slender. it was already cutting into my thighs. i might, in my feebleness, be compelled to let it go, and then--. "these reflections were terrible; and as they came across my mind, i shouted to the highest pitch of my voice, hoping i should be heard. "up to this time i had not thought of using my gun, although clinging to it instinctively. i had brought it with me into the tree. it now occurred to me to fire it, in hopes that my friend or some one might hear the report. "i balanced myself on the branch as well as i could, and loaded it with powder. i was about to fire it off in the air, when it appeared to me that i might just as well reduce the number of my enemies. i therefore rammed down a ball, took aim at the forehead of one, and knocked him over. "another idea now arose in my mind, and that was, that i might serve the whole gang as i had done this one. his fall had not frightened them in the least; they only came nearer, throwing up their snouts and uttering their shrill notes--thus giving me a better chance of hitting them. "i repeated the loading and firing. another enemy the less. "hope began to return. i counted my bullets, and held my horn up to the sun. there were over twenty bullets, and powder sufficient. i counted the peccaries. sixteen still lived, with three that i had done for. "i again loaded and fired--loaded and fired--loaded and fired. i aimed so carefully each time, that out of all i missed only one shot. "when the firing ceased, i dropped down from my perch in the midst of a scene that resembled a great slaughter-yard. nineteen of the creatures lay dead around the tree, and the ground was saturated with their blood! "the voice of my friend at this moment sounded in my ears, and turning, i beheld him standing, with hands uplifted and eyes as large as saucers. "the `feat' was soon reported through the settlement, and i was looked upon for the time as the greatest hunter in the `trinity bottom.'" chapter sixteen. a duck-shooting adventure. during our next day's journey we again fell in with flocks of the wild pigeon, and our stock was renewed. we were very glad of this, as we were getting tired of the dry salt bacon, and another "pot-pie" from lanty's _cuisine_ was quite welcome. the subject of the pigeons was exhausted, and we talked no more about them. ducks were upon the table in a double sense, for during the march we had fallen in with a brood of the beautiful little summer ducks (_anas sponsa_), and had succeeded in shooting several of them. these little creatures, however, did not occupy our attention, but the far more celebrated species known as the "canvas-back" (_anas vallisneria_). of the two dozen species of american wild-ducks, none has a wider celebrity than that known as the canvas-back; even the eider-duck is less thought of, as the americans care little for beds of down. but the juicy, fine-flavoured flesh of the canvas-back is esteemed by all classes of people; and epicures prize it above that of all other winged creatures, with the exception, perhaps, of the reed-bird or rice-hunting, and the prairie-hen. these last enjoy a celebrity almost if not altogether equal. the prairie-hen, however, is the _bon morceau_ of western epicures; while the canvas-back is only to be found in the great cities of the atlantic. the reed-bird--in the west indies called "ortolan"--is also found in the same markets with the canvas-back. the flesh of all three of these birds--although the birds themselves are of widely-different families--is really of the most delicious kind; it would be hard to say which of them is the greatest favourite. the canvas-back is not a large duck, rarely exceeding three pounds in weight. its colour is very similar to the pochard of europe: its head is a uniform deep chestnut, its breast black; while the back and upper parts of the wings present a surface of bluish-grey, so lined and mottled as to resemble--though very slightly--the texture of canvas: hence the trivial name of the bird. like most of the water-birds of america, the canvas-back is migratory. it proceeds in spring to the cold countries of the hudson's bay territory, and returns southward in october, appearing in immense flocks along the atlantic shores. it does not spread over the fresh-water lakes of the united states, but confines itself to three or four well-known haunts, the principal of which is the great chesapeake bay. this preference for the chesapeake bay is easily accounted for, as here its favourite food is found in the greatest abundance. hound the mouths of the rivers that run into this bay, there are extensive shoals of brackish water; these favour the growth of a certain plant of the genus _vallisneria_--a grass-like plant, standing several feet out of the water, with deep green leaves, and stems, and having a white and tender root. on this root, which is of such a character as to have given the plant, the trivial name of "wild celery," the canvas-back feeds exclusively; for wherever it is not to be found, neither does the bird make its appearance. diving for it, and bringing it up in its bill, the canvas-back readily breaks off the long lanceolate leaves, which float off, either to be eaten by another species--the pochard--or to form immense banks of wrack, that are thrown up against the adjacent shores. it is to the roots of the wild celery that the flesh of the canvas-back owes its esteemed flavour, causing it to be in such demand that very often a pair of these ducks will bring three dollars in the markets of new york and philadelphia. when the finest turkey can be had for less than a third of that sum, some idea may be formed of the superior estimation in which the web-footed favourites are held. of course, shooting the canvas-back duck is extensively practised, not only as an amusement, but as a professional occupation. various means are employed to slaughter these birds: decoys by means of dogs, duck boats armed with guns that resemble infernal-machines, and disguises of every possible kind. the birds themselves are extremely shy; and a shot at them is only obtained by great ingenuity, and after considerable dodging. they are excellent divers; and when only wounded, almost always make good their escape. their shyness is overcome by their curiosity. a dog placed upon the shore, near where they happen to be, and trained to run backwards and forwards, will almost always seduce them within shot. should the dog himself not succeed, a red rag wrapped around his body, or tied to his tail, will generally bring about the desired result. there are times, however, when the ducks have been much shot at, that even this decoy fails of success. on account of the high price the canvas-backs bring in the market, they are pursued by the hunters with great assiduity, and are looked upon as a source of much profit. so important has this been considered, that in the international treaties between the states bordering upon the chesapeake, there are several clauses or articles relating to them that limit the right of shooting to certain parties. an infringement of this right, some three or four years ago, led to serious collisions between the gunners of philadelphia and baltimore. so far was the dispute carried, that schooners armed, and filled with armed men, cruised for some time on the waters of the chesapeake, and all the initiatory steps of a little war were taken by both parties. the interference of the general government prevented what would have proved, had it been left to itself, a very sanguinary affair. it so chanced that i had met with a rather singular adventure while duck-shooting on the chesapeake bay, and the story was related thus: "i was staying for some days at the house of a friend--a planter--who lived near the mouth of a small river that runs into the chesapeake. i felt inclined to have a shot at the far-famed canvas-backs. i had often eaten of these birds, but had novel shot one, or even seen them in their natural _habitat_. i was, therefore, anxious to try my hand upon them, and i accordingly set out one morning for that purpose. "my friend lived upon the bank of the river, some distance above tide-water. as the wild celery grows only in brackish water--that is, neither in the salt sea itself nor yet in the fresh-water rivers--i had to pass down the little stream a mile or more before i came to the proper place for finding the ducks. i went in a small skiff, with no other companion than an ill-favoured cur-dog, with which i had been furnished, and which was represented to me as one of the best `duck-dogs' in the country. "my friend having business elsewhere, unfortunately could not upon that day give me his company; but i knew something of the place, and being _au fait_ in most of the dodges of duck-hunting, i fancied i was quite able to take care of myself. "floating and rowing by turns, i soon came in sight of the bay and the wild celery fields, and also of flocks of water-fowl of different species, among which i could recognise the pochards, the canvas-backs, and the common american widgeon. "seeking a convenient place near the mouth of the stream, i landed; and, tying the skiff to some weeds, proceeded in search of a cover. this was soon found--some bushes favoured me; and having taken my position, i set the dog to his work. the brute, however, took but little notice of my words and gestures of encouragement, i fancied that he had a wild and frightened look, but i attributed this to my being partially a stranger to him; and was in hopes that, as soon as we became better acquainted, he would work in a different manner. "i was disappointed, however, as, do what i might, he would not go near the water, nor would he perform the trick of running to and fro which i had been assured by my friend he would be certain to do. on the contrary, he cowered among the bushes, near where i had stationed myself, and seemed unwilling to move out of them. two or three times, when i dragged him forward, and motioned him toward the water, he rushed back again, and ran under the brushwood. "i was exceedingly provoked with this conduct of the dog, the more so that a flock of canvas-backs, consisting of several thousands, was seated upon the water not more than half a mile from the shore. had my dog done his duty, i have no doubt they might have been brought within range; and, calculating upon this, i had made sure of a noble shot. my expectations, however, were defeated by the waywardness of the dog, and i saw there was no hope of doing anything with him. "having arrived at this conclusion, after some hours spent to no purpose, i rose from my cover, and marched back to the skiff. i did not even motion the wretched cur to follow me; and i should have rowed off without him, risking the chances of my friend's displeasure, but it pleased the animal himself to trot after me without invitation, and, on arriving at the boat, to leap voluntarily into it. "i was really so provoked with the brute, that i felt much inclined to pitch him out, again. my vexation, however, gradually left me; and i stood up in the skiff, turning over in my mind what course i should pursue next. "i looked toward the flock of canvas-backs. it, was a tantalising sight. they sat upon the water as light as corks, and as close together as sportsman could desire for a shot. a well-aimed discharge could not have failed to kill a score of them at least. "was there no way of approaching them? this question i had put to myself for the twentieth time without being able to answer it to my satisfaction. "an idea at length flitted across my brain. i had often approached common mallards by concealing my boat under branches or furze, and then floating down upon them, impelled either by the wind or the current of a stream. might not this also succeed with the canvas-backs? "i resolved upon making the experiment. the flock was in a position to enable me to do so. they were to the leeward of a sedge of the _vallisneria_. the wind would carry my skiff through this; and the green bushes with which i intended to disguise it would not be distinguished from the sedge, which was also green. "the thing was feasible. i deemed it so. i set about cutting some leafy branches that grew near, and trying them along the gunwales of my little craft. in less than half an hour, i pushed her from the shore; and no one at a distance would have taken her for aught else than a floating raft of brushwood. "i now pulled quietly out until i had got exactly to windward of the ducks, at about half a mile's distance from the edge of the flock. i then took in the paddles, and permitted the skiff to glide before the wind. i took the precaution to place myself in such a manner that i was completely hidden, while through the branches i commanded a view of the surface on any side i might wish to look. "the bushes acted as a sail, and i was soon drifted down among the plants of the wild celery. i feared that this might stay my progress, as the breeze was light, and might not carry me through. but the sward, contrary to what is usual, was thin at the place where the skiff had entered, and i felt, to my satisfaction, that i was moving, though slowly, in the right direction. "i remember that the heat annoyed me at the time. it was the month of november; but it was that peculiar season known as `indian summer', and the heat was excessive--not under degrees, i am certain. the shrubbery that encircled me prevented a breath of air from reaching my body; and the rays of the noonday sun fell almost vertically in that southern latitude, scorching me as i lay along the bottom of the boat. under other circumstances, i should not have liked to undergo such a roasting; but with the prospect of a splendid shot before me, i endured it as best i could. "the skiff was nearly an hour in pushing its way through the field of _vallisneria_, and once or twice it remained for a considerable time motionless. a stronger breeze, however, would spring up, and then the sound of the reeds rubbing the sides of the boat would gratefully admonish me that i was moving ahead. "i saw, at length, to my great gratification, that i was approaching the selvage of the sedge, and, moreover, that the flock itself was moving, as it were, to meet me! many of the birds were diving and feeding in the direction of the skiff. "i lay watching them with interest. i saw that the canvas-backs were accompanied by another species of a very different colour from themselves: this was the american widgeon. it was a curious sight to witness the constant warfare that was carried on between these two species of birds. the widgeon is but a poor diver, while the canvas-back is one of the very best. the widgeon, however, is equally fond of the roots of the wild celery with his congener; but he has no means of obtaining them except by robbing the latter. being a smaller and less powerful bird, he is not able to do this openly; and it was curious to observe the means by which he effected his purpose. it was as follows: when the canvas-back descends, he must perforce remain some moments under water. it requires time to seize hold of the plant, and pluck it up by the roots. in consequence of this, he usually reaches the surface in a state of half-blindness, holding the luscious morsel in his bill. the widgeon has observed him going down; and, calculating to a nicety the spot where he will reappear, seats himself in readiness. the moment the other emerges, and before he can fully recover his sight or his senses, the active spoliator makes a dash, seizes the celery in his horny mandibles, and makes off with it as fast as his webbed feet can propel him. the canvas-back, although chagrined at being plundered in this impudent manner, knows that pursuit would be idle, and, setting the root down as lost, draws a fresh breath, and dives for another. i noticed in the flock a continual recurrence of such scenes. "a third species of birds drew my attention. these were the pochards, or, as they are termed by the gunners of the chesapeake, `red-heads.' these creatures bear a very great resemblance to the canvas-backs, and can hardly be distinguished except by their bills: those of the former being concave along the upper surface, while the bills of the canvas-backs exhibit a nearly straight line. "i saw that the pochards did not interfere with either of the other species, contenting themselves with feeding upon what neither of the others cared for--the green leaves of the _vallisneria_, which, after being stripped of their roots, were floating in quantities on the surface of the water. yet these pochards are almost as much prized for the table as their cousins the canvas-backs; and, indeed, i have since learnt that they are often put off for the latter by the poulterers of new york and philadelphia. those who would buy a real canvas-back should know something of natural history. the form and colour of the bill would serve as a criterion to prevent their being deceived. in the pochard, the bill is of a bluish colour; that of the canvas-back is dark green; moreover, the eye of the pochard is yellow, while that of its congener is fiery red. "i was gratified in perceiving that i had at last drifted within range of a thick clump of the ducks. nothing now remained but to poke my gun noiselessly through the bushes, set the cocks of both barrels, take aim, and fire. "it was my intention to follow the usual plan--that is, fire one barrel at the birds while sitting, and give them the second as they rose upon the wing. this intention was carried out the moment after; and i had the gratification of seeing some fifteen or twenty ducks strewed over the water, at my service. the rest of the flock rose into the heavens, and the clapping of their wings filled the air with a noise that resembled thunder. "i say that there appeared to have been fifteen or twenty killed; how many i never knew: i never laid my hands upon a single bird of them. i became differently occupied, and with a matter that soon drove canvas-backs, and widgeons, and pochards as clean out of my head as if no such creatures had ever existed. "while drifting through the sedge, my attention had several times been attracted by what appeared to be strange conduct on the part of my canine companion. he lay cowering in the bottom of the boat near the bow, and half covered by the bushes; but every now and then he would start to his feet, look wildly around, utter a strange whimpering, and then resume his crouching attitude. i noticed, moreover, that at intervals he trembled as if he was about to shake out his teeth. all this had caused me wonder--nothing more. i was too much occupied in watching the game, to speculate upon causes; i believed, if i formed any belief on the subject, that these manoeuvres were caused by fear; that the cur had never been to sea, and that he was now either sea-sick or sea-scared. "this explanation had hitherto satisfied me, and i had thought no more upon the matter. i had scarcely delivered my second barrel, however, when my attention was anew attracted to the dog; and this time was so arrested, that in one half-second i thought of nothing else. the animal had arisen, and stood within three feet of me, whining hideously. his eyes glared upon me with a wild and unnatural expression, his tongue lolled out, and saliva fell copiously from his lips. _the dog was mad_! "i saw that the dog was mad, as certainly as i saw the dog. i had seen mad dogs before, and knew the symptoms well. it was hydrophobia of the most dangerous character. "fear, quick and sudden, came over me. fear is a tame word; horror i should call it; and the phrase would not be too strong to express my sensations at that moment. i knew myself to be in a situation of extreme peril, and i saw not the way out of it. death--death painful and horrid--appeared to be nigh, appeared to confront me, glaring from out the eyes of the hideous brute. "instinct had caused me to put myself in an attitude of defence. my first instinct was a false one. i raised my gun, at the same moment manipulating the lock, with the design of cocking her. in the confusion of terror, i had even forgotten that both barrels were empty, that i had just scattered their contents in the sea. "i thought of re-loading; but a movement of the dog towards me showed that that would be a dangerous experiment; and a third thought or instinct directed me to turn the piece in my hand, and defend myself, if necessary, with the butt. this instinct was instantly obeyed, and in a second's time i held the piece clubbed and ready to strike. "i had retreated backward until i stood in the stern of the skiff. the dog had hitherto lain close up to the bow, but after the shots, he had sprung up and taken a position nearer the centre of the boat. in fact, he had been within biting distance of me before i had noticed his madness. the position into which i had thus half involuntarily thrown myself, offered me but a trifling security. "any one who has ever rowed an american skiff will remember that these little vessels are `crank' to an extreme degree. although boat-shaped above, they are without keels, and a rude step will turn them bottom upward in an instant. even to stand upright in them, requires careful balancing; but to fight a mad dog in one without being bitten, would require the skill and adroitness of an acrobat. with all my caution, as i half stood, half crouched in the stern, the skiff rocked from side to side, and i was in danger of being pitched out. should the dog spring at me, i knew that any violent exertion to fend him off would either cause me to be precipitated into the water, or would upset the boat--a still more dreadful alternative. "these thoughts did not occupy half the time i have taken to describe them. short, however, as that time was in actual duration, to me it seemed long enough, for the dog still held a threatening attitude, his forepaws resting upon one of the seats, while his eyes continued to glare upon me with a wild and uncertain expression. "i remained for some moments in fearful suspense. i was half paralysed with terror, and uncertain what action it would be best to take. i feared that any movement would attract the fierce animal, and be the signal for him to spring upon me. i thought of jumping out of the skiff into the water. i could not wade in it. it was shallow enough--not over five feet in depth, but the bottom appeared to be of soft mud. i might sink another foot in the mud. no; i could not have waded. the idea was dismissed. "to swim to the shore? i glanced sideways in that direction: it was nearly half a mile distant. i could never reach it, cumbered with my clothes. to have stripped these off, would have tempted the attack. even could i have done so, might not the dog follow and seize me in the water? a horrible thought! "i abandoned all hope of escape, at least that might arise from any active measures on my part. i could do nothing to save myself; my only hope lay in passively awaiting the result. "impressed with this idea, i remained motionless as a statue; i moved neither hand nor foot from the attitude i had first assumed; i scarcely permitted myself to breathe, so much did i dread attracting the farther attention of my terrible companion, and interrupting the neutrality that existed. "for some minutes--they seemed hours--this state of affairs continued. the dog still stood up, with his forepaws raised upon the bench; the oars were among his feet. in this position he remained, gazing wildly, though it did not appear to me steadily, in my face. several times i thought he was about to spring on me; and, although i carefully avoided making any movement, i instinctively grasped my gun with a firmer hold. to add to my embarrassment, i saw that i was fast drifting seaward! the wind was from the shore; it was impelling the boat with considerable velocity, in consequence of the mass of bushes acting as sails. already it had cleared the sedge, and was floating out in open water. to my dismay, at less than a mile's distance, i descried a line of breakers! "a side-glance was sufficient to convince me, that unless the skiff was checked, she would drift upon these in the space of ten minutes. "a fearful alternative now presented itself: i must either drive the dog from the oars, or allow the skiff to be swamped among the breakers. the latter would be certain death, the former offered a chance for life; and, nerving myself with the palpable necessity for action, i instantly resolved to make the attack. "whether the dog had read my intention in my eyes; or observed my fingers taking a firmer clutch of my gun, i know not, but at this moment he seemed to evince sudden fear, and, dropping down from the seat, he ran backward to the bow, and cowered there as before. "my first impulse was to get hold of the oars, for the roar of the breakers already filled my ears. a better idea suggested itself immediately after, and that was to load my gun. this was a delicate business, but i set about it with all the caution i could command. "i kept my eyes fixed upon the animal, and _felt_ the powder, the wadding, and the shot, into the muzzle. i succeeded in loading one barrel, and fixing the cap. "as i had now something upon which i could rely, i proceeded with more confidence, and loaded the second barrel with greater care, the dog eyeing me all the while. had madness not obscured his intelligence, he would no doubt have interrupted my manipulations; as it was, he remained still until both barrels were loaded, capped, and cocked. "i had no time to spare; the breakers were nigh; their hoarse `sough' warned me of their perilous proximity; a minute more, and the little skiff would be dancing among them like a shell, or sunk for ever. "not a moment was to be lost, and yet i had to proceed with caution. i dared not raise the gun to my shoulder--i dared not glance along the barrels: the manoeuvre might rouse the dangerous brute. "i held the piece low, slanting along my thighs. i guided the barrels with my mind, and, feeling the direction to be true, i fired. "i scarcely heard the report, on account of the roaring of the sea; but i saw the dog roll over, kicking violently. i saw a livid patch over his ribs, where the shot had entered in a clump. this would no doubt have proved sufficient; but to make sure, i raised the gun to my shoulder, took aim, and sent the contents of the second barrel through the ribs of the miserable brute. his kicking ended almost instantly, and he lay dead in the bottom of the boat. "i dropped my gun and flew to the oars: it was a close `shave;' the skiff was already in white water, and dancing like a feather; but with a few strokes i succeeded in backing her out, and then heading her away from the breakers, i pulled in a direct line for the shore. "i thought not of my canvas-backs--they had floated by this time, i neither knew nor cared whither: the sharks might have them for me. my only care was to get away from the scene as quickly as possible, determined never again to go duck-shooting with a cur for my companion." chapter seventeen. hunting the vicuna. during our next day's march the only incident that befel us was the breaking of our waggon-tongue, which delayed our journey. there was plenty of good hickory-wood near the place, and jake, with a little help from redwood and ike and lanty, soon spliced it again, making it stronger than ever. of course it shortened our journey for the day, and we encamped at the end of a ten miles' march. strange to say, on the whole ten miles we did not meet with a single animal to give us a little sport, or to form the subject of our camp talk. we were not without a subject, however, as our english friend proposed giving us an account of the mode of hunting the vicuna, and the details of a week's hunting he had enjoyed upon the high table-lands of the peruvian andes. he also imparted to our camp-fire circle much information about the different species of that celebrated animal the llama or "camel-sheep" of peru, which proved extremely interesting, not only to the old hunter-naturalist, but to the "mountain-men," to whom this species of game, as well as the mode of hunting it, was something new. thompson began his narrative as follows:--"when pizarro and his spaniards first climbed the peruvian andes, they were astonished at seeing a new and singular species of quadrupeds, the camel-sheep, so called from their resemblance to these two kinds of animals. they saw the `llama' domesticated and trained to carrying burdens, and the `alpaca,' a smaller species, reared on account of its valuable fleece. "but there were still two other species of these odd animals only observed in a wild state, and in the more desolate and uninhabited parts of the cordilleras. these were the `guanaco' and `vicuna.' "up to a very late period the guanaco was believed to be the llama in its wild state, and by some the llama run wild. this, however, is not the case. the four species, llama, alpaca, guanaco, and vicuna as quite distinct from each other, and although the guanaco can be tamed and taught to carry burdens, its labour is not of sufficient value to render this worth while. the alpaca is never used as a beast of burden. its fleece is the consideration for which it is domesticated and reared, and its wool is much finer and more valuable than that of the llama. "the guanaco is, perhaps, the least prized of the four, as its fleece is of indifferent quality, and its flesh is not esteemed. the vicuna, on the contrary, yields a wool which is eagerly sought after, and which in the andes towns will sell for at least five times its weight in alpaca wool. ponchos woven out of it are deemed the finest made, and command the fabulous price of pounds or pounds sterling. a rich proprietor in the cordilleras is often seen with such a poncho, and the quality of the garment, the length of time it will turn rain, etcetera, are favourite subjects of conversation with the wearers of them. of course everybody in those parts possesses one, as everybody in england or the united states must have a great coat; but the ponchos of the poorer classes of peruvians--the indian labourers, shepherds, and miners--are usually manufactured out of the coarse wool of the llama. only the `ricos' can afford the beautiful fabric of the vicuna's fleece. "the wool of the vicuna being so much in demand, it will be easily conceived that hunting the animal is a profitable pursuit; and so it is. in many parts of the andes there are regular vicuna hunters, while, in other places, whole tribes of peruvian indians spend a part of every year in the chase of this animal and the guanaco. when we go farther south, in the direction of patagonia, we find other tribes who subsist principally upon the guanaco, the vicuna, and the rhea or south-american ostrich. "hunting the vicuna is by no means an easy calling. the hunter must betake himself to the highest and coldest regions of the andes--far from civilised life, and far from its comforts. he has to encamp in the open air, and sleep in a cave or a rude hut, built by his own hands. he has to endure a climate as severe as a lapland winter, often in places where not a stick of wood can be procured, and where he is compelled to cook his meals with the dry ordure of wild cattle. "if not successful in the chase he is brought to the verge of starvation, and must have recourse to roots and berries--a few species of which, such as the tuberous root `maca,' are found growing in these elevated regions. he is exposed, moreover, to the perils of the precipice, the creaking `soga' bridge, the slippery path, and the hoarse rushing torrent--and these among the rugged cordilleras of the andes are no mean dangers. a life of toil, exposure, and peril is that of the vicuna hunter. "during my travels in peru i had resolved to enjoy the sport of hunting the vicuna. for this purpose i set out from one of the towns of the lower sierra, and climbed up the high region known as the `puna,' or sometimes as the `despoblado' (the uninhabited region). "i reached at length the edge of a plain to which i had mounted by many a weary path--up many a dark ravine. i was twelve or fourteen thousand feet above sea level, and although i had just parted from the land of the palm-tree and the orange, i was now in a region cold and sterile. mountains were before and around me--some bleak and dark, others shining under a robe of snow, and still others of that greyish hue as if snow had freshly fallen upon them, but not enough to cover their stony surface. the plain before me was several miles in circumference. it was only part of a system of similar levels separated from each other by spurs of the mountains. by crossing a ridge another comes in view, a deep cleft leads you into a third, and so on. "these table plains are too cold for the agriculturist. only the cereal barley will grow there, and some of those hardy roots--the natives of an arctic zone. but they are covered with a sward of grass--the `ycha' grass, the favourite food of the llamas--and this renders them serviceable to man. herds of half-wild cattle may be seen, tended by their wilder-looking shepherds. flocks of alpacas, female llamas with their young, and long-tailed peruvian sheep, stray over them, and to some extent relieve their cheerless aspect. the giant vulture--the condor, wheels above all, or perches on the jutting rock. here and there, in some sheltered nook, may be seen the dark mud hut of the `vaquero' (cattle herd), or the man himself, with his troop of savage curs following at his heels, and this is all the sign of habitation or inhabitant to be met with for hundreds of miles. this bleak land, up among the mountain tops of the andes, as i have already said, is called the `puna.' "the puna is the favourite haunt of the vicuna, and, of course, the home of the vicuna hunter. i had directions to find one of these hunters, and an introduction to him when found, and after spending the night at a shepherd's hut, i proceeded next morning in search of him--some ten miles farther into the mountains. "i arrived at the house, or rather hovel, at an early hour. notwithstanding, my host had been abroad, and was just returned with full hands, having a large bundle of dead animals in each. they were chinchillas and viscachas, which he had taken out of his snares set overnight. he said that most of them had been freshly caught, as their favourite time of coming out of their dens to feed is just before daybreak. "these two kinds of animals, which in many respects resemble our rabbits, also resemble each other in habits. they make their nests in crevices of the rocks, to which they retreat, when pursued, as rabbits to their burrows. of course, they are snared in a very similar manner-- by setting the snares upon, their tracks, and at the entrances to their holes. one difference i noted. the peruvian hunter used snares made of twisted horse-hair, instead of the spring wire employed by our gamekeepers and poachers. the chinchilla is a much more beautiful creature than the viscacha, and is a better-known animal, its soft and beautifully-marbled fur being an article of fashionable wear in the cities of europe. "as i approached his hut, the hunter had just arrived with the night's produce of his snares, and was hanging them up to the side of the building, skinning them one by one. not less than half a score of small, foxy-looking dogs were around him--true native dogs of the country. "of the disposition of these creatures i was soon made aware. no sooner had they espied me, than with angry yelps the whole pack ran forward to meet me, and came barking and grinning close around the feet of my horse. several of them sprang upward at my legs, and would, no doubt, have bitten them, had i not suddenly raised my feet up to the withers, and for some time held them in that position. i have no hesitation in saying that had i been afoot, i should have been badly torn by the curs; nor do i hesitate to say, that of all the dogs in the known world, these peruvian mountain dogs are the most vicious and spiteful. they will bite even the friends of their own masters, and very often their masters themselves have to use the stick to keep them in subjection. i believe the dogs found among many tribes of your north-american indians have a very similar disposition, though by no means to compare in fierceness and savage nature with their cousins of the cold puna. "the masters of these dogs are generally indians, and it is a strange fact, that they are much more spiteful towards the whites than indians. it is difficult for a white man to get on friendly terms with them. "after a good deal of kicking and cuffing, my host succeeded in making his kennel understand that i had not come there to be eaten up. i then alighted from my horse, and walked (i should say crawled) inside the hut. "this was, as i have already stated, a mere hovel. a circular wall of mud and stone, about five feet high, supported a set of poles that served as rafters. these poles were the flower stalks of the great american aloe, or maguey-plant--the only thing resembling wood that grew near. over these was laid a thick layer of puna grass, which was tied with strong ropes of the same material, to keep it from flying off when the wind blew violently, which it there often does. a few blocks of stone in the middle of the floor constituted the fireplace, and the smoke got out the best way it could through a hole in the roof. "the owner of this mansion was a true indian, belonging to one of those tribes of the mountains that could not be said ever to have been conquered by the spaniards. living in remote districts, many of these people never submitted to the _repartimientos_, yet a sort of religious conquest was made of some of them by the missionaries, thus bringing them under the title of `indios mansos' (tame indians), in contradistinction to the `indios bravos,' or savage tribes, who remain unconquered and independent to this day. "as already stated, i had come by appointment to share the day's hunt. i was invited to partake of breakfast. my host, being a bachelor, was his own cook, and some parched maize and `macas,' with a roasted chinchilla, furnished the repast. "fortunately, i carried with me a flask of catalan brandy; and this, with a cup of water from the icy mountain spring, rendered our meal more palatable i was not without some dry tobacco, and a husk to roll it in, so that we enjoyed our cigar; but what our hunter enjoyed still more was a `coceada,' for he was a regular chewer of `coca.' he carried his pouch of chinchilla skin filled with the dried leaves of the coca plant, and around his neck was suspended the gourd bottle, filled with burnt lime and ashes of the root of the `molle' tree. "all things arranged, we started forth. it was to be a `still' hunt, and we went afoot, leaving our horses safely tied by the hut. the indian took with him only one of his dogs--a faithful and trusty one, on which, he could rely. "we skirted the plain, and struck into a defile in the mountains. it led upwards, among rocky boulders. a cold stream gurgled in its bottom, now and then leaping over low falls, and churned into foam. at times the path was a giddy one, leading along narrow ledges, rendered more perilous by the frozen snow, that lay to the depth of several inches. our object was to reach the level of a plain still higher, where my companion assured me we should be likely to happen upon a herd of vicunas. "as we climbed among the rocks, my eye was attracted by a moving object, higher up. on looking more attentively, several animals were seen, of large size, and reddish-brown colour. i took them at first for deer, as i was thinking of that animal. i saw my mistake in a moment. they were not deer, but creatures quite as nimble. they were bounding from rock to rock, and running along the narrow ledges with the agility of the chamois. these must be the vicunas, thought i. "`no,' said my companion; `guanacos--nothing more.' "i was anxious to have a shot at them. "`better leave them now,' suggested the hunter; `the report would frighten the vicunas, if they be in the plain--it is near. i know these guanacos. i know where they will retreat to--a defile close by--we can have a chance at them on our return.' "i forbore firing, though i certainly deemed the guanacos within shot, but the hunter was thinking of the more precious skin of the vicunas, and we passed on. i saw the guanacos run for a dark-looking cleft between two mountain spurs. "`we shall find them in there,' muttered my companion, `that is their haunt.' "noble game are these guanacos--large fine animals--noble game as the red deer himself. they differ much from the vicunas. they herd only in small numbers, from six to ten or a dozen: while as many as four times this number of vicunas may be seen together. there are essential points of difference in the habits of the two species. the guanacos are dwellers among the rocks, and are most at home when bounding from cliff to cliff, and ledge to ledge. they make but a poor run upon the level grassy plain, and their singular contorted hoofs seem to be adapted for their favourite haunts. the vicunas, on the contrary, prefer the smooth turf of the table plains, over which they dart with the swiftness of the deer. both are of the same family of quadrupeds, but with this very essential difference--the one is a dweller of the level plain, the other of the rocky declivity; and nature has adapted each to its respective _habitat_." here the narrator was interrupted by the hunter-naturalist, who stated that he had observed this curious fact in relation to other animals of a very different genus, and belonging to the _fauna_ of north america. "the animals i speak of," said he, "are indigenous to the region of the rocky mountains, and well-known to our trapper friends here. they are the big horn (_ovis montana_) and the prong-horned antelope (_a. furcifer_). the big horn is usually denominated a sheep, though it possesses far more of the characteristics of the deer and antelope families. like the chamois, it is a dweller among the rocky cliffs and declivities, and only there does it feel at home, and in the full enjoyment of its faculties for security. place it upon a level plain, and you deprive it of confidence, and render its capture comparatively easy. at the base of these very cliffs on which the _ovis montana_ disports itself, roams the prong-horn, not very dissimilar either in form, colour, or habits; and yet this creature, trusting to its heels for safety, feels at home and secure only on the wide open plain where it can see the horizon around it! such is the difference in the mode of life of two species of animals almost cogenerie, and i am not surprised to hear you state that a somewhat like difference exists between the guanaco and vicuna." the hunter-naturalist was again silent, and the narrator continued. "a few more strides up the mountain pass brought us to the edge of the plain, where we expected to see the vicunas. we were not disappointed. a herd was feeding upon it, though at a good distance off. a beautiful sight they were, quite equalling in grace and stateliness the lordly deer. in fact, they might have passed for the latter to an unpractised eye, particularly at that season when deer are `in the red.' indeed the vicuna is more deer-like than any other animal except the antelope--much more so than its congeners the llama, alpaca, or guanaco. its form is slender, and its gait light and agile, while the long tapering neck and head add to the resemblance. the colour, however, is peculiarly its own, and any one accustomed to seeing the vicuna can distinguish the orange-red of its silky coat at a glance, and at a great distance. so peculiar is it, that in peru the `_colour de vicuna_' (vicuna colour) has become a specific name. "my companion at once pronounced the animals before us a herd of vicunas. there were about twenty in all, and all except one were quietly feeding on the grassy plain. this one stood apart, his long neck raised high in air, and his head occasionally turning from side to side, as though he was keeping watch for the rest. such was in fact the duty he was performing; he was the leader of the herd--the patriarch, husband and father of the flock. all the others were ewes or young ones. so affirmed my companion. "the vicuna is polygamous--fights for his harem with desperate fierceness, watches over its number while they feed or sleep, chooses the ground for browsing and rest--defends them against enemies--heads them in the advance, and covers their retreat with his own `person'-- such is the domestic economy of the vicuna. "`now, senor,' said the hunter, eyeing the herd, `if i could only kill him (he pointed to the leader) i would have no trouble with the rest. i should get every one of them.' "`how?' i inquired. "`oh!--they would!--ha! the very thing i wished for!' "`what?' "`they are heading towards yonder rocks.' he pointed to a clump of rocky boulders that lay isolated near one side of the plain--`let us get there, comrade--_vamos_!' "we stole cautiously round the edge of the mountain until the rocks lay between us and the game; and then crouched forward and took our position among them. we lay behind a jagged boulder, whose seamed outline looked as if it had been designed for loop-hole firing. it was just the cover we wanted. "we peeped cautiously through the cracks of the rock. already the vicunas were near, almost within range of our pieces. i held in my hands a double-barrel, loaded in both barrels with large-sized buck-shot; my companion's weapon was a long spanish rifle. "i received his instructions in a whisper. i was not to shoot until he had fired. both were to aim at the leader. about this he was particular, and i promised obedience. "the unconscious herd drew near. the leader, with the long white silky hair hanging from his breast, was in the advance, and upon him the eyes of both of us were fixed. i could observe his glistening orbs, and his attitude of pride, as he turned at intervals to beckon his followers on. "`i hope he has got the worms,' muttered my companion; `if he has, he'll come to rub his hide upon the rocks.' "some such intention was no doubt guiding the vicuna, for at that moment it stretched forth its neck, and trotted a few paces towards us. it suddenly halted. the wind was in our favour, else we should have been scented long ago. but we were suspected. the creature halted, threw up its head, struck the ground with its hoof, and uttered a strange cry, somewhat resembling the whistling of a deer. the echo of that cry was the ring of my companion's rifle, and i saw the vicuna leap up and fall dead upon the plain. "i expected the others to break off in flight, and was about to fire at them though they were still at long range. my companion prevented me. "`hold!' he whispered, `you'll have a better chance--see there!--now, if you like, senor!' "to my surprise, the herd, instead of attempting to escape, came trotting up to where the leader lay, and commenced running around at intervals, stooping over the body, and uttering plaintive cries. "it was a touching sight, but the hunter is without pity for what he deems his lawful game. in an instant i had pulled both triggers, and both barrels had sent forth their united and deadly showers. "deadly indeed--when the smoke blew aside, nearly half of the herd were seen lying quiet or kicking on the plain. "the rest remained as before! another ring of the long rifle, and another fell--another double detonation of the heavy deer-gun, and several came to the ground; and so continued the alternate fire of bullets and shot, until the whole herd were strewn dead and dying upon the ground! "our work was done--a great day's work for my companion, who would realise nearly a hundred dollars for the produce of his day's sport. "this, however, he assured me was a very unusual piece of good luck. often for days and even weeks, he would range the mountains without killing a single head--either vicuna or guanaco, and only twice before had he succeeded in thus making a _battue_ of a whole herd. once he had approached a flock of vicunas disguised in the skin of a guanaco, and killed most of them before they thought of retreating. "it was necessary for us to return to the hut for our horses in order to carry home the game, and this required several journeys to be made. to keep off the wolves and condors my companion made use of a very simple expedient, which i believe is often used in the north--among your prairie trappers here. several bladders were taken from the vicunas and inflated. they were then tied upon poles of maguey, and set upright over the carcasses, so as to dangle and dance about in the wind. cunning as is the andes wolf this `scare' is sufficient to keep him off, as well as his ravenous associate, the condor. "it was quite night when we reached the indian hut with our last load. both of us were wearied and hungry, but a fresh vicuna cutlet, washed down by the catalan, and followed by a cigarette, made us forget our fatigues. my host was more than satisfied with his day's work, and promised me a guanaco hunt for the morrow." chapter eighteen. a chacu of vicunas. "well, upon the morrow," continued the englishman, "we had our guanaco hunt, and killed several of the herd we had seen on the previous day. there was nothing particular in regard to our mode of hunting--farther than to use all our cunning in getting within shot, and then letting fly at them. "it is not so easy getting near the guanaco. he is among the shyest game i have ever hunted, and his position is usually so far above that of the hunter, that he commands at all times a view of the movements of the latter. the over-hanging rocks, however, help one a little, and by diligent creeping he is sometimes approached. it requires a dead shot to bring him down, for, if only wounded, he will scale the cliffs, and make off--perhaps to die in some inaccessible haunt. "while sojourning with my hunter-friend, i heard of a singular method practised by the indians, of capturing the vicuna in large numbers. this was called the `chacu.' "of course i became very desirous of witnessing a `chacu,' and the hunter promised to gratify me. it was now the season of the year for such expeditions, and one was to come off in a few days. it was the annual hunt got up by the tribe to which my host belonged; and, of course, he, as a practised and professional hunter, was to bear a distinguished part in the ceremony. "the day before the expedition was to set out, we repaired to the village of the tribe--a collection of rude huts, straggling along the bottom of one of the deep clefts or valleys of the cordilleras. this village lay several thousand feet below the level of the puna plains, and was therefore in a much warmer climate. in fact, the sugar-cane and yucca plant (_jatropha mainhot_) were both seen growing in the gardens of the villagers, and indian corn flourished in the fields. "the inhabitants were `_indios mansos_' (civilised indians). they attended part of the year to agriculture, although the greater part of it was spent in idleness, amusements, or hunting. they had been converted--that is nominally--to christianity; and a church with its cross was a prominent feature of the village. "the cure, or priest, was the only white man resident in the place, and he was white only by comparison. though of pure spanish blood, he would have passed for a `coloured old gentleman' in any part of europe or the states. "my companion introduced me to the padre, and i was at once received upon terms of intimacy. to my surprise i learnt that he was to accompany the chacu--in fact to take a leading part in it. he seemed to be as much interested in the success of the hunt as any of them--more so, perhaps, and with good reason too. i afterwards learnt why. the produce of the annual hunt was part of the padre's income. by an established law, the skins of the vicunas were the property of the church, and these, being worth on the spot at least a dollar a-piece, formed no despicable tithe. after hearing this i was at no loss to understand the padre's enthusiasm about the chacu. all the day before he had been bustling about among his parishioners, aiding them with his counsel, and assisting them in their preparations. i shared the padre's dwelling, the best in the village; his supper too--a stewed fowl, killed for the occasion, and rendered fiery hot with `aji,' or capsicum. this was washed down with `chica,' and afterwards the padre and i indulged in a cigarette and a chat. "he was a genuine specimen of the south-american missionary priest; rather more scrupulous about getting his dues than about the moral welfare of his flock; fat, somewhat greasy, fond of a good dinner, a glass of `yea' brandy, and a cigarette. nevertheless, his rule was patriarchal in a high degree, and he was a favourite with the simple people among whom he dwelt. "morning came, and the expedition set forth; not, however, until a grand mass had been celebrated in the church, and prayers offered up for the success of the hunt. the cavalcade then got under weigh, and commenced winding up the rugged path that led toward the `altos,' or puna heights. we travelled in a different direction from that in which my companion and i had come. "the expedition itself was a picturesque affair. there were horses, mules, and llamas, men, women, children, and dogs; in fact, almost every living thing in the village had turned out. a chacu is no common occasion--no one day affair. it was to be an affair of weeks. there were rude tents carried along; blankets and cooking utensils; and the presence of the women was as necessary as any part of the expedition. their office would be to do the cooking, and keep the camp in order! as well as to assist in the hunt. "strung out in admirable confusion, we climbed up the mountain--a picturesque train--the men swinging along in their coloured ponchos of llama wool, and the women dressed in bright mantas of `bayeta' (a coarse cloth, of native manufacture). i noticed several mules and llamas packed with loads of a curious character. some carried large bundles of rags--others were loaded with coils of rope--while several were `freighted' with short poles, tied in bunches. i had observed these cargoes being prepared before leaving the village, and could not divine the use of them. that would no doubt be explained when we had reached the scene of the chacu, and i forbore to trouble my companions with any interrogatories, as i had enough to do to guide my horse along the slippery path we were travelling. "about a mile from the village there was a sudden halt. i inquired the cause. "`the _huaro_,' was the reply. "i knew the huaro to be the name of a peculiar kind of bridge, and i learnt that one was here to be crossed. i rode forward, and found myself in front of the huaro. a singular structure it was. i could scarcely believe in the practicability of our getting over it. the padre, however, assured me it was a good one, and we should all be on the other side in a couple of hours! "i at first felt inclined to treat this piece of information as a joke: but it proved that the priest was in earnest. it was full two hours before we were all crossed with our bag and baggage. "the huaro was nothing more than a thick, rope stretched across the chasm, and made fast at both ends. on this rope was a strong piece of wood, bent into the shape of the letter u, and fastened to a roller which rested upon the rope, and moved along it when pulled by a cord from either side. there were two cords, or ropes, attached to the roller, one leading to each side of the chasm, and their object was to drag the passenger across: of course, only one of us could be carried over at a time. no wonder we were so long in making the crossing, when there were over one hundred in all, with numerous articles of baggage. "i shall never forget the sensations i experienced in making the passage of the huaro. i had felt giddy enough in going over the `soga' bridges and `barbacoas' common throughout peru, but the passage of the huaro is really a gymnastic feat of no easy accomplishment. i was first tied, back downwards, with my back resting in the concavity of the bent wood; my legs were then crossed over the main rope--the bridge itself--with nothing to hold them there farther than my own muscular exertion. with my hands i clutched the vertical side of the wooden yoke, and was told to keep my head in as upright a position as possible. without farther ado i felt myself jerked out until i hung in empty air over a chasm that opened at least two hundred feet beneath, and through the bottom of which a white torrent was foaming over black rocks! my ankles slipped along the rope, but the sensation was so strange, that i felt several times on the point of letting them drop off. in that case my situation would have been still more painful, as i should have depended mainly on my arms for support. indeed, i held on tightly with both hands, as i fancied that the cord with which i had been tied to the yoke would every minute give way. "after a good deal of jerking and hauling, i found myself on the opposite side, and once more on my feet! "i was almost repaid for the fright i had gone through, by seeing the great fat padre pulled over. it was certainly a ludicrous sight, and i laughed the more, as i fancied the old fellow had taken occasion to laugh at me. he took it all in good part, however, telling me that it caused him no fear, as he had long been accustomed to those kind of bridges. "this slow and laborious method of crossing streams is not uncommon in many parts of the andes. it occurs in retired and thinly-populated districts, where there is no means for building bridges of regular construction. of course, the traveller himself only can be got over by the huaro. his horse, mule, or llamas must swim the stream, and in many instances these are carried off by the rapid current, or dashed against the rocks, and killed. "the whole _cavallada_ of the expedition got safely over, and in a short while we were all _en route_, once more climbing up toward the `altos.' i asked my companion why we could not have got over the stream at some other point, and thus have saved the time and labour. the answer was, that it would have cost us a twenty miles' journey to have reached a point no nearer our destination than the other end of the huaro rope! no wonder such pains had been taken to ferry the party across. "we reached the heights late in the evening. the hunt would not begin until the next day. "that evening was spent in putting up tents, and getting everything in order about the camp. the tent of the padre was conspicuous--it was the largest, and i was invited to share it with him. the horses and other animals were picketted or hoppled upon the plain, which was covered with a short brown grass. "the air was chill--cold, in fact--we were nearly three miles above ocean level. the women and youths employed themselves in collecting _taquia_ to make fires. there was plenty of this, for the plain where we had halted was a pasture of large flocks of llamas and horned cattle. it was not there we expected to fall in with the vicunas. a string of `altos,' still farther on were their favourite haunts. our first camp was sufficiently convenient to begin the hunt. it would be moved farther on when the plains in its neighbourhood had been hunted, and the game should grow scarce. "morning arrived; but before daybreak, a large party had set off, taking with them the ropes, poles, and bundles of rags i have already noticed. the women and boys accompanied this party. their destination was a large table plain, contiguous to that on which we had encamped. "an hour afterwards the rest of the party set forth--most of them mounted one way or other. these were the real hunters, or `drivers.' along with them went the dogs--the whole canine population of the village. i should have preferred riding with this party, but the padre took me along with himself, promising to guide me to a spot where i should get the best view of the chacu. he and i rode forward alone. "in half an hour we reached the plain where the first party had gone. they were all at work as we came up--scattered over the plain--and i now saw the use that was to be made of the ropes and rags. with them a pound, or `corral,' was in process of construction. part of it was already finished, and i perceived that it was to be of a circular shape. the poles, or stakes, were driven into the ground in a curving line at the distance of about a rod from each other. when thus driven, each stake stood four feet high, and from the top of one to the other, ropes were ranged and tied, thus making the inclosure complete. along these ropes were knotted the rags and strips of cotton, so as to hang nearly to the ground, or flutter in the wind; and this slight semblance of a fence was continued over the plain in a circumference of nearly three miles in length. one side, for a distance of several hundred yards, was left unfinished, and this was the entrance to the corral. of course, this was in the direction from which the drove was to come. "as soon as the inclosure was ready, those engaged upon it withdrew in two parties to the opposite flanks, and then deployed off in diverging lines, so as to form a sort of funnel, at least two miles in width. in this position they remained to await the result of the drive, most of them squatting down to rest themselves. "meanwhile the drive was proceeding, although the hunters engaged in it were at a great distance--scarcely seen from our position. they, too, had gone out in two parties, taking opposite directions, and skirting the hills that surrounded the plain. their circuit could not have been less than a dozen miles; and, as soon as fairly round, they deployed themselves into a long arc, with its concavity towards the rope corral. then, facing inward, the forward movement commenced. whatever animals chanced to be feeding between them and the inclosure were almost certain of being driven into it. "the padre had led me to an elevated position among the rocks. it commanded a view of the rope circle; but we were a long while waiting before the drivers came in sight. at length we descried the line of mounted men far off upon the plain, and, on closely scrutinising the ground between them and us, we could distinguish several reddish forms gliding about: these were the vicunas. there appeared to be several bands of them, as we saw some at different points. they were crossing and recrossing the line of the drive, evidently startled, and not knowing in what direction to run. every now and then a herd, led by its old male, could be seen shooting in a straight line--then suddenly making a halt--and the next minute sweeping off in a contrary direction. their beautiful orange-red flanks, glistening in the sun, enabled us to mark them at a great distance. "the drivers came nearer and nearer, until we could distinguish the forms of the horsemen as they rose over the swells of the plain. we could now hear their shouts--the winding of their ox-horns, and even the yelping of their dogs. but what most gratified my companion was to see that several herds of vicunas were bounding backwards and forwards in front of the advancing line. "`_mira_!' he cried exultingly, `_mira! senor_, one, two, three, four-- four herds, and large ones--ah! _carrambo_! jesus!' continued he, suddenly changing tone, `_carrambo! esos malditos guanacos_!' (those cursed guanacos). i looked as he was pointing. i noticed a small band of guanacos springing over the plain. i could easily distinguish them from the vicunas by their being larger and less graceful in their motions, but more particularly by the duller hue of brownish red. but what was there in their presence to draw down the maledictions of the padre, which he continued to lavish upon them most unsparingly? i put the question. "`ah! senor,' he answered with a sigh, `these guanacos will spoil all-- they will ruin the hunt. caspita!' "`how? in what manner, mio padre?' i asked in my innocence, thinking that a fine herd of guanacos would be inclosed along with their cousins, and that `all were fish,' etcetera. "`ah!' exclaimed the padre, `these guanacos are _hereticos_--reckless brutes, they pay no regard to the ropes--they will break through and let the others escape--_santissima virgen_! what is to be done?' "nothing could be done except leave things to take their course, for in a few minutes the horsemen were seen advancing, until their line closed upon the funnel formed by the others. the vicunas, in several troops, now rushed wildly from side to side, turning sharply as they approached the figures of the men and women, and running in the opposite direction. there were some fifty or sixty in all, and at length they got together in a single but confused clump. the guanacos, eight or ten in number, became mixed up with them, and after several quarterings, the whole flock, led by one that thought it had discovered the way of escape, struck off into a gallop, and dashed into the inclosure. "the hunters, who were afoot with the women, now rushed to the entrance, and in a short while new stakes were driven in, ropes tied upon them, rags attached, and the circle of the chacu was complete. "the mounted hunters at the same time had galloped around the outside, and flinging themselves from their horses, took their stations, at intervals from each other. each now prepared his `holas,' ready to advance and commence the work of death, as soon as the corral should be fairly surrounded by the women and boys who acted as assistants. "the hunters now advanced towards the centre, swinging their bolas, and shouting to one another to direct the attack. the frightened vicunas rushed from side to side, everywhere headed by an indian. now they broke into confused masses and ran in different directions--now they united again and swept in graceful curves over the plain. everywhere the bolas whizzed through the air, and soon the turf was strewed with forms sprawling and kicking. a strange picture was presented. here a hunter stood with the leaden balls whirling around his head--there another rushed forward upon a vicuna hoppled and falling--a third bent over one that was already down, anon he brandished a bleeding knife, and then, releasing the thong from the limbs of his victim, again swung his bolas in the air, and rushed forward in the chase. "an incident occurred near the beginning of the _melee_, which was very gratifying to my companion the padre, and at once restored the equanimity of his temper. the herd of guanacos succeeded in making their escape, and without compromising the success of the hunt. this, however, was brought about by a skilful manoeuvre on the part of my old friend the puna hunter. these animals had somehow or other got separated from the vicunas, and dashed off to a distant part of the inclosure. seeing this, the hunter sprang to his horse, and calling his pack of curs after him, leaped over the rope fence and dashed forward after the guanacos. he soon got directly in their rear, and signalling those who stood in front to separate and let the guanacos pass, he drove them out of the inclosure. they went head foremost against the ropes, breaking them free from the stakes; but the hunter, galloping up, guarded the opening until the ropes and rags were freshly adjusted. "the poor vicunas, nearly fifty in number, were all killed or captured. when pursued up to the `sham-fence' they neither attempted to rush against it or leap over, but would wheel suddenly round, and run directly in the faces of their pursuers! "the sport became even more interesting when all but a few were _hors de combat_. then the odd ones that remained were each attacked by several hunters at once, and the rushing and doubling of the animals--the many headings and turnings--the shouts of the spectators--the whizzing of the bolas--sometimes two or three of these missiles hurled at a single victim--all combined to furnish a spectacle to me novel and exciting. "about twenty minutes after the animals had entered the rope inclosure the last of them was seen to `bite the dust,' and the chacu of that day was over. then came the mutual congratulations of the hunters, and the joyous mingling of voices. the slain vicunas were collected in a heap-- the skins stripped off, and the flesh divided among the different families who took part in the chacu. "the skins, as we have said, fell to the share of the `church,' that is, to the church's representative--the padre, and this was certainly the lion's share of the day's product. "the ropes were now unfastened and coiled--the rags once more bundled, and the stakes pulled up and collected--all to be used on the morrow in some other part of the puna. the meat was packed on the horses and mules, and the hunting party, in a long string, proceeded to camp. then followed a scene of feasting and merriment--such as did not fall to the lot of these poor people every day in the year. "this chacu lasted ten days, during which time i remained in the company of my half-savage friends. the whole game killed amounted to five hundred and odd vicunas, with a score or two guanacos, several tarush, or deer of the andes (_cervus antisensis_) and half a dozen black bears (_ursus ornatus_). of course only the vicunas were taken in the chacu. the other animals were started incidentally, and killed by the hunters either with their bolas, or guns, with which a few of them were armed." the "chacu" of the andes indians corresponds to the "surround" of the indian hunters on the great plains of north america. in the latter case, however, buffaloes are usually the objects of pursuit, and no fence is attempted--the hunters trusting to their horses to keep the wild oxen inclosed. the "pound" is another mode of capturing wild animals practised by several tribes of indians in the hudson's bay territory. in this case the game is the caribou or reindeer, but no rope fence would serve to impound these. a good substantial inclosure of branches and trees is necessary, and the construction of a "pound" is the work of time and labour. i know of no animal except the vicuna itself, that could be captured after the manner practised in the "chacu." chapter nineteen. squirrel-shooting. we were now travelling among the spurs of the "ozark hills," and our road was a more difficult one. the ravines were deeper, and as our course obliged us to cross the direction in which most of them ran, we were constantly climbing or descending the sides of steep ridges. there was no road except a faint indian trail, used by the kansas in their occasional excursions to the borders of the settlements. at times we were compelled to cut away the underwood, and ply the axe lustily upon some huge trunk that had fallen across the path and obstructed the passage of our waggon. this rendered our progress but slow. during such halt most of the party strayed off into the woods in search of game. squirrels were the only four-footed creatures found, and enough of these were shot to make a good-sized "pot-pie;" and it may be here remarked, that no sort of flesh is better for this purpose than that of the squirrel. the species found in these woods was the large "cat-squirrel" (_sciurus cinereus_), one of the noblest of its kind. of course at that season, amid the plenitude of seeds, nuts, and berries, they were as plump as partridges. this species is usually in good condition, and its flesh the best flavoured of all. in the markets of new york they bring three times the price of the common grey squirrel. as we rode along, the naturalist stated many facts in relation to the squirrel tribe, that were new to most of us. he said that in north america there were not less than twenty species of true squirrels, all of them dwellers in the trees, and by including the "ground" and "flying" squirrels (_tamias_ and _pteromys_), the number of species might be more than forty. of course there are still new species yet undescribed, inhabiting the half-explored regions of the western territory. the best-known of the squirrels is the common "grey squirrel," as it is in most parts of the united states the most plentiful. indeed it is asserted that some of the other species, as the "black squirrel" (_sciurus niger_), disappear from districts where the grey squirrels become numerous--as the native rat gives place to the fierce "norway." the true fox squirrel (_sciurus vulpinus_) differs essentially from the "cat," which is also known in many states by the name of fox squirrel. the former is larger, and altogether a more active animal, dashing up to the top of a pine-tree in a single run. the cat-squirrel, on the contrary, is slow and timid among the branches, and rarely mounts above the first fork, unless when forced higher by the near approach of its enemy. it prefers concealing itself behind the trunk, dodging round the tree as the hunter advances upon it. it has one peculiarity, however, in its mode of escape that often saves it, and disappoints its pursuer. unless very hotly pursued by a dog, or other swift enemy, it will not be treed until it has reached the tree that contains its nest, and, of course, it drops securely into its hole, bidding defiance to whatever enemy--unless, indeed, that enemy chance to be the pine-martin, which is capable of following it even to the bottom of its dark tree-cave. now most of the other squirrels make a temporary retreat to the nearest large tree that offers. this is often without a hole where they can conceal themselves, and they are therefore exposed to the small shot or rifle-bullet from below. it does not always follow, however, that they are brought down from their perch. in very heavy bottom timber the squirrel often escapes among the high twigs, even where there are no leaves to conceal it, nor any hole in the tree. twenty shots, and from good marksmen too, have been fired at a single squirrel in such situations, without bringing it to the ground, or seriously wounding it! a party of hunters have often retired without getting such game, and yet the squirrel has been constantly changing place, and offering itself to be sighted in new positions and attitudes! the craft of the squirrel on these occasions is remarkable. it stretches its body along the upper part of a branch, elongating it in such a manner, that the branch, not thicker than the body itself, forms almost a complete shield against the shot. the head, too, is laid close, and the tail no longer erect, but flattened along the branch, so as not to betray the whereabouts of the animal. squirrel-shooting is by no means poor sport. it is the most common kind practised in the united states, because the squirrel is the most common game. in that country it takes the place that snipe or partridge shooting holds in england. in my opinion it is a sport superior to either of these last, and the game, when killed, is not much less in value. good fat squirrel can be cooked in a variety of ways, and many people prefer it to feathered game of any kind. it is true the squirrel has a rat-like physiognomy, but that is only in the eyes of strangers to him. a residence in the backwoods, and a short practice in the eating of squirrel pot-pie, soon removes any impression of that kind. a hare, as brought upon the table-cloth in england, is far more likely to produce _degout_--from its very striking likeness to "puss," that is purring upon the hearth-rug. in almost all parts of the united states, a day's squirrel-shooting may be had without the necessity of making a very long journey. there are still tracts of woodland left untouched, where these animals find a home. in the western states a squirrel-hunt may be had simply by walking a couple of hundred yards from your house, and in some places you may shoot the creatures out of the very door. to make a successful squirrel-hunt two persons at least are necessary. if only one goes out, the squirrel can avoid him simply by "dodging" round the trunk, or any large limb of the tree. when there are two, one remains stationary, while the other makes a circuit, and drives the game from the opposite side. it is still better when three or four persons make up the party, as then the squirrel is assailed on all sides, and can find no resting-place, without seeing a black tube levelled upon him, and ready to send forth its deadly missile. some hunt the squirrel with shot-guns. these are chiefly young hands. the old hunter prefers the rifle; and in the hands of practised marksmen this is the better weapon. the rifle-bullet, be it ever so small, kills the game at once; whereas a squirrel severely peppered with shot will often escape to the tree where its hole is, and drop in, often to die of its wounds. no creature can be more tenacious of life--not even a cat. when badly wounded it will cling to the twigs to its last breath, and even after death its claws sometimes retain their hold, and its dead body hangs suspended to the branch! the height from which a squirrel will leap to the ground without sustaining injury, is one of those marvels witnessed by every squirrel-hunter. when a tree in which it has taken refuge is found not to afford sufficient shelter, and a neighbouring tree is not near enough for it to leap to, it then perceives the necessity of returning to the ground, to get to some other part of the woods. some species, as the cat-squirrel, fearing to take the dreadful leap (often nearly a hundred feet), rush down by the trunk. not so the more active squirrels, as the common grey kind. these run to the extremity of a branch, and spring boldly down in a diagonal direction. the hunter--if a stranger to the feat--would expect to see the creature crushed or crippled by the fall. no danger of that. even the watchful dog that is waiting for such an event, and standing close to the spot, has not time to spring upon it, until it is off again like a flying bird, and, almost as quick as sight can follow, is seen ascending some other tree. there is an explanation required about this precipitous leap. the squirrel is endowed with the capability of spreading out its body to a great extent, and this in the downward rush it takes care to do--thus breaking its fall by the resistance of the air. this alone accounts for its not killing itself. nearly all squirrels possess this power, but in different degrees. in the flying squirrels it is so strongly developed, as to enable them to make a flight resembling that of the birds themselves. the squirrel-hunter is often accompanied by a dog--not that the dog ever by any chance catches one of these creatures. of him the squirrel has but little fear, well knowing that he cannot climb a tree. the office of the dog is of a different kind. it is to "tree" the squirrel, and, by remaining at the root, point out the particular tree to his master. the advantage of the dog is obvious. in fact, he is almost as necessary as the pointer to the sportsman. first, by ranging widely, he beats a greater breadth of the forest. secondly, when a squirrel is seen by him, his swiftness enables him to hurry it up some tree _not its own_. this second advantage is of the greatest importance. when the game has time enough allowed it, it either makes to its own tree (with a hole in it of course), or selects one of the tallest near the spot. in the former case it is impossible, and in the latter difficult, to have a fair shot at it. if there be no dog, and the hunter trusts to his own eyes, he is often unable to find the exact tree which the squirrel has climbed, and of course loses it. a good squirrel-dog is a useful animal. the breed is not important. the best are usually half-bred pointers. they should have good sight as well as scent; should range widely, and run fast. when well trained they will not take after rabbits, or any other game. they will bark only when a squirrel is treed, and remain staunchly by the root of the tree. the barking is necessary, otherwise the hunter, often separated from them by the underwood, would not know when they had succeeded in "treeing." the squirrel seems to have little fear of the dog, and rarely ascends to a great height. it is often seen only a few feet above him, jerking its tail about, and apparently mocking its savage enemy below. the coming up of the hunter changes the scene. the squirrel then takes the alarm, and shooting up, conceals itself among the higher branches. taking it all in all, we know none of the smaller class of field sports that requires greater skill, and yields more real amusement, than hunting the squirrel. our kentuckian comrade gave us an account of a grand squirrel-hunt got up by himself and some neighbours, which is not an uncommon sort of thing in the western states. the hunters divided themselves into two parties of equal numbers, each taking its own direction through the woods. a large wager was laid upon the result, to be won by that party that could bring in the greatest number of squirrels. there were six guns on each side, and the numbers obtained at the end of a week--for the hunt lasted so long--were respectively , and ! of course the sport came off in a tract of country where squirrels were but little hunted, and were both tame and plenty. such hunts upon a grand scale are, as already stated, not uncommon in some parts of the united states. they have another object besides the sport--that of thinning off the squirrels for the protection of the planter's corn-field. so destructive are these little animals to the corn and other grains, that in some states there has been at times a bounty granted, for killing them. in early times such a law existed in pennsylvania, and there is a registry that in one year the sum of pounds was paid out of the treasury of this bounty-money, which at threepence a head--the premium--would make , , the number of the squirrels killed in that year! the "migration of the squirrels" is still an unexplained fact. it is among the grey squirrels it takes place; hence the name given to that species, _sciurus migratorius_. there is no regularity about these migrations, and their motive is not known. immense bands of the squirrels are observed in a particular neighbourhood, proceeding through the woods or across tracts of open ground, all in one direction. nothing stays their course. narrow streams and broad rivers are crossed by them by swimming, and many are drowned in the attempt. under ordinary circumstances, these little creatures are as much afraid of water as cats, yet when moving along their track of migration they plunge boldly into a river, without calculating whether they will ever reach the other side. when found upon the opposite bank, they are often so tired with the effort, that one may overtake them with a stick; and thousands are killed in this way when a migration has been discovered. it is stated that they roll pieces of dry wood, or bark, into the water, and, seating themselves on these, are wafted across, their tails supplying them with a sail: of course this account must be held as apocryphal. but the question is, what motive impels them to undertake these long and perilous wanderings, from which it is thought they never return to their original place of abode? it cannot be the search of food, nor the desire to change from a colder to a warmer climate. the direction of the wanderings forbids us to receive either of these as the correct reason. no light has been yet thrown upon this curious habit. it would seem as if some strange instinct propelled them, but for what purpose, and to what end, no one can tell. chapter twenty. treeing a bear. the doctor was the only one not taking part in the conversation. even the rude guides listened. all that related to game interested them, even the scientific details given by the hunter-naturalist. the doctor had ridden on in front of us. some one remarked that he wanted water to mix with the contents of his flask, and was therefore searching for a stream. be this as it may, he was seen suddenly to jerk his spare horse about, and spur back to us, his countenance exhibiting symptoms of surprise and alarm. "what is it, doctor?" inquired one. "he has seen indians," remarked another. "a bear--a bear!" cried the doctor, panting for breath; "a grizzly bear! a terrible-looking creature i assure you." "a bar! d'you say?" demanded ike, shooting forward on his old mare. "a bar!" cried redwood, breaking through the bushes in pursuit. "a bear!" shouted the others, all putting spurs to their horses, and galloping forward in a body. "where, doctor? where?" cried several. "yonder," replied the doctor, "just by that great tree. i saw him go in there--a grizzly, i'm sure." it was this idea that had put the doctor in such affright, and caused him to ride back so suddenly. "nonsense, doctor," said the naturalist, "we are yet far to the east of the range of the grizzly bear. it was a black bear you saw." "as i live," replied the doctor, "it was not black, anything but that. i should know the black bear. it was a light brown colour--almost yellowish." "oh! that's no criterion. the black bear is found with many varieties of colour. i have seen them of the colour you describe. it must be one of them. the grizzly is not found so far to the eastward, although it is possible we may see them soon; but not in woods like these." there was no time for farther explanation. we had come up to the spot where the bear had been seen; and although an unpractised eye could have detected no traces of the animal's presence, old ike, redwood, and the hunter-naturalist could follow its trail over the bed of fallen leaves, almost as fast as they could walk. both the guides had dismounted, and with their bodies slightly bent, and leading their horses after them, commenced tracking the bear. from ike's manner one would have fancied that he was guided by scent rather than by sight. the trail led us from our path, and we had followed it some hundred yards into the woods. most of us were of the opinion that the creature had never halted after seeing the doctor, but had run off to a great distance. if left to ourselves, we should have given over the chase. the trappers, however, knew what they were about. they asserted that the bear had gone away slowly--that it had made frequent halts--that they discovered "sign" to lead them to the conclusion that the animal's haunt was in the neighbourhood--that its "nest" was near. we were, therefore, encouraged to proceed. all of us rode after the trackers. jake and lanty had been left with the waggon, with directions to keep on their route. after a while we heard the waggon moving along directly in front of us. the road had angled as well as the bear's trail, and the two were again converging. just at that moment a loud shouting came from the direction of the waggon. it was lanty's voice, and jake's too. "och! be the vargin mother! luck there! awch, mother o' moses, jake, such a haste!" "golly, massa lanty, it am a bar!" we all heard this at once. of course we thought of the trail no longer, but made a rush in the direction of the voices, causing the branches to fly on every side. "whar's the bar?" cried redwood, who was first up to the waggon, "whar did ye see't?" "yander he goes!" cried lanty, pointing to a pile of heavy timber, beset with an undergrowth of cane, but standing almost isolated from the rest of the forest on account of the thin open woods that were around it. we were too late to catch a glimpse of him, but perhaps he would halt in the undergrowth. if so we had a chance. "surround, boys, surround!" cried the kentuckian, who understood bear-hunting as well as any of the party. "quick, round and head him;" and, at the same time, the speaker urged his great horse into a gallop. several others rode off on the opposite side, and in a few seconds we had surrounded the cane-brake. "is he in it?" cried one. "do you track 'im thur, mark?" cried ike to his comrade from the opposite side. "no," was the reply, "he hain't gone out this away." "nor hyur," responded ike. "nor here," said the kentuckian. "nor by here," added the hunter-naturalist. "belike, then, he's still in the timmor," said redwood. "now look out all of yees. keep your eyes skinned; i'll hustle him out o' thar." "hold on, mark, boy," cried ike, "hold on thur. damn the varmint! hyur's his track, paddled like a sheep pen. wagh, his den's hyur--let me rout 'im." "very wal, then," replied the other, "go ahead, old fellow--i'll look to my side--thu'll no bar pass me 'ithout getting a pill in his guts. out wi' 'im!" we all sat in our saddles silent and watchful. ike had entered the cane, but not a rustle was heard. a snake could not have passed through it with less noise than did the old trapper. it was full ten minutes before the slightest sound warned of what he was about. then his voice reached us. "this way, all of you! the bar's treed." the announcement filled all of us with pleasant anticipations. the sport of killing a bear is no everyday amusement, and now that the animal was "treed" we were sure of him. some dismounted and hitched their horses to the branches; others boldly dashed into the cane, hurrying to the spot, with the hope of having first shot. why was ike's rifle not heard if he saw the bear treed? this puzzled some. it was explained when we got up. ike's words were figurative. the bear had not taken shelter in a tree, but a hollow log, and, of course, ike had not yet set eyes on him. but there was the log, a huge one, some ten or more feet in thickness, and there was the hole, with the well-beaten track leading into it. it was his den. he was there to a certainty. how to get him out? that was the next question. several took their stations, guns in hand, commanding the entrance to the hollow. one went back upon the log, and pounded it with the butt of his gun. to no purpose. bruin was not such a fool as to walk out and be peppered by bullets. a long pole was next thrust up the hollow. nothing could be felt. the den was beyond reach. smoking was next tried, but with like success. the bear gave no sign of being annoyed with it. the axes were now brought from the waggon. it would be a tough job--for the log (a sycamore) was sound enough except near the heart. there was no help for it, and jake and lanty went to work as if for a day's rail splitting. redwood and the kentuckian, both good axemen, relieved them, and a deep notch soon began to make its appearance on each side of the log. the rest of us kept watch near the entrance, hoping the sound of the axe might drive out the game. we were disappointed in that hope, and for full two hours the chopping continued, until the patience and the arms of those that plied the axe were nearly tired out. it is no trifling matter to lay open a tree ten feet in diameter. they had chosen the place for their work guided by the long pole. it could not be beyond the den, and if upon the near side, of it, the pole would then be long enough to reach the bear, and either destroy him with a knife-blade attached to it, or force him out. this was our plan, and therefore we were encouraged to proceed. at length the axes broke through the wood and the dark interior lay open. they had cut in the right place, for the den of the bear was found directly under, but no bear! poles were inserted at both openings, but no bear could be felt either way. the hollow ran up no farther, so after all there was no bear in the log. there were some disappointed faces about--and some rather rough ejaculations were heard. i might say that ike "cussed a few," and that would be no more than the truth. the old trapper seemed to be ashamed of being so taken in, particularly as he had somewhat exultingly announced that the "bar was treed." "he must have got off before we surrounded," said one. "are you sure he came into the timber?" asked another--"that fool, lanty, was so scared, he could hardly tell where the animal went." "be me soul! gintlemen, i saw him go in wid my own eyes, oil swear--" "cussed queer!" spitefully remarked redwood. "damn the bar!" ejaculated ike, "whur kid the varmint a gone?" where was a--? all eyes were turned to look for the hunter-naturalist, as if he could clear up the mystery. he was nowhere to be seen. he had not been seen for some time! at that moment, the clear sharp ring of a rifle echoed in our ears. there was a moment's silence, and the next moment a loud "thump" was heard, as of a heavy body falling from a great height to the ground. the noise startled even our tired horses, and some of them broke their ties and scampered off. "this way, gentlemen!" said a quiet voice, "here's the bear!" the voice was a--'s; and we all, without thinking of the horses, hurried up to the spot. sure enough, there lay the great brute, a red stream oozing out of a bullet-hole in his ribs. a-- pointed to a tree--a huge oak that spread out above our heads. "there he was, in yonder fork," said he. "we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble had we been more thoughtful. i suspected he was not in the log when the smoke failed to move him. the brute was too sagacious to hide there. it is not the first time i have known the hunter foiled by such a trick." the eyes of redwood were turned admiringly on the speaker, and even old ike could not help acknowledging his superior hunter-craft. "mister," he muttered, "i guess you'd make a darned fust-rate mountain-man. he's a gone injun when you look through sights." all of us were examining the huge carcass of the bear--one of the largest size. "your sure it's no grizzly?" inquired the doctor. "no, doctor," replied the naturalist, "the grizzly never climbs a tree." chapter twenty one. the black bear of america. after some time spent in recovering the horses, we lifted the bear into jake's waggon, and proceeded on our journey. it was near evening, however, and we soon after halted and formed camp. the bear was skinned in a trice,--ike and redwood performing this operation with the dexterity of a pair of butchers; of course "bear-meat" was the principal dish for supper; and although some may think this rather a savage feast, i envy those who are in the way of a bear-ham now. of course for that evening nothing was talked of but bruin, and a good many anecdotes were related about the beast. with the exception of the doctor, jake and lanty, all of us had something to say upon that subject, for all the rest had more or less practice in bear-hunting. the black or "american bear" (_ursus americanus_) is one of the best-known of his tribe. it is he that is oftenest seen in menageries and zoological gardens, for the reason, perhaps, that he is found in great plenty in a country of large commercial intercourse with other nations. hence he is more frequently captured and exported to all parts. any one at a glance may distinguish him from the "brown bear" of europe, as well as the other bears of the eastern continent--not so much by his colour (for he is sometimes brown too), as by his form and the regularity and smoothness of his coat. he may be as easily distinguished, too, from his congeners of north america--of which there are three--the grizzly (_ursus ferox_), the brown (_ursus arctus_), and the "polar" (_ursus maritimus_). the hair upon other large bears (the polar excepted) is what may be termed "tufty," and their forms are different, being generally more uncouth and "chunkier." the black bear is, in fact, nearer to the polar in shape, as well as in the arrangement of his fur,--than to any other of the tribe. he is much smaller, however, rarely exceeding two-thirds the weight of large specimens of the latter. his colour is usually a deep black all over the body, with a patch of rich yellowish red upon the muzzle, where the hair is short and smooth. this ornamental patch is sometimes absent, and varieties of the black bear are seen of very different colours. brown ones are common in some parts, and others of a cinnamon colour, and still others with white markings, but these last are rare. they are all of one species, however, the assertion of some naturalists to the contrary notwithstanding. the proof is, that the black varieties have been seen followed by coloured cubs, and _vice versa_. the black bear is omnivorous--feeds upon flesh as well as fruit, nuts, and edible roots. habitually his diet is not carnivorous, but he will eat at times either carrion or living flesh. we say living flesh, for on capturing prey he does not wait to kill it, as most carnivorous animals, but tears and destroys it while still screaming. he may be said to swallow some of his food alive! of honey he is especially fond, and robs the bee-hive whenever it is accessible to him. it is not safe from him even in the top of a tree, provided the entrance to it is large enough to admit his body; and when it is not, he often contrives to make it so by means of his sharp claws. he has but little fear of the stings of the angry bees. his shaggy coat and thick hide afford him ample protection against such puny weapons. it is supposed that he spends a good deal of his time ranging the forest in search of "bee trees." of course he is a tree-climber--climbs by the "hug," not by means of his claws, as do animals of the cat kind; and in getting to the ground again descends the trunk, stern-foremost, as a hod-carrier would come down a ladder. in this he again differs from the _felidae_. the range of the black bear is extensive--in fact it may be said to be colimital with the forest, both in north and south america--though in the latter division of the continent, another species of large black bear exists, the _ursus ornatas_. in the northern continent the american bear is found in all the wooded parts from the atlantic to the pacific, but not in the open and prairie districts. there the grizzly holds dominion, though both of them range together in the wooded valleys of the rocky mountains. the grizzly, on the other hand, is only met with west of the mississippi, and affects the dry desert countries of the uninhabited west. the brown bear, supposed to be identical with the _ursus arctus_ of north europe, is only met with in the wild and treeless track known as "barren grounds," which stretch across nearly the whole northern part of the continent from the last timber to the shores of the arctic sea, and in this region the black bear is not found. the zone of the polar bear joins with that of the brown, and the range of the former extends perhaps to the pole itself. at the time of the colonisation of america, the area of the present united states was the favourite home of the black bear. it was a country entirely covered with thick forests, and of course a suitable _habitat_ for him. even to this day a considerable number of bears is to be found within the limits of the settlements. scarcely a state in which some wild woodlands or mountain fastnesses do not afford shelter to a number of bears, and to kill one of them is a grand object of the hunter's ambition. along the whole range of the alleghanies black bears are yet found, and it will be long ere they are finally extirpated from such haunts. in the western states they are still more common, where they inhabit the gloomy forests along the rivers, and creek bottoms, protected alike by the thick undergrowth and the swampy nature of the soil. their den is usually in a hollow tree--sometimes a prostrate log if the latter be large enough, and in such a position as is not likely to be observed by the passing hunter. a cave in the rocks is also their favourite lair, when the geological structure of the country offers them so secure a retreat. they are safer thus; for when a bear-tree or log has been discovered by either hunter or farmer the bear has not much chance of escape. the squirrel is safe enough, as his capture will not repay the trouble of felling the tree; but such noble game as a bear will repay whole hours of hard work with the axe. the black bear lies torpid during several months of the winter. the time of his hibernation depends upon the latitude of the place and the coldness of the climate. as you approach the south this period becomes shorter and shorter, until in the tropical forests, where frost is unknown, the black bear ranges throughout the year. the mode of hunting the black bear does not differ from that practised with the fox or wild cat. he is usually chased by dogs, and forced into his cave or a tree. if the former, he is shot down, or the tree, if hollow, is felled. sometimes smoking brings him out. if he escapes to a cave, smoking is also tried; but if that will not succeed in dislodging him, he must be left alone, as no dogs will venture to attack him there. the hunter often tracks and kills him in the woods with a bullet from his rifle. he will not turn upon man unless when wounded or brought to bay. then his assault is to be dreaded. should he grasp the hunter between his great forearms, the latter will stand a fair chance of being hugged to death. he does not attempt to use his teeth like the grizzly bear, but relies upon the muscular power of his arms. the nose appears to be his tenderest part, and his antagonist, if an old bear-hunter, and sufficiently cool, will use every effort to strike him there. a blow upon the snout has often caused the black bear to let go his hold, and retreat terrified! the log trap is sometimes tried with success. this is constructed in such a way that the removal of the bait operates upon a trigger, and a large heavy log comes down on the animal removing it--either crushing it to death or holding it fast by pressure. a limb is sometimes only caught; but this proves sufficient. the same kind of trap is used throughout the northern regions of america by the fur trappers--particularly the sable hunters and trappers of the white weasel (_mustela erminea_). of course that for the bear is constructed of the heaviest logs, and is of large dimensions. redwood related an adventure that had befallen him while trapping the black bear at an earlier period of his life. it had nearly cost him his life too, and a slight halt in his gait could still be observed, resulting from that very adventure. we all collected around the blazing logs to listen to the trapper's story. chapter twenty two. the trapper trapped. "well, then," began redwood, "the thing i'm agoin' to tell you about, happened to me when i war a younker, long afore i ever thought i was a coming out hyar upon the parairas. i wan't quite growed at the time, though i was a good chunk for my age. "it war up thar among the mountains in east tennessee, whar this child war raised, upon the head waters of the tennessee river. "i war fond o' huntin' from the time that i war knee high to a duck, an' i can jest remember killin' a black bar afore i war twelve yeer old. as i growed up, the bar had become scacer in them parts, and it wan't every day you could scare up such a varmint, but now and then one ud turn up. "well, one day as i war poking about the crik bottom (for the shanty whar my ole mother lived war not on the tennessee, but on a crik that runs into it), i diskivered bar sign. there war tracks o' the bar's paws in this mud, an' i follered them along the water edge for nearly a mile--then the trail turned into about as thickety a bottom as i ever seed anywhar. it would a baffled a cat to crawl through it. "after the trail went out from the crik and towards the edge o' this thicket, i lost all hopes of follerin' it further, as the ground was hard, and covered with donicks, and i couldn't make the tracks out no how. i had my idea that the bar had tuk the thicket, so i went round the edge of it to see if i could find whar he had entered. "for a long time i couldn't see a spot whar any critter as big as a bar could a-got in without makin' some sort o' a hole, and then i begun to think the bar had gone some other way, either across the crik or further down it. "i war agoin' to turn back to the water, when i spied a big log lyin' half out o' the thicket, with one eend buried in the bushes. i noticed that the top of this log had a dirty look, as if some animal had tramped about on it; an' on goin' up and squintin' at it a little closter, i seed that that guess war the right one. "i clomb the log, for it war a regular rouster, bigger than that 'n we had so much useless trouble with, and then i scrammelled along the top o' it in the direction of the brush. thar i seed the very hole whar the bar had got into the thicket, and thar war a regular beaten-path runnin' through the brake as far as i could see. "i jumped off o' the log, and squeezed myself through the bramble. it war a trail easy enough to find, but mighty hard to foller, i can tell ye. thar war thistles, and cussed stingin' nettles, and briars as thick as my wrist, with claws upon them as sharp as fish-hooks. i pushed on, howsomever, feelin' quite sartin that sich a well-used track must lead to the bar's den, an' i war safe enough to find it. in coorse i reckoned that the critter had his nest in some holler tree, and i could go home for my axe, and come back the next morning--if smoking failed to git him out. "well, i poked on through the thicket a good three hundred yards, sometimes crouching, and sometimes creeping on my hands and knees. i war badly scratched, i tell you, and now and then i jest thought to myself, what would be the consyquince if the bar should meet me in that narrow passage. we'd a had a tough tussel, i reckon--but i met no bar. "at last the brash grew thinner, and jest as i was in hopes i might stumble on the bar tree, what shed i see afore me but the face o' a rocky bluff, that riz a consid'able height over the crik bottom. i begun to fear that the varmint had a cave, and so, cuss him! he had--a great black gulley in the rocks was right close by, and thar was his den, and no mistake. i could easily tell it by the way the clay and stones had been pattered over by his paws. "of coorse, my tracking for that day war over, and i stood by the mouth of the cave not knowin' what to do. i didn't feel inclined to go in. "after a while i bethought me that the bar mout come out, an' i laid myself squat down among the bushes facing the cave. i had my gun ready to give him a mouthful of lead, as soon as he should show his snout outside o' the hole. "'twar no go. i guess he had heard me when i first come up, and know'd i war thar. i laid still until 'twar so dark i thought i would never find my way back agin to the crik; but, after a good deal of scramblin' and creepin' i got out at last, and took my way home. "it warn't likely i war agoin' to give that bar up. i war bound to fetch him out o' his boots if it cost me a week's hunting. so i returned the next morning to the place, and lay all day in front o' the cave. no bar appeared, an' i went back home a cussin'. "next day i come again, but this time i didn't intend to stay. i had fetched my axe with me wi' the intention of riggin' up a log trap near the mouth o' the cave. i had also fetched a jug o' molasses and some yeers o' green corn to bait the trap, for i know'd the bar war fond o' both. "well, i got upon the spot, an' makin' as leetle rumpus as possible, i went to work to build my trap. i found some logs on the ground jest the scantlin, and in less than an hour i hed the thing rigged an' the trigger set. 'twan't no small lift to get up the big log, but i managed it wi' a lever i had made, though it took every pound o' strength in my body. if it come down on the bar i knew it would hold him. "well, i had all ready except layin' the bait; so i crawled in, and was fixin' the green yeers and the 'lasses, when, jest at that moment, what shed i hear behind me but the `sniff' o' the bar! "i turned suddently to see. i had jest got my eye on the critter standin' right in the mouth o' his cave, when i feeled myself struck upon the buttocks, and flattened down to the airth like a pancake! "at the first stroke i thought somebody had hit me a heavy blow from behind, and i wish it had been that. it war wusser than that. it war the log had hit me, and war now lying with all its weight right acrosst my two leg's. in my hurry to git round i had sprung the trigger, and down comed the infernal log on my hams. "at fust i wan't scared, but i war badly hurt. i thought it would be all right as soon as i had crawled out, and i made an attempt to do so. it was then that i become scared in airnest; for i found that i couldn't crawl out. my legs were held in such a way that i couldn't move them, and the more i pulled the more i hurt them. they were in pain already with the heavy weight pressin' upon them, and i couldn't bear to move them. no more could i turn myself. i war flat on my face, and couldn't slew myself round any way, so as to get my hands at the log. i war fairly catched in my own trap! "it war jest about then i began to feel scared. thar wan't no settlement in the hul crik bottom but my mother's old shanty, an' that were two miles higher up. it war as unlikely a thing as could happen that anybody would be passing that way. and unless some one did i saw no chance of gettin' clar o' the scrape i war in. i could do nothin' for myself. "i hollered as loud as i could, and that frightened the bar into his cave again. i hollered for an hour, but i could hear no reply, and then i war still a bit, and then i hollered again, an' kept this up pretty much for the hul o' that blessed day. "thar wan't any answer but the echo o' my own shoutin', and the whoopin' of the owls that flew about over my head, and appeared as if they war mockin' me. "i had no behopes of any relief comin' from home. my ole mother had nobody but myself, and she wan't like to miss me, as i'd often stayed out a huntin' for three or four days at a time. the only chance i had, and i knew it too, war that some neighbour might be strayin' down the crik, and you may guess what sort o' chance that war, when i tell you thar wan't a neighbour livin' within less than five mile o' us. if no one come by i knew i must lay there till i died o' hunger and rotted, or the bar ate me up. "well, night come, and night went. 'twar about the longest night this child remembers. i lay all through it, a sufferin' the pain, and listening to the screechin' owls. i could a screeched as loud as any of them if that would a done any good. i heerd now and then the snuffin' o' the bar, and i could see thar war two o' them. i could see thar big black bodies movin' about like shadows, and they appeared to be gettin' less afeerd o' me, as they come close at times, and risin' up on their hind-quarters stood in front o' me like a couple o' black devils. "i begun to get afeerd they would attack me, and so i guess they would a-done, had not a circumstance happened that put them out o' the notion. "it war jest grey day, when one o' them come so clost that i expected to be attacked by him. now as luck would have it, my rifle happened to be lyin' on the ground within reach. i grabbed it without saying a word, and slewin' up one shoulder as high as i could, i was able to sight the bar jest behind the fore leg. the brute wan't four feet from the muzzle, and slap into him went wad and all, and down he tumbled like a felled ox. i seed he war as dead as a buck. "well, badly as i war fixed, i contrived to get loaded again, for i knowed that bars will fight for each other to the death; and i thought the other might attack me. it wan't to be seen at the time, but shortly after it come upon the ground from the direction of the crik. "i watched it closely as it shambled up, having my rifle ready all the while. when it first set eyes on its dead comrade it gave a loud snort, and stopped. it appeared to be considerably surprised. it only halted a short spell, and then, with a loud roar, it run up to the carcass, and sniffed at it. "i hain't the least o' a doubt that in two seconds more it would a-jumped me, but i war too quick for it, and sent a bullet right plum into one of its eyes, that come out again near the back o' its neck. that did the business, and i had the satisfaction to see it cowollop over nearly on top o' the other 'n. "well, i had killed the bars, but what o' that. that wouldn't get me from under the log; and what wi' the pain i was sufferin', and the poor prospect o' bein' relieved, i thought i mout as well have let them eat me. "but a man don't die so long as he can help it, i b'lieve, and i detarmined to live it out while i could. at times i had hopes and shouted, and then i lost hope and lay still again. "i grew as hungry as a famished wolf. the bars were lying right before me, but jest beyond reach, as if to tantylise me. i could have ate a collop raw if i could a-got hold of it, but how to reach it war the difeeculty. "needcesity they say is the mother o' invention; and i set myself to invent a bit. thar war a piece o' rope i had brought along to help me wi' the trap, and that i got my claws on. "i made a noose on one eend o' it, and after about a score o' trials i at last flung the noose over the head o' one o' the bars, and drew it tight. i then sot to work to pull the bar nearer. if that bar's neck wan't well stretched i don't know what you'd call stretchin', for i tugged at it about an hour afore i could get it within reach. i did get it at last, and then with my knife i cut out the bar's tongue, and ate it raw. "i had satisfied one appetite, but another as bad, if not wusser, troubled me. that war thirst--my throat war as dry as a corn cob, and whar was the water to come from. it grew so bad at last that i thought i would die of it. i drawed the bar nearer me, and cut his juglar to see if thar war any relief from that quarter. thar wan't. the blood war froze up thick as liver. not a drop would run. "i lay coolin' my tongue on the blade o' my knife an' chawin' a bullet, that i had taken from my pouch. i managed to put in the hul of the next day this away, now and then shoutin' as hard as i could. towards the evenin' i grew hungry again, and ate a cut out o' the cheek o' the bar; but i thought i would a-choked for want o' water. "i put in the night the best way i could. i had the owls again for company, and some varmint came up and smelt at the bars; but was frightened at my voice, and run away again. i suppose it war a fox or wolf, or some such thing, and but for me would a-made a meal off o' the bar's carcass. "i won't trouble you with my reflexshuns all that night; but i can assure ye they war anything but pleasant. i thought of my ole mother, who had nobody but me, and that helped to keep up my spirits. i detarmined to cut away at the bar, and hold out as long as possible. "as soon as day broke i set up my shoutin' again, restin' every fifeteen minutes or so, and then takin' afresh start. about an hour after sun-up, jest as i had finished a long spell o' screechin', i thought i heerd a voice. i listened a bit with my heart thumpin' against my ribs. thar war no sound; i yelled louder than ever, and then listened. thar war a voice. "`damn ye! what are ye hollowin' about?' cried the voice. "i again shouted `holloa!' "`who the hell's thar?' inquired the voice. "`casey!' i called back, recognising the voice as that of a neighbour who lives up the crik; `for god's sake this way.' "`i'm a-comin',' he replied; `'taint so easy to get through hyar--that you, redwood? what the hell's the matter? damn this brush!' "i heard my neighbour breakin' his way through the thicket, and strange i tell ye all, but true it is, i couldn't believe i war goin' to get clar even then until i seed casey standin' in front o' me. "well, of coorse, i was now set free again, but couldn't put a foot to the ground. casey carried me home to the shanty, whar i lay for well nigh six weeks, afore i could go about, and damn the thing! i han't got over it yet." so ended redwood's story. chapter twenty three. the american deer. during our next day's journey we fell in with and killed a couple of deer--a young buck and doe. they were the first of these animals we had yet seen, and that was considered strange, as we had passed through a deer country. they were of the species common to all parts of the united states' territory--the "red" or "fallow" deer (_cervus virginianus_). it may be here remarked that the common deer of the united states, sometimes called "red deer," is the fallow deer of english parks, that the "elk" of america is the red deer of europe, and the "elk" of europe is the "moose" of america. many mistakes are made in relation to this family of animals on account of these misapplied names. in north america there are six well-defined species of deer--the moose (_cervus alces_); the elk (_cervus canadensis_); the caribou (_tarandus_); the black-tail or "mule" deer (_macrotis_); the long-tail (_leucurus_); and the virginian, or fallow deer (_virginianus_). the deer of louisiana (_cervus nemoralis_) is supposed by some to be a different species from any of the above; so also is the "mazama" of mexico (_cervus mexicanus_). it is more probable that these two kinds are only varieties of the _genus virginianus_--the difference in colour, and other respects, resulting from a difference in food, climate, and such like causes. it is probable, too, that a small species of deer exists in the russian possessions west of the rocky mountains, quite distinct from any of the six mentioned above; but so little is yet known of the natural history of these wild territories, that this can only be taken as conjecture. it may be remarked, also that of the caribou (_cervus tarandus_) there are two marked varieties, that may almost be regarded in the light of species. one, the larger, is known as the "woodland caribou," because it inhabits the more southern and wooded districts of the hudson's bay territory; the other, the "barren ground caribou," is the "reindeer" of the arctic voyagers. of the six well-ascertained species, the last-mentioned (_cervus virginianus_) has the largest geographical range, and is the most generally known. indeed, when the word "deer" is mentioned, it only is meant. it is the deer of the united states. the "black-tails" and "long-tails" are two species that may be called new. though long known to trappers and hunters, they have been but lately described by the scientific naturalist. their _habitat_ is the "far west" in california, oregon, the high prairies, and the valleys of the rocky mountains. up to a late period naturalists have had but little to do with these countries. for this reason their _fauna_ has so long remained comparatively unknown. the geographical disposition of the other four species is curious. each occupies a latitudinal zone. that of the caribou, or rein deer, extends farthest north. it is not found within the limits of the united states. the zone of the moose overlaps that of the caribou, but, on the other side, goes farther south, as this species is met with along the extreme northern parts of the united states. the elk is next in order. his range "dovetails" into that of the moose, but the elk roves still farther into the temperate regions, being met with almost as far south as texas. the fourth, the common deer, embraces in his range the temperate and torrid zones of both north and south america, while he is not found in higher latitudes than the southern frontier of canada. the common deer, therefore, inhabits a greater area than any of his congeners, and is altogether the best-known animal of his kind. most persons know him by sight. he is the smallest of the american species, being generally about five feet in length by three in height, and a little more than pounds in weight. he is exceedingly well formed and graceful; his horns are not so large as those of the stag, but, like his, they are annually caducous, falling off in the winter and returning in the spring. they are rounded below, but in the upper part slightly flattened or palmated. the antlers do not rise upward, but protrude forward over the brow in a threatening manner. there is no regular rule, however, for their shape and "set," and their number also varies in different individuals. the horns are also present only in the male or buck; the doe is without them. they rise from a rough bony protuberance on the forehead, called the "burr." in the first year they grow in the shape of two short straight spikes; hence the name "spike-bucks" given to the animals of that age. in the second season a small antler appears on each horn, and the number increases until the fourth year, when they obtain a full head-dress of "branching honours." the antlers, or, as they are sometimes called, "points," often increase in number with the age of the animal, until as many as fifteen make their appearance. this, however, is rare. indeed, the food of the animal has much to do with the growth of his horns. in an ill-fed specimen they do not grow to such size, nor branch so luxuriantly as in a well-fed fat buck. we have said that the horns fall annually. this takes place in winter-- in december and january. they are rarely found, however, as they are soon eaten up by the small-gnawing animals. the new horns begin to grow as soon as the old ones have dropped off. during the spring and summer they are covered with a soft velvety membrane, and they are then described as being "in the velvet." the blood circulates freely through this membrane, and it is highly sensitive, so that a blow upon the horns at this season produces great pain. by the time the "rutting" season commences (in october), the velvet has peeled off, and the horns are then in order for battle--and they need be, for the battles of the bucks during this period are terrible indeed.--frequently their horns get "locked" in such conflicts, and, being unable to separate them, the combatants remain in this situation until both perish by hunger, or fall a prey to their natural enemy--the wolf. many pairs of horns have been found in the forest thus locked together, and there is not a museum in america without this singular souvenir of mutual destruction! the hair of the american deer is thickly set and smooth on the surface. in winter it grows longer and is of a greyish hue; the deer is then, according to hunter phraseology, "in the grey." in the summer a new coat is obtained, which is reddish, or calf-coloured. the deer is then "in the red." towards the end of august, or in autumn, the whole coat has a blue tinge. this is called "in the blue." at all times the animal is of a whitish appearance on the throat and belly and insides of the legs. the skin is toughest when "in the red," thickest "in the blue," and thinnest "in the grey." in the blue it makes the best buckskin, and is, therefore, most valuable when obtained in autumn. the fawns of this species are beautiful little creatures; they are fawn-coloured, and showered all over with white spots which disappear towards the end of their first summer, when they gradually get into the winter grey. the american deer is a valuable animal. much of the buckskin of commerce is the product of its hides, and the horns are put to many uses. its flesh, besides supplying the tables of the wealthy, has been for centuries almost the whole sustenance of whole nations of indians. its skins have furnished them with tents, beds, and clothing; its intestines with bowstrings, ball "raquets," and snow-shoes; and in the chase of this creature they have found almost their sole occupation as well as amusement. with so many enemies, it is a matter of wonder that this species has not long been extirpated; not only has man been its constant and persevering destroyer, but it has a host of enemies besides, in the cougar, the lynxes, the wolverine, and the wolves. the last are its worst foes. hunters state that for one deer killed by themselves, five fall a prey to the wolves. these attack the young and feeble, and soon run them down. the old deer can escape from a wolf by superior speed; but in remote districts, where the wolves are numerous, they unite in packs of eight or ten, and follow the deer as hounds do, and even with a somewhat similar howling. they run by the nose, and unless the deer can reach water, and thus escape them, they will tire it down in the end. frequently the deer, when thus followed in winter, makes for the ice, upon which he is soon overtaken by his hungry pursuers. notwithstanding all this, the american deer is still common in most of the states, and in some of them even plentiful. where the wolves have been thinned off by "bounty" laws, and the deer protected during the breeding season by legislative enactments, as is the case in new york, their number is said to be on the increase. the markets of all the great cities in america are supplied with venison almost as cheap as beef, which shows that the deer are yet far from being scarce. the habits of this creature are well-known. it is gregarious in its natural _habitat_. the herd is usually led by an old buck, who watches over the safety of the others while feeding. when an enemy approaches, this sentinel and leader strikes the ground sharply with his hoofs, snorts loudly, and emits a shrill whistle; all the while fronting the danger with his horns set forward in a threatening manner. so long as he does not attempt to run, the others continue to browse with confidence; but the moment their leader starts to fly, all the rest follow, each trying to be foremost. they are timid upon ordinary occasions, but the bucks in the rutting season are bold, and when wounded and brought "to bay," are not to be approached with impunity. they can inflict terrible blows, both with their hoofs and antlers; and hunters who have come too near them on such occasions have with difficulty escaped being gored to death. they are foes to the snake tribe, and kill the most venomous serpents without being bitten. the rattle-snake hides from their attack. their mode of destroying these creatures is similar to that employed by the peccary (_dicotyles_): that is, by pouncing down upon them with the four hoofs held close together, and thus crushing them to death. the hostility of the peccary to snakes is easily understood, as no sooner has it killed one than it makes a meal of it. with the deer, of course, such is not the case, as they are not carnivorous. its enmity to the reptile race can be explained only by supposing that it possesses a knowledge of their dangerous qualities, and thinks they should therefore be got rid of. the food of the american deer consists of twigs, leaves of trees, and grass. they are fonder of the tree-shoots than the grass; but their favourite morsels are the buds and flowers of _nymphae_, especially those of the common pond-lily. to get these, they wade into the lakes and rivers like the moose, and, like them, are good swimmers. they love the shady forest better than the open ground, and they haunt the neighbourhood of streams. these afford them protection, as well as a means of quenching thirst. when pursued, their first thought is to make for water, in order to elude the pursuer, which they often succeed in doing, throwing both dogs and wolves off the scent. in summer, they seek the water to cool themselves, and get free from flies and mosquitoes, that pester them sadly. they are fond of salt, and repair in great numbers to the salines, or salt springs, that abound in all parts of america. at these they lick up quantities of earth along with the salt efflorescence, until vast hollows are formed in the earth, termed, from this circumstance, salt "licks." the consequence of this "dirt-eating" is, that the excrement of the animal comes forth in hard pellets; and by seeing this, the hunters can always tell when they are in the neighbourhood of a "lick." the does produce in spring--in may or june, according to the latitude. they bring forth one, two, and very rarely three fawns at a birth. their attachment to their young is proverbial. the mothers treat them with the greatest tenderness, and hide them while they go to feed. the bleating of the fawn at once recalls the mother to its side. the hunter often imitates this with success, using either his own voice, or a "call," made out of a cane-joint. an anecdote, told by parry, illustrates this maternal fondness:--"the mother, finding her young one could not swim as fast as herself, was observed to stop repeatedly, so as to allow, the fawn to come up with her; and, having landed first, stood watching it with trembling anxiety as the boat chased it to the shore. she was repeatedly fired at, but remained immovable, until her offspring landed in safety, when they both cantered out of sight." the deer to which parry refers is the small "caribou;" but a similar affection exists between the mother and fawns of the common deer. the american deer is hunted for its flesh, its hide, and "the sport." there are many modes of hunting it. the simplest and most common is that which is termed "still" hunting. in this, the hunter is armed with his rifle or deer-gun--a heavy fowling-piece--and steals forward upon the deer, as he would upon any other game. "cover" is not so necessary as silence in such a hunt. this deer, like some antelopes, is of a "curious" disposition, and will sometimes allow the hunter to approach in full view without attempting to run off. but the slightest noise, such as the rustling of dry leaves, or the snapping of a stick, will alarm him. his sense of hearing is extremely acute. his nose, too, is a keen one, and he often scents the hunter, and makes off long before the latter has got within sight or range. it is necessary in "still" hunting to leave the dog at home; unless, indeed, he be an animal trained to the purpose. another species of hunting is "trailing" the deer in snow. this is done either with dogs or without them. the snow must be frozen over, so as to cut the feet of the deer, which puts them in such a state of fear and pain, that the hunter can easily get within shot. i have assisted in killing twenty in a single morning in this way; and that, too, in a district where deer were not accounted plentiful. the "drive" is the most exciting mode of hunting deer; and the one practised by those who hunt for "the sport." this is done with hounds, and the horsemen who follow them also carry guns. in fact, there is hardly a species of hunting in america in which fire-arms are not used. several individuals are required to make up a "deer drive." they are generally men who know the "lay" of the country, with all its ravines and passes. one or two only accompany the hounds as "drivers," while the rest get between the place where the dogs are beating the cover and some river towards which it is "calculated" the startled game will run. they deploy themselves into a long line, which sometimes extends for miles through the forest. each, as he arrives at his station, or "stand," as it is called, dismounts, ties his horse in a thicket, and takes his stand, "covering" himself behind a log or tree. the stands are selected with reference to the configuration of the ground, or by paths which the deer are accustomed to take; and as soon as all have so arranged themselves, the dogs at a distant point are set loose, and the "drive" begins. the "stand men" remain quiet, with their guns in readiness. the barking of the dogs, afar off through the woods, usually admonishes them when a deer has been "put up;" and they watch with eager expectation, each one hoping that the game may come his way. hours are sometimes passed without the hunter either seeing or hearing a living thing but himself and his horse; and many a day he returns home from such a "chase" without having had the slightest glimpse of either buck, doe, or fawn. this is discouraging; but at other times he is rewarded for his patient watching. a buck comes bounding forward, the hounds after him in full cry. at intervals he stops, and throws himself back on his haunches like a halted hare. his eyes are protruded, and watching backward. his beautiful neck is swollen with fear and rage, and his branching antlers tower high in the air. again he springs forward, and approaches the silent hunter, who, with a beating heart, holds his piece in the attitude of "ready." he makes another of his pauses. the gun is levelled, the trigger pulled; the bullet speeds forth, and strikes into his broad chest, causing him to leap upward in the spasmodic effort of death. the excitement of a scene like this rewards the hunter for his long and lonely vigil. "torch-hunting," or "fire-hunting," as it is sometimes termed, is another method of capturing the fallow deer. it is done by carrying a torch in a very dark night through woods where deer are known to frequent. the torch is made of pine-knots, well dried. they are not tied in bunches, as represented by some writers, but carried in a vessel of hard metal. a frying-pan with a long handle, as already stated, is best for the purpose. the "knots" are kindled within the pan, and, if good ones, yield a blaze that will light the woods for a hundred yards around. the deer seeing this strange object, and impelled by curiosity, approaches within range; and the "glance" of his eyes, like two burning coals, betrays him to the hunter, who with his deadly rifle "sights" between the shining orbs and fire. while we were on the subject of torch-hunting the doctor took up the cue, and gave us an account of a torch-hunt he had made in tennessee. "i will tell you of a `torch-hunt,'" said he, "of which _pars magna fui_, and which ended with a `catastrophe.' it took place in tennessee, where i was for a while sojourning. i am not much of a hunter, as you all know; but happening to reside in a `settlement,' where there were some celebrated hunters, and in the neighbourhood of which was an abundance of game, i was getting very fond of it. i had heard, among other things, of this `torch-hunting,'--in fact, had read many interesting descriptions of it, but i had never witnessed the sport myself; and was therefore eager, above all things, to join in a torch-hunt. "the opportunity at length offered. a party was made up to go hunting, of which i was one. "there were six of us in all; but it was arranged that we should separate into three pairs, each taking its own torch and a separate course through the woods. in each pair one was to carry the light, while the other managed the `shooting iron.' we were all to meet at an appointed rendezvous when the hunt was over. "these preliminaries being arranged, and the torches made ready, we separated. my partner and i soon plunged into the deep forest. "the night was dark as pitch--dark nights are the best--and when we entered the woods we had to grope our way. of course, we had not yet set fire to our torch, as we had not reached the place frequented by the deer. "my companion was an old hunter, and by right should have carried the gun; but it was arranged differently, out of compliment to me--the stranger, he held in one hand the huge frying-pan, while in a bag over his shoulder was a bushel or more of dry pine-knots. "on arriving at the place where it was expected deer would be found, we set fire to our torch, and in a few moments the blaze threw its glaring circle around us, painting with vermilion tints the trunks of the great trees. "in this way we proceeded onward, advancing slowly, and with as little noise as possible. we talked only in whispers, keeping our eyes turned upon all sides at once. but we walked and walked, up hill and down hill, for, i should say, ten miles at the least; and not a single pair of bright orbs answered to our luminary. not a deer's eye reflected the blaze of our torch. "we had kept the fire replenished and burning vividly to no purpose, until hardly a knot remained in the bag. "i had grown quite tired in this fruitless search. so had my companion, and both of us felt chagrin and disappointment. we felt this the more keenly as there had been a `supper-wager' laid between us and our friends, as to what party would kill the greatest number of deer, and we fancied once or twice that we heard shots far off in the direction the others had gone. we were likely to come back empty-handed, while they, no doubt, would bring a deer each, perhaps more. "we were returning towards the point from which we had started, both of us in a most unamiable mood, when all at once an object right before us attracted my attention, and brought me to a sudden halt. i did not wait to ask any questions. a pair of small round circles glistened in the darkness like two little discs of fire. of course they were eyes. of course, they were the eyes of a deer. "i could see no body, for the two luminous objects shone as if set in a ground of ebony. but i did not stay to scan in what they were set. my piece was up. i glanced hastily along the barrel. i sighted between the eyes. i pulled the trigger. i fired. "as i did so, i fancied that i heard my companion shouting to me, but the report hindered me from hearing what he said. "when the echoes died away, however, his voice reached me, in a full, clear tone, pronouncing these words:-- "`tarnation, doctor! you've shot squire robbins's bull!' "at the same time the bellowing of the bull, mingling with his own loud laugh, convinced me that the hunter had spoken the truth. "he was a good old fellow, and promised to keep dark; but it was necessary to make all right with `squire robbins.' so the affair soon got wind, and my torch-hunt became, for a time, the standing joke of the settlement." chapter twenty four. deer hunt in a "dug-out." as we were now approaching the regions where the common fallow deer ceased to be met with, and where its place is supplied by two other species, these last became the subject of our talk. the species referred to are the "black-tails," and "long-tails" (_cervus macrotis_ and _leucurus_). ike and redwood were well acquainted with both kinds, as they had often trapped beaver in the countries where these deer are found; and they gave us a very good account of the habits of these animals, which showed that both species were in many respects similar to the _cervus virginianus_. their form, however, as well as their size, colour, and markings, leave no doubt of their being specifically distinct not only from the latter, but from each other. indeed, there are two varieties of the black-tails, differing in some respects, although both have the dark hair upon the tail, and the long ears, which so much distinguish them from other deer. the great length of their ears gives to their heads something of a "mulish" look--hence they are often known among the trappers by the name of "mule deer." ike and redwood spoke of them by this name, although they also knew them as "black-tails," and this last is the designation most generally used. they receive it on account of the colour of the hair upon the upper side of their tail-tips, which is of a jetty blackness, and is very full and conspicuous. the two species have been often confounded with each other, though in many respects they are totally unlike. the black-tails are larger, their legs shorter and their bodies more "chunky," and altogether of stouter build. in running, they bound with all their feet raised at once; while those of the long-tailed species run more like the common fallow deer--by trotting a few steps, then giving a bound, and trotting as before. the ears of the black-tails stand up full half the height of their antlers, and their hair, of a reddish-brown colour, is coarser than the hair of the _cervus virginianus_, and more like the coat of the elk (_cervus canadensis_). their hoofs, too, are shorter and wider, and in this respect there is also a similarity to the elk. the flesh of the black-tails is inferior to that of the fallow deer, while the long-tailed kind produces a venison very similar to the latter. both species inhabit woodlands occasionally, but their favourite _habitat_ is the prairie, or that species of undulating country where prairie and forest alternate, forming a succession of groves and openings. both are found only in the western half of the continent-- that is, in the wild regions extending from the mississippi to the pacific. in longitude, as far east as the mississippi, they are rarely seen; but as you travel westward, either approaching the rocky mountains, or beyond these to the shores of the pacific, they are the common deer of the country. the black-tailed kind is more southern in its range. it is found in the californias, and the valleys of the rocky mountains, as far south as texas; while to the north it is met with in oregon, and on the eastern side of the rocky mountains, as high as the fifty-fourth parallel. the long-tailed species is the most common deer of oregon and the columbia river, and its range also extends east of the rocky mountains, though not so far as the longitude of the mississippi. the hunter-naturalist, who had some years before made a journey to oregon, and of course had become well acquainted with the habits of the _cervus leucurus_, gave us a full account of them, and related a stirring adventure that had befallen him while hunting "long-tails" upon the columbia. "the long-tailed deer," began he, "is one of the smallest of the deer kind. its weight rarely exceeds pounds. it resembles in form and habits the common fallow deer, the chief distinction being the tail, which is a very conspicuous object. this appendage is often found to measure eighteen inches in length! "while running, the tail is held erect, and kept constantly switching from side to side, so as to produce a singular and somewhat ludicrous effect upon the mind of the spectator. "the gait of this animal is also peculiar. it first takes two ambling steps that resemble a trot, after these it makes a long bound, which carries it about twice the distance of the steps, and then it trots again. no matter how closely pursued, it never alters this mode of progression. "like the fallow deer, it produces spotted fawns, which are brought forth in the spring, and change their colour to that of the deer itself in the first winter. about the month of november they gather into herds, and remain together until april, when they separate, the females secreting themselves to bring forth their young. "the long-tailed deer is often found in wooded countries; though its favourite haunts are not amid the heavy timber of the great forests, but in the park-like openings that occur in many parts of the rocky mountain valleys. "sometimes whole tracts of country are met with in these regions, whose surface exhibits a pleasing variety of woodland and prairie; sloping hills appear with coppices upon their crests and along their sides. among these natural groves may be seen troops of the long-tailed deer, browsing along the declivities of the hills, and, by their elegant attitudes and graceful movements, adding to the beauty of the landscape. "some years ago i had an opportunity of hunting the long-tailed, deer. i was on my way across the rocky mountains to fort vancouver, when circumstances rendered it necessary that i should stop for some days at a small trading-post on one of the branches of the columbia. i was, in fact, detained, waiting for a party of fur-traders with whom i was to travel, and who required some time to get their packs in readiness. "the trading-post was a small place, with miserable accommodations, having scarcely room enough in its two or three wretched log-cabins to lodge half the company that happened at the time to claim its hospitality. as my business was simply to wait for my travelling companions, i was of course _ennuye_ almost to death in such a place. there was nothing to be seen around but packs of beaver, otter, mink, fox, and bear skins; and nothing to be heard but the incessant chattering of canadian voyageurs, in their mixed jargon of french, english, and indian. to make matters still more unpleasant, there was very little to eat, and nothing to drink but the clear water of the little mountain-stream upon which the fort was built. "the surrounding country, however, was beautiful; and the lovely landscapes that on every side met the eye almost compensated for the discomforts of the post. the surface of the country was what is termed rolling--gentle undulations here and there rising into dome-shaped hills of low elevation. these were crowned with copses of shrubby trees, principally of the wild filbert or hazel (_corylus_), with several species of _rosa_ and raspberry (rubus), and bushes of the june-berry (_amelanchier_), with their clusters of purplish-red fruit. the openings between were covered with a sward of short gramma grass, and the whole landscape presented the appearance of a cultivated park; so that one involuntarily looked along the undulating outlines of the hills for some noble mansion or lordly castle. "it is just in such situations that the fallow deer delights to dwell; and these are the favourite haunts of its near congeners, the long-tails. i had ascertained this from the people at the post; and the fact that fresh venison formed our staple and daily food was proof sufficient that some species of deer was to be found in the neighbourhood. i was not long, therefore, after my arrival, in putting myself in train for a hunt. "unfortunately, the gentlemen of the company were too busy to go along with me; so also were the numerous _engages_; and i set out, taking only my servant, a _bois brule_, or half-breed, who happened, however, to be a good guide for such an expedition, as well as a first-rate hunter. "setting out, we kept down the stream for some distance, walking along its bank. we saw numerous deer-tracks in the mud, where the animals had gone to and from the water. these tracks were almost fresh, and many of them, as my servant averred, must have been made the previous night by the animals coming to drink--a common habit with them, especially in hot weather. "but, strange to say, we walked a mile or more without getting a glimpse of a single deer, or any other sort of animal. i was becoming discouraged, when my man proposed that we should leave the stream, and proceed back among the hills. the deer, he believed, would be found there. "this was resolved upon; and we accordingly struck out for the high ground. we soon climbed up from the river bottom, and threaded our way amidst the fragrant shrubbery of amelanchiers and wild-roses, cautiously scrutinising every new vista that opened before us. "we had not gone far before we caught sight of several deer; we could also hear them at intervals, behind the copses that surrounded us, the males uttering a strange whistling sound, similar to that produced by blowing into the barrel of a gun, while this was occasionally replied to by the goat-like bleat of the females. "strange to say, however, they were all very shy, and notwithstanding much cautious crouching and creeping among the bushes, we wandered about for nearly two-thirds of the day without getting a shot at any of them. "what had made them so wary we could not at the time, tell, but we afterwards learned that a large party of flathead indians had gone over the ground only a few days before, and had put the deer through a three days chase, from which they had not yet recovered. indeed, we saw indian `sign' all along the route, and at one place came upon the head and horns of a fine buck, which, from some fancy or other of the hunter, had been left suspended from the branch of a tree, and had thus escaped being stripped by the wolves. "at sight of this trophy, my companion appeared to be in ecstasies. i could not understand what there was in a worthless set of antlers to produce such joyful emotions; but as blue dick--such was the _soubriquet_ of my servant--was not much given to idle exhibitions of feeling, i knew there must be something in it. "`now, master,' said he, addressing me, `if i had something else, i could promise you a shot at the long-tails, shy as they are.' "`something else! what do you want?' i inquired. "`something that ought to grow about yar, else i'm mightily mistaken in the sign. let me try down yonder,'--and dick pointed to a piece of low swampy ground that lay to one side of our course. "i assented, and followed him to the place. "we had hardly reached the border of the wet ground, when an exclamation from my companion told me that the `something' he wanted was in sight. "`yonder, master; the very weed: see yonder.' "dick pointed to a tall herbaceous plant that grew near the edge of the swamp. its stem was fully eight feet in height, with large lobed leaves, and a wide-spreading umbel of pretty white flowers. i knew the plant well. it was that which is known in some places as master-wort, but more commonly by the name of cow parsnip. its botanical name is _heracleum lanatum_. i knew that its roots possessed stimulant and carminative properties; but that the plant had anything to do with deer-hunting, i was ignorant. "dick, however, was better acquainted with its uses in that respect; and his hunter-craft soon manifested itself. "drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut one of the joints from the stem of the heracleum, about six inches in length. this he commenced fashioning somewhat after the manner of a penny-trumpet. "in a few minutes he had whittled it to the proper form and dimensions, after which he put up his knife, and applying the pipe to his lips, blew into it. the sound produced was so exactly like that which i had already heard to proceed from the deer, that i was startled by the resemblance. "not having followed his manoeuvres, i fancied for a moment that we had got into close proximity with one of the long-tails. my companion laughed, as he pointed triumphantly to his new made `call.' "`now, master,' said he, `we'll soon "rub out" one of the long-tail bucks.' "so saying, he took up the antlers, and desired me to follow him. "we proceeded as before, walking quickly but cautiously among the thickets, and around their edges. we had gone only a few hundred paces farther, when the hollow whistle of a buck sounded in our ears. "`now,' muttered dick, `we have him. squat down, master, under the bush--so.' "i did as desired, hiding myself under the leafy branches of the wild rose-trees. my companion cowered down beside me in such an attitude that he himself was concealed, while the buck's head and antlers were held above the foliage, and visible from several points where the ground was open. "as soon as we were fairly placed, dick applied the call to his lips, and blew his mimic note several times in succession. we heard what appeared to be an echo, but it was the response of a rival; and shortly after we could distinguish a hoof-stroke upon the dry turf, as if some animal was bounding towards us. "presently appeared a fine buck, at an opening between two copses, about one hundred paces from the spot where we lay. it had halted, thrown back upon its flanks until its haunches almost touched the ground, while its full large eye glanced over the opening, as if searching for some object. "at this moment dick applied the reed to his lips, at the same time moving the horns backward and forward, in imitation of a buck moving his head in a threatening manner. "the stranger now perceived what appeared to him the branching horns of a rival, hearing, at the same time, the well-known challenge. this was not to be borne, and rising erect on all-fours, with his brow-antlers set forward, he accepted the challenge, and came bounding forward. "at the distance of twenty paces or so, be again baited, as if still uncertain of the character of his enemy; but that halt was fatal to him, for by dick's directions i had made ready my rifle, and taking sight at his breast, i pulled trigger. the result was as my companion had predicted, and the buck was `rubbed out.' "after skinning our game, and hanging the meat out of reach of the barking wolves, we proceeded as before; and soon after another buck was slain in a manner very similar to that described. "this ended our day's hunt, as it was late before dick had bethought him of the decoy; and taking the best parts of both the long-tails upon our shoulders, we trudged homeward to the post. "part of our road, as we returned, lay along the stream, and we saw several deer approaching the water, but, cumbered as we were, we failed in getting a shot. an idea, however, was suggested to my companion that promised us plenty of both sport and venison for the next hunt--which was to take place by night. "this idea he communicated to me for my approval. i readily gave my consent, as i saw in the proposal the chances of enjoying a very rare sport. that sport was to be a fire-hunt; but not as usually practised among backwoodsmen, by carrying a torch through the woods. our torch was to float upon the water, while we were snugly seated beside it; in other words, we would carry our torch in a canoe, and, floating down stream, would shoot the deer that happened to be upon the banks drinking or cooling their hoofs in the water. i had heard of the plan, but had never practised it, although i was desirous of so doing. dick had often killed deer in this way, and therefore knew all about it. it was agreed, then, that upon the following night we should try the experiment. "during the next day, dick and i proceeded in our preparations without saying anything to any one. it was our design to keep our night-hunt a secret, lest we might be unsuccessful, and get laughed at for our pains. on the other hand, should we succeed in killing a goodly number of long-tails, it would be time enough to let it be known how we had managed matters. "we had little difficulty in keeping our designs to ourselves. every one was busy with his own affairs, and took no heed of our manoeuvres. "our chief difficulty lay in procuring a boat; but for the consideration of a few loads of powder, we at length borrowed an old canoe that belonged to one of the flathead indians--a sort of hanger-on of the post. "this craft was simply a log of the cotton-wood, rudely hollowed out by means of an axe, and slightly rounded at the ends to produce the canoe-shape. it was that species of water craft popularly known throughout western america as a `dug-out,' a phrase which explains itself. it was both old and ricketty, but after a short inspection, blue dick declared it would do `fust-rate.' "our next move was to prepare our torch. for this we had to make an excursion to the neighbouring hills, where we found the very material we wanted--the dry knots of the pitch-pine-tree. "a large segment of birch-bark was then sought for and obtained, and our implements were complete. "at twilight all was ready, and stepping into our dug-out, we paddled silently down stream. "as soon as we had got out of the neighbourhood of the post, we lighted our torch. this was placed in a large frying-pan out upon the bow, and was in reality rather a fire of pine-knots than a torch. it blazed up brightly, throwing a glare over the surface of the stream, and reflecting in red light every object upon both banks. we, on the other hand, were completely hidden from view by means of the birch-bark screen, which stood up between us and the torch. "as soon as we were fairly under way, i yielded up the paddle to dick, who now assigned to himself the double office of guiding the dug-out and keeping the torch trimmed. i was to look to the shooting; so, placing my trusty rifle across my thighs, i sat alternately scanning both banks as we glided along. "i shall never forget the romantic effect which was produced upon my mind during that wild excursion. the scenery of the river upon which we had launched our craft was at all times of a picturesque character: under the blaze of the pine-wood--its trees and rocks tinted with a reddish hue, while the rippling flood below ran like molten gold--the effect was heightened to a degree of sublimity which could not have failed to impress the dullest imagination. it was the autumn season, too, and the foliage, which had not yet commenced falling, had assumed those rich varied tints so characteristic of the american _sylva_-- various hues of green and golden, and yellow and deep red were exhibited upon the luxuriant frondage that lined the banks of the stream, and here and there drooped like embroidered curtains down to the water's edge. it was a scene of that wild beauty, that picturesque sublimity, which carries one to the contemplation of its creator. "`yonder!' muttered a voice, that roused me from my reverie. it was dick who spoke; and in the dark shadow of the birch-bark i could see one of his arms extended, and pointing to the right bank. "my eyes followed the direction indicated; they soon rested upon two small objects, that from the darker background of the foliage appeared bright and luminous. these objects were round, and close to each other; and at a glance i knew them to be the eyes of some animal, reflecting the light of our torch. "my companion whispered me that they were the eyes of a deer. i took sight with my rifle, aiming as nearly as i could midway between the luminous spots. i pulled trigger, and my true piece cracked like a whip. "the report was not loud enough to drown the noises that came back from the shore. there was a rustling of leaves, followed by a plunge, as of some body felling in the water. "dick turned the head of the dug-out, and paddled her up to the bank. the torch, blazing brightly, lit up the scene ahead of us, and our eyes were gratified by the sight of a fine buck, that had fallen dead into the river. he was about being drawn into the eddy of the current, but dick prevented this, and, seizing him by the antlers, soon deposited him safely in the bottom of the dug-out. "our craft was once more headed down stream, and we scrutinised every winding of the banks in search of another pair of gleaming eyes. in less than half an hour these appeared, and we succeeded in killing a second long-tail--a doe--and dragged her also into the boat. "shortly after, a third was knocked over, which we found standing out in the river upon a small point of sand. this proved to be a young spike-buck, his horns not having as yet branched off into antlers. "about a quarter of a mile farther down, a fourth, deer was shot at, and missed, the dug-out having grazed suddenly against a rock just as i was pulling trigger, thus rendering my aim unsteady. "i need hardly say that this sport was extremely exciting; and we had got many miles from the post, without thinking either of the distance or the fact that we should be under the disagreeable necessity of paddling the old flathead's canoe every inch of the way back again. down stream it was all plain sailing; and dick's duty was light enough, as it consisted merely in keeping the dug-out head foremost in the middle of the river. the current ran at the rate of three miles an hour, and therefore drifted us along with sufficient rapidity. "the first thing that suggested a return to either of us, was the fact that our pine-knots had run out: dick had just piled the last of them in the frying-pan. "at this moment, a noise sounded in our ears that caused us some feelings of alarm: it was the noise of falling water. it was not new to us, for, since leaving the post, we had passed the mouths of several small streams that debouched into the one upon which we were, in most cases over a jumble of rocks, thus forming a series of noisy rapids. but that which we now heard was directly ahead of us, and must, thought we, be a rapid or fall of the stream itself; moreover, it sounded louder than any we had hitherto passed. "we lost little time in conjectures. the first impulse of my companion, upon catching the sound, was to stop the progress of the dug-out, which in a few seconds he succeeded in doing; but by this time our torch had shown us that there was a sharp turning in the river, with a long reach of smooth water below. the cascade, therefore, could not be in our stream, but in some tributary that fell into it near the bend. "on seeing this, dick turned his paddle, and permitted the dug-out once more to float with the current. "the next moment we passed the mouth of a good-sized creek, whose waters, having just leaped a fall of several feet, ran into the river, covered with white froth and bubbles. we could see the fall at a little distance, through the branches of the trees; and as we swept on, its foaming sheet reflected the light of our torch like shining metal. "we had scarcely passed this point, when my attention was attracted by a pair of fiery orbs that glistened out of some low bushes upon the left bank of the river. i saw that they were the eyes of some animal, but what kind of animal i could not guess. i know they were not the eyes of a deer. their peculiar scintillation, their lesser size, the wide space between them all convinced me they were not deer's eyes. moreover, they moved at times, as if the head of the animal was carried about in irregular circles. this is never the case with the eyes of the deer, which either pass hurriedly from point to point, or remain with a fixed and steadfast gaze. "i knew, therefore, it was no deer; but no matter what--it was some wild creature, and all such are alike the game of the prairie-hunter. "i took aim, and pulled trigger. while doing so, i heard the voice of my companion warning me, as i thought, not to fire. i wondered at this admonition, but it was then too late to heed it, for it had been uttered almost simultaneously with the report of my rifle. "i first looked to the bank, to witness the effect of my shot. to my great surprise, the eyes were still there, gleaming from the bushes as brightly as ever. "had i missed my aim? it is true, the voice of my companion had somewhat disconcerted me; but i still believed that my bullet must have sped truly, as it had been delivered with a good aim. "as i turned to dick for an explanation, a new sound fell upon my ears that explained all, at the same time causing me no slight feeling of alarm. it was a sound not unlike that sometimes uttered by terrified swine, but still louder and more threatening. i knew it well--i knew it was the snort of the grizzly bear! "of all american animals, the grizzly bear is the most to be dreaded. armed or unarmed, man is no match for him, and even the courageous hunter of these parts shuns the encounter. this was why my companion had admonished me not to fire. i thought i had missed: it was not so. my bullet had hit and stung the fierce brute to madness; and a quick cracking among the bushes was immediately followed by a heavy plunge: the bear was in the water! "`good heavens, he's after us!' cried dick in accents of alarm, at the same time propelling the dug-out with all his might. "it proved true enough that the bear was after us, and the very first plunge had brought his nose almost up to the side of the canoe. however, a few well-directed strokes of the paddle set us in quick motion, and we were soon gliding rapidly down stream, followed by the enraged animal, that every now and then uttered one of his fierce snorts. "what rendered our situation a terrible one was, that we could not now see the bear, nor tell how far he might be from us. all to the rear of the canoe was of a pitchy darkness, in consequence of the screen of birch-bark. no object could be distinguished in that direction, and it was only by hearing him that we could tell he was still some yards off. the snorts, however, were more or less distinct, as heard amid the varying roar of the waterfall; and sometimes they seemed as if the snout from which they proceeded was close up to our stern. "we knew that if he once laid his paw upon the canoe, we should either be sunk or compelled to leap out and swim for it. we knew, moreover, that such an event would be certain death to one of us at least. "i need hardly affirm, that my companion used his paddle with all the energy of despair. i assisted him as much as was in my power with the butt-end of my gun, which was now empty. on account of the hurry and darkness, i had not attempted to re-load it. "we had shot down stream for a hundred yards or so, and were about congratulating ourselves on the prospect of an escape from the bear, when a new object of dread presented itself to our terrified imaginations. this object was the sound of falling water; but not as before, coming from some tributary stream. no. it was a fall of the river upon which we were floating, and evidently only a very short distance below us! "we were, in fact, within less than one hundred yards of it. our excitement, in consequence of being pursued by the bear, as well as the fact that the sough of the cascade above still filled our ears, had prevented us from perceiving this new danger until we had approached it. "a shout of terror and warning from my companion seemed the echo of one i had myself uttered. both of us understood the peril of our situation, and both, without speaking another word, set about attempting to stop the boat. "we paddled with all our strength--he with the oar, whilst i used the flat butt of my rifle. we had succeeded in bringing her to a sort of equilibrium, and were in hopes of being able to force her toward the bank, when all at once we heard a heavy object strike against the stern. at the same moment, the bow rose up into the air, and a number of the burning pine-knots fell back into the bottom of the canoe. they still continued to blaze; and their light now falling towards the stern, showed us a fearful object. the bear had seized hold of the dug-out, and his fierce head and long curving claws were visible over the edge! "although the little craft danced about upon the water, and was likely to be turned keel upward, the animal showed no intention of relaxing its hold; but, on the contrary, seemed every moment mounting higher into the canoe. "our peril was now extreme. we knew it, and the knowledge half paralysed us. "both of us started up, and for some moments half sat, half crouched, uncertain how to act. should we use the paddles, and get the canoe ashore, it would only be to throw ourselves into the jaws of the bear. on the other hand, we could not remain as we were, for in a few seconds we should be drifted over the falls; and how high these were we knew not. we had never heard of them: they might be fifty feet--they might be a hundred! high enough, they were, no doubt, to precipitate us into eternity. "the prospect was appalling, and our thoughts ran rapidly. quick action was required. i could think of no other than to lean sternward, and strike at the bear with my clubbed rifle, at the same time calling upon my companion to paddle for the shore. we preferred, under all circumstances, risking the chances of a land encounter with our grizzly antagonist. "i had succeeded in keeping the bear out of the canoe by several well-planted blows upon the snout; and dick was equally successful in forcing the dug-out nearer to the bank, when a sharp crack reached my ears, followed by a terrified cry from my companion. "i glanced suddenly round, to ascertain the cause of these demonstrations. dick held in his hands a short round stick, which i recognised as the shaft of the paddle. the blade had snapped off, and was floating away on the surface! "we were now helpless. the _manege_ of the canoe was no longer possible. over the falls she must go! "we thought of leaping out, but it was too late. we were almost upon the edge, and the black current that bore our craft swiftly along would have carried our bodies with like velocity. we could not make a dozen strokes before we should be swept to the brink: it was too late. "we both saw this; and each knew the feelings of the other, for we felt alike. neither spoke; but, crouching down and holding the gunwales of the canoe, we awaited the awful moment. "the bear seemed to have some apprehension as well as ourselves; for, instead of continuing his endeavours to climb into the canoe, he contented himself with holding fast to the stern, evidently under some alarm. "the torch still blazed, and the canoe was catching fire; perhaps this it was that alarmed the bear. "the last circumstance gave us at the moment but little concern; the greater danger eclipsed the less. we had hardly noticed it, when we felt that we were going over! "the canoe shot outward as if propelled by some projectile force; then came a loud crash, as though we had dropped upon a hard rock. water, and spray, and froth were dashed over our bodies; and the next moment, to our surprise as well as delight, we felt ourselves still alive, and seated in the canoe, which was floating gently in still smooth water. "it was quite dark, for the torch had been extinguished; but even in the darkness we could perceive the bear swimming and floundering near the boat. to our great satisfaction, we saw him heading for the shore, and widening the distance between himself and us with all the haste he could make. the unexpected precipitation over the falls had cooled his courage, if not his hostility. "dick and i headed the canoe, now half full of water, for the opposite bank, which we contrived to reach by using the rifle and our hands for paddles. here we made the little vessel fast to a tree, intending to leave it there, as we could not by any possibility get it back over the fall. having hung our game out of reach of the wolves, we turned our faces up-stream, and, after a long and wearisome walk, succeeded in getting back to the post. "next morning, a party went down for the venison, with the intention also of carrying the canoe back over the fall. the craft, however, was found to be so much injured, that it would not hang together during the portage, and was therefore abandoned. this was no pleasant matter to me, for it afterwards cost me a considerable sum before i could square with the old flathead for his worthless dug-out." chapter twenty five. old ike and the grizzly. a--'s adventure ending in a grizzly bear story, drew the conversation upon that celebrated animal, and we listened to the many curious facts related about it, with more than usual interest. the grizzly bear (_ursus ferox_) is, beyond all question, the most formidable of the wild creatures inhabiting the continent of america-- jaguar and cougar not excepted. did he possess the swiftness of foot of either the lion or tiger of the old world, he would be an assailant as dangerous as either; for he is endowed with the strength of the former, and quite equals the latter in ferocity. fortunately, the horse outruns him; were it not so, many a human victim would be his, for he can easily overtake a man on foot. as it is, hundreds of well-authenticated stories attest the prowess of this fierce creature. there is not a "mountain-man" in america who cannot relate a string of perilous adventures about the "grizzly bar;" and the instances are far from being few, in which human life has been sacrificed in conflicts with this savage beast. the grizzly bear is an animal of large dimensions; specimens have been killed and measured quite equal to the largest size of the polar bear, though there is much variety in the sizes of different individuals. about pounds might be taken as the average weight. in shape, the grizzly bear is a much more compact animal than either the black or polar species: his ears are larger, his arms stouter, and his aspect fiercer. his teeth are sharp and strong; but that which his enemies most dread is the armature of his paws. the paws themselves are so large, as frequently to leave in the mud a track of twelve inches in length, by eight in breadth; and from the extremities of these formidable fists protrude horn-like claws full six inches long! of course, we are speaking of individuals of the largest size. these claws are crescent-shaped, and would be still longer, but in all cases nearly an inch is worn from their points. the animal digs up the ground in search of marmots, burrowing squirrels, and various esculent roots; and this habit accounts for the blunted condition of his claws. they are sharp enough, notwithstanding, to peel the hide from a horse or buffalo, or to drag the scalp from a hunter--a feat which has been performed by grizzly bears on more than one occasion. the colour of this animal is most generally brownish, with white hairs intermixed, giving that greyish or grizzled appearance--whence the trivial name, grizzly. but although this is the most common colour of the species, there are many varieties. some are almost white, others yellowish red, and still others nearly black. the season, too, has much to do with the colour; and the pelage is shaggier and longer than that of the _ursus americanus_. the eyes are small in proportion to the size of the animal, but dark and piercing. the geographical range of the grizzly bear is extensive. it is well-known that the great chain of the rocky mountains commences on the shores of the arctic ocean, and runs southwardly through the north-american continent. in those mountains, the grizzly bear is found, from their northern extremity, at least as far as that point where the rio grande makes its great bend towards the gulf of mexico. in the united states and canada, this animal has never been seen in a wild state. this is not strange. the grizzly bear has no affinity with the forest. previous to the settling of these territories, they were all forest-covered. the grizzly is rarely found under heavy timber, like his congener the black bear; and, unlike the latter, he is not a tree-climber. the black bear "hugs" himself up a tree, and usually destroys his victim by compression. the grizzly does not possess this power, so as to enable him to ascend a tree-trunk; and for such a purpose, his huge dull claws are worse than useless. his favourite haunts are the thickets of _corylus rubus_, and _amelanchiers_, under the shade of which he makes his lair, and upon the berries of which he partially subsists. he lives much by the banks of streams, hunting among the willows, or wanders along the steep and rugged bluffs, where scrubby pine and dwarf cedar (_juniperus prostrata_), with its rooting branches, forms an almost impenetrable underwood. in short, the grizzly bear of america is to be met with in situations very similar to those which are the favourite haunts of the african lion, which, after all, is not so much the king of the forest, as of the mountain and the open plain. the grizzly bear is omnivorous. fish, flesh, and fowl are eaten by him apparently with equal relish. he devours frogs, lizards, and other reptiles. he is fond of the larvae of insects; these are often found in large quantities adhering to the under sides of decayed logs. to get at them, the grizzly bear will roll over logs of such size and weight, as would try the strength of a yoke of oxen. he can "root" like a hog, and will often plough up acres of prairie in search of the wapatoo and indian turnip. like the black bear, he is fond of sweets; and the wild-berries, consisting of many species of currant, gooseberry, and service berry, are greedily gathered into his capacious maw. he is too slow of foot to overtake either buffalo, elk, or deer, though he sometimes comes upon these creatures unawares; and he will drag the largest buffalo to the earth, if he can only get his claws upon it. not unfrequently he robs the panther of his repast, and will drive a whole pack of wolves from the carrion they have just succeeded in killing. several attempts have been made to raise the young grizzlies, but these have all been abortive, the animals proving anything but agreeable pets. as soon as grown to a considerable size, their natural ferocity displays itself, and their dangerous qualities usually lead to the necessity for their destruction. for a long time the great polar bear has been the most celebrated animal of his kind; and most of the bear-adventures have related to him. many a wondrous tale of his prowess and ferocity has been told by the whaler and arctic voyager, in which this creature figures as the hero. his fame, however, is likely to be eclipsed by his hitherto less-known congener--the grizzly. the golden lure which has drawn half the world to california, has also been the means of bringing this fierce animal more into notice; for the mountain-valleys of the sierra nevada are a favourite range of the species. besides, numerous "bear scrapes" have occurred to the migrating bands who have crossed the great plains and desert tracts that stretch from the mississippi to the shores of the south sea. hundreds of stories of this animal, more or less true, have of late attained circulation through the columns of the press and the pages of the traveller's note-book, until the grizzly bear is becoming almost as much an object of interest as the elephant, the hippopotamus, or the king of beasts himself. speaking seriously, he is a dangerous assailant. white hunters never attack him unless when mounted and well armed; and the indians consider the killing a grizzly bear a feat equal to the scalping of a human foe. these never attempt to hunt him, unless when a large party is together; and the hunt is, among some tribes, preceded by a ceremonious feast and a bear-dance. it is often the lot of the solitary trapper to meet with this four-footed enemy, and the encounter is rated as equal to that with two hostile indians. of course, both redwood and old ike had met with more than one "bar scrape," and the latter was induced to relate one of his best. "strengers," began he, "when you scare up a grizzly, take my advice, and gie 'im a wide berth--that is, unless yur unkimmun well mounted. ov coorse, ef yur critter kin be depended upon, an' thur's no brush to 'tangle him, yur safe enuf; as no grizzly, as ever i seed, kin catch up wi' a hoss, whur the ground's open an' clur. f'r all that, whur the timmer's clost an' brushy, an' the ground o' that sort whur a hoss mout stummel, it are allers the safest plan to let ole eph'm slide. i've seed a grizzly pull down as good a hoss as ever tracked a parairy, whur the critter hed got bothered in a thicket. the fellur that straddled him only saved himself by hookin' on to the limb o' a tree. 'twant two minnits afore this child kim up--hearin' the rumpus. i hed good sight o' the bar, an' sent a bullet--sixty to the pound--into the varmint's brain-pan, when he immediately cawalloped over. but 'twur too late to save the hoss. he wur rubbed out. the bar had half skinned him, an' wur tarrin' at his guts! wagh!" here the trapper unsheathed his clasp-knife, and having cut a "chunk" from a plug of real "jeemes's river," stuck it into his cheek, and proceeded with his narration. "i reck'n, i've seed a putty consid'able o' the grizzly bar in my time. ef them thur chaps who writes about all sorts o' varmint hed seed as much o' the grizzly as i hev, they mout a gin a hul book consarnin' the critter. ef i hed a plug o' bacca for every grizzly i've rubbed out, it 'ud keep my jaws waggin' for a good twel'month, i reck'n. ye-es, strengers, i've done some bar-killin'--i hev that, an' no mistake! hain't i, mark? "wal, i wur a-gwine to tell you ov a sarcumstance that happened to this child about two yeern ago. it wur upon the platte, atween chimbly rock an' laramies'. "i wur engaged as hunter an' guide to a carryvan o' emigrant folks that wur on thur way to oregon. "ov coorse i allers kept ahead o' the carryvan, an' picked the place for thur camp. "wal, one arternoon i hed halted whur i seed some timmer, which ur a scace article about chimbly rock. this, thort i, 'll do for campin'-ground; so i got down, pulled the saddle off o' my ole mar, an' staked the critter upon the best patch o' grass that wur near, intendin' she shed hev her gut-full afore the camp cattle kim up to bother her. "i hed shot a black-tail buck, an' after kindlin' a fire, i roasted a griskin' o' him, an' ate it. "still thur wan't no sign o' the carryvan, an' arter hangin' the buck out o' reach o' the wolves, i tuk up my rifle, an' set out to rackynoiter the neighbourhood. "my mar bein' some'at jaded, i let her graze away, an' went afoot; an' that, let me tell you, strengers, ar about the foolichest thing you kin do upon a parairy. i wan't long afore i proved it; but i'll kum to that by 'm by. "wal, i fust clomb a conside'able hill, that gin me a view beyont. thur war a good-sized parairy layin' torst the south an' west. thur wur no trees 'ceptin' an odd cotton-wood hyur an' thur on the hillside. "about a mile off i seed a flock of goats--what you'd call antelopes, though goats they ur, as sure as goats is goats. "thur waunt no kiver near them--not a stick, for the parairy wur as bar as yur hand; so i seed, at a glimp, it 'ud be no use a tryin' to approach, unless i tuk some plan to decoy the critters. "i soon thort o' a dodge, an' went back to camp for my blanket, which wur a red mackinaw. this i knew 'ud be the very thing to fool the goats with, an' i set out torst them. "for the fust half-a-mile or so, i carried the blanket under my arm. then i spread it out, an' walked behind it until i wur 'ithin three or four hundred yards o' the animals. i kept my eye on 'em through a hole in the blanket. they wur a-growin' scary, an' hed begun to run about in circles; so when i seed this, i knew it wur time to stop. "wal, i hunkered down, an' still keepin' the blanket spread out afore me, i hung it upon a saplin' that i had brought from the camp. i then stuck the saplin' upright in the ground; an' mind ye, it wan't so easy to do that, for the parairy wur hard friz, an' i hed to dig a hole wi' my knife. howsomdever, i got the thing rigged at last, an' the blanket hangin' up in front kivered my karkidge most complete. i hed nothin' more to do but wait till the goats shed come 'ithin range o' my shootin'-iron. "wal, that wan't long. as ye all know, them goats is a mighty curious animal--as curious as weemen is--an arter runnin' backward an' forrard a bit, an' tossin' up thur heads, an' sniffin' the air, one o' the fattest, a young prong-horn buck, trotted up 'ithin fifty yards o' me. "i jest squinted through the sights, an' afore that goat hed time to wink twice, i hit him plum atween the eyes. ov coorse he wur throwed in his tracks. "now, you'd a-jumped up, an' frightened the rest away--that's what you'd a done, strengers. but you see i knowd better. i knowd that so long's the critters didn't see my karkidge, they wan't a-gwine to mind the crack o' the gun. so i laid still, in behopes to git a wheen more o' them. "as i hed calc'lated at fust, they didn't run away, an' i slipped in my charge as brisk as possible. but jest as i wur raisin' to take sight on a doe that hed got near enough, the hull gang tuk scare, an' broke off as ef a pack of parairy-wolves wur arter 'em. "i wur clean puzzled at this, for i knowd i hedn't done anythin' to frighten 'em, but i wan't long afore i diskivered the pause o' thur alarm. jest then i heerd a snift, like the coughin' o' a glandered hoss; an' turnin' suddintly round, i spied the biggest bar it hed ever been my luck to set eyes on. he wur comin' direct torst me, an' at that minnit wan't over twenty yards from whur i lay. i knowd at a glimp he wur a grizzly! "'tain't no use to say i wan't skeart; i wur skeart, an' mighty bad skeart, i tell ye. "at fust, i thort o' jumpin' to my feet, an' makin' tracks; but a minnit o' reflexshun showed me that 'ud be o' little use. thur wur a half o' mile o' clur parairy on every side o' me, an' i knowd the grizzly laid catch up afore i hed made three hundred yards in any direction. i knowd, too, that ef i started, the varmint 'ud be sartin to foller. it wur plain to see the bar meant mischief; i kud tell that from the glint o' his eyes. "thur wan't no time to lose in thinkin' about it. the brute wur still comin' nearer; but i noticed that he wur a-gwine slower an' slower, every now an' agin risin' to his hind-feet, clawin' his nose, an' sniffin' the air. "i seed that it wur the red blanket that puzzled him; an' seein' this, i crep' closter behint it, an' cached as much o' my karkidge as it 'ud kiver. "when the bar hed got 'ithin about ten yards o' the spot, he kim to a full stop, an' reared up as he hed did several times, with his belly full torst me. the sight wur too much for this niggur, who never afore had been bullied by eyther injun or bar. "'twur a beautiful shot, an' i kudn't help tryin' it, ef 't hed been my last; so i poked my rifle through the hole in the blanket, an' sent a bullet atween the varmint's ribs. "that wur, perhaps, the foolichest an' wust shot this child ever made. hed i not fired it, the bar mout a gone off, feard o' the blanket; but i did fire, an' my narves bein' excited, i made a bad shot. "i had ta'en sight for the heart, an' i only hit the varmint's shoulder. "ov coorse, the bar bein' now wounded, bekim savage, and cared no longer for the blanket. he roared out like a bull, tore at the place whur i hed hit him, an' then kim on as fast as his four legs 'ud carry him. "things looked squally. i throwed away my emp'y gun, an' drawed my bowie, expectin' nothin' else than a regular stand-up tussle wi' the bar. i knowd it wur no use turnin' tail now; so i braced myself up for a desp'rate fight. "but jest as the bar hed got 'ithin ten feet o' me, an idee suddintly kim into my head. i hed been to santa fe, among them yaller-hided mexikins, whur i hed seed two or three bull-fights. i hed seed them mattydoors fling thur red cloaks over a bull's head, jest when you'd a thort they wur a-gwine to be gored to pieces on the fierce critter's horns. "jest then, i remembered thur trick; an' afore the bar cud close on me, i grabbed the blanket, spreadin' it out as i tuk holt. "strangers, that wur a blanket an' no mistake! it wur as fine a five-point mackinaw as ever kivered the hump-ribs o' a nor'-west trader. i used to wear it mexikin-fashun when it rained; an' in coorse, for that purpose, thur wur a hole in the middle to pass the head through. "wal, jest as the bar sprung at me, i flopped the blanket straight in his face. i seed his snout a passin' through the hole, but i seed no more; for i feeled the critter's claws touchin' me, an' i let go. "now, thunk i, wur my time for a run. the blanket mout blin' him a leetle, an' i mout git some start. "with this thort, i glid past the animal's rump, an' struck out over the parairy. "the direction happened to be that that led torst the camp, half a mile off; but thur wur a tree nearer, on the side o' the hill. ef i kud reach that, i knowd i 'ud be safe enuf, as the grizzly bar it don't climb. "for the fust hundred yards i never looked round; then i only squinted back, runnin' all the while. "i kud jest see that the bar appeared to be still a tossin' the blanket, and not fur from whur we hed parted kumpny. "i thort this some'at odd; but i didn't stay to see what it meant till i hed put another hundred yards atween us. then i half turned, an' tuk a good look; an' if you believe me, strangers, the sight i seed thur 'ud a made a mormon larf. although jest one minnit afore, i wur putty nigh skeart out o' my seven senses, that sight made me larf till i wur like to bring on a colic. "thur wur the bar wi' his head right a-through the blanket. one minnit, he 'ud rear up on his hind-feet, an' then the thing hung roun' him like a mexikin greaser. the next minnit, he 'ud be down on all-fours, an' tryin' to foller me; an' then the mackinaw 'ud trip him up, an' over he 'ud whammel, and kick to get free--all the while routin' like a mad buffalo. jehosophat! it wur the funniest sight this child ever seed. wagh! "wal, i watched the game awhile--only a leetle while; for i knowd that if the bar could git clur o' the rag, he mout still overtake me, an' drive me to the tree. that i didn't wan't, eyther, so i tuk to my heels agin' and soon reached camp. "thur i saddled my mar, an' then rid back to git my gun, an', perhaps, to give ole eph'm a fresh taste o' lead. "when i clomb the hill agin, the bar wur still out on the parairy, an' i cud see that the blanket wur a-hanging around 'im. howsomdever, he wur makin' off torst the hills, thinkin', maybe, he'd hed enuf o' my kumpny. "i wan't a-gwine to let 'im off so easy, for the skear he hed 'gin me; besides, he wur traillin' my mackinaw along wi' 'im. so i galluped to whur my gun lay, an' havin' rammed home a ball, i then galluped arter ole grizzly. "i soon overhauled him, an' he turned on me as savagerous as ever. but this time, feeling secure on the mar's back, my narves wur steadier; an' i shot the bar plum through the skull, which throwed him in his tracks wi' the blanket wropped about 'im. "but sich a blanket as that wur then--ay, sich a blanket! i never seed sich a blanket! thur wunt a square foot o' it that wan't torn to raggles. ah, strangers, you don't know what it are to lose a five-point mackinaw; no, that you don't. cuss the bar!" chapter twenty six. a battle with grizzly bears. as adventure with grizzly bears which had befallen the "captain" was next related. he had been travelling with a strange party--the "scalp-hunters,"--in the mountains near santa fe, when they were overtaken by a sudden and heavy fall of snow that rendered farther progress impossible. the "canon," a deep valley in which they had encamped, was difficult to get through at any time, but now the path, on account of the deep soft snow, was rendered impassable. when morning broke they found themselves fairly "in the trap." "above and below, the valley was choked up with snow five fathoms deep. vast fissures--_barrancas_--were filled with the drift; and it was perilous to attempt penetrating in either direction. two men had already disappeared. "on each side of our camp rose the walls of the canon, almost vertical, to the height of a hundred feet. these we might have climbed had the weather been soft, for the rock was a trap formation, and offered numerous seams and ledges; but now there was a coating of ice and snow upon them that rendered the ascent impossible. the ground had been frozen hard before the storm came on, although it was now freezing no longer, and the snow would not bear our weight. all our efforts to get out of the valley proved idle; and we gave them over, yielding ourselves, in a kind of reckless despair, to wait for--we scarce knew what. "for three days we sat shivering around the fires, now and then casting looks of gloomy inquiry around the sky. the same dull grey for an answer, mottled with flakes slanting earthward, for it still continued to know. not a bright spot cheered the aching eye. "the little platform on which we rested--a space of two or three acres-- was still free from the snow-drift, on account of its exposure to the wind. straggling pines, stunted and leafless, grew over its surface, in all about fifty or sixty trees. from these we obtained our fires; but what were fires when we had no meat to cook upon them! "we were now in the third day without food! without food, though not absolutely without eating--the men had bolted their gun-covers and the cat-skin flaps of their bullet-pouches, and were now seen--the last shift but one--stripping the _parfleche_ from the soles of their moccasins! "the women, wrapped in their _tilmas_, nestled closely in the embrace of father, brother, husband, and lover; for all these affections were present. the last string of _tasajo_, hitherto economised for their sake, had been parcelled out to them in the morning. that was gone, and whence was their next morsel to come? at long intervals, `_ay da mi! dios de mi alma_!' were heard only in low murmurs, as some colder blast swept down the canon. in the faces of those beautiful creatures might be read that uncomplaining patience--that high endurance--so characteristic of the hispano-mexican women. "even the stern men around them bore up with less fortitude. rude oaths were muttered from time to time, and teeth ground together, with that strange wild look that heralds insanity. once or twice i fancied that i observed a look of still stranger, still wilder expression, when the black ring forms around the eye--when the muscles twitch and quiver along gaunt, famished jaws--when men gaze guilty-like at each other. o god! it was fearful! the half-robber discipline, voluntary at the best, had vanished under the levelling-rod of a common suffering, and i trembled to think-- "`it clars a leetle, out tharawa!' "it was the voice of the trapper, garey, who had risen and stood pointing toward the east. "in an instant we were all upon our feet, looking in the direction, indicated. sure enough, there was a break in the lead-coloured sky--a yellowish streak, that widened out as we continued gazing--the flakes fell lighter and thinner, and in two hours more it had ceased snowing altogether. "half-a-dozen of us, shouldering our rifles, struck down the valley. we would make one more attempt to trample a road through the drift. it was a vain one. the snow was over our heads, and after struggling for two hours, we had not gained above two hundred yards. here we caught a glimpse of what lay before us. as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon the same deep impassable masses. despair and hunger paralysed our exertions, and, dropping off one by one, we returned to the camp. we fell down around the fires in sullen silence. garey continued pacing back and forth, now glancing up at the sky, and at times kneeling down, and running his hand over the surface of the snow. at length he approached the fire, and in his slow, drawling manner, remarked-- "`it's a-gwine to friz, i reckin.' "`well! and if it does?' asked one of his comrades, without caring for an answer to the question. "`wal, an iv it does,' repeated the trapper, `we'll walk out o' this hyar jug afore sun-up, an' upon a good hard trail too.' "the expression of every face was changed, as if by magic. several leaped to their feet. gode, the canadian, skilled in snow-craft, ran to a bank, and drawing his hand along the combing, shouted back-- "`_c'est vrai; il gele; il gele_!' "a cold wind soon after set in, and, cheered by the brightening prospect, we began to think of the fires, that, during our late moments of reckless indifference, had been almost suffered to burn out. the delawares, seizing their tomahawks, commenced hacking at the pines, while others dragged forward the fallen trees, lopping off their branches with the keen scalping-knife. "at this moment a peculiar cry attracted our attention, and, looking around, we perceived one of the indians drop suddenly upon his knees, striking the ground with his hatchet. "`what is it? what is it?' shouted several voices, in almost as many languages. "`_yam-yam! yam-yam_!' replied the indian, still digging at the frozen ground. "`the injun's right; it's _man-root_!' said garey, picking up some leaves which the delaware had chopped off. "i recognised a plant well-known to the mountain-men--a rare, but wonderful convolvulus, the _iponea leptophylla_. the name of `man-root' is given to it by the hunters from the similarity of its root in shape, and sometimes in size, to the body of a man. it is esculent, and serves to sustain human life. "in an instant, half-a-dozen men were upon their knees, chipping and hacking the hard clay, but their hatchets glinted off as from the surface of a rock. "`look hyar!' cried garey; `ye're only spoilin' yer tools. cut down a wheen o' these pine saplin's, and make a fire over him!' "the hint was instantly followed, and in a few minutes a dozen pieces of pine were piled upon the spot, and set on fire. "we stood around the burning branches with eager anticipation. should the root prove a `full-grown man,' it would make a supper for our whole party; and with the cheering idea of supper, jokes were ventured upon-- the first we had heard for some time--the hunters tickled with the novelty of unearthing the `old man' ready roasted, and speculating whether he would prove a `fat old hoss.' "a hollow crack sounded from above, like the breaking of a dead tree. we looked up. a large object--an animal--was whirling outward and downward from a ledge that projected half-way up the cliff. in an instant it struck the earth, head foremost, with a loud `bump,' and, bounding to the height of several feet, came back with a somersault on its legs, and stood firmly. "an involuntary `hurrah!' broke from the hunters, who all recognised, at a glance, the `carnero cimmaron,' or `bighorn.' he had cleared the precipice at two leaps, alighting each time on his huge crescent-shaped horns. "for a moment, both parties--hunters and game--seemed equally taken by surprise, and stood eyeing each other in mute wonder. it was but for a moment. the men made a rush for their rifles, and the animal, recovering from his trance of astonishment, tossed back his horns, and bounded across the platform. in a dozen springs he had readied the selvedge of the snow, and plunged into its yielding bank; but, at the same instant, several rifles cracked, and the white wreath was crimsoned behind him. he still kept on, however, leaning and breaking through the drift. "we struck into his track, and followed with the eagerness of hungry wolves. we could tell by the numerous _gouts_ that he was shedding his life-blood, and about fifty paces farther on we found him dead. "a shout apprised our companions of our success, and we had commenced dragging back the prize, when wild cries reached us from the platform,-- the yells of men, the screams of women, mingled with oaths and exclamations of terror! "we ran on towards the entrance of the track. on reaching it, a sight was before us that caused the stoutest to tremble. hunters, indians, and women were running to and fro in frantic confusion, uttering their varied cries, and pointing upward. we looked in that direction--a row of fearful objects stood upon the brow of the cliff. we knew our enemy at a glance,--the dreaded monsters of the mountains--the grizzly bears! "there were; five of them--five in sight--there might be others in the background. five were enough to destroy our whole party, caged as we were, and weakened by famine. "they had reached the cliff in chase of the cimmaron, and hunger and disappointment were visible in their horrid aspects. two of them had already crawled close to the scarp, and were pawing over and snuffing the air, as if searching for a place to descend. the other three reared themselves up on their hams, and commenced manoeuvring with their forearms, in a human-like and comical pantomime! "we were in no condition to relish this amusement. every man hastened to arm himself, those who had emptied their rifles hurriedly re-loading them. "`for your life don't!' cried garey, catching at the gun of one of the hunters. "the caution came too late: half-a-dozen bullets were already whistling upwards. "the effect was just what the trapper had anticipated. the bears, maddened by the bullets, which had harmed them no more than the pricking of as many pins, dropped to their all-fours again, and, with fierce growls, commenced descending the cliff. "the scene of confusion was now at its height. several of the men, less brave than their comrades, ran off to hide themselves in the snow, while others commenced climbing the low pine-trees! "`cache the gals!' cried garey. `hyar, yer darned spanish greasers! if yer won't light, hook on to the weemen a wheen o' yer, and toat them to the snow. cowardly slinks,--wagh!' "`see to them, doctor,' i shouted to the german, who, i thought, might be best spared from the fight; and the next, moment, the doctor, assisted by several mexicans, was hurrying the terrified girls towards the spot where we had left the cimmaron. "many of us knew that to hide, under the circumstances, would be worse than useless. the fierce but sagacious brutes would have discovered, us one by one, and destroyed, us in detail. `they must, be met and fought!' that was the word; and we resolved to carry it into execution. "there were about a dozen of us who `stood up to it'--all the delaware and shawanoes, with garey and the mountain-men. "we kept firing at the bears as they ran along the ledges in their zigzag descent, but our rifles were out of order, our fingers were numbed with cold, and our nerves weakened with hunger. our bullets drew blood from the hideous brutes, yet not a shot proved deadly. it only stung them into fiercer rage. "it was a fearful moment when the last shot was fired, and still not an enemy the less. we flung away the guns, and, clutching the hatchets and hunting-knives, silently awaited our grizzly foes. "we had taken our stand close to the rock. it was our design to have the first blow, as the animals, for the most part, came stern-foremost down the cliff. in this we were disappointed. on reaching a ledge some ten feet from the platform, the foremost bear halted, and, seeing our position, hesitated to descend. the next moment, his companions, maddened with wounds, came tumbling down upon the same ledge, and, with fierce growls, the five huge bodies were precipitated into our midst. "then came the desperate struggle, which i cannot describe,--the shouts of the hunters, the wilder yells of our indian allies, the hoarse worrying of the bears, the ringing of tomahawks from skulls like flint, the deep, dull `thud' of the stabbing-knife, and now and then a groan, as the crescent claw tore up the clinging muscle. o god! it was a fearful scene! "over the platform bears and men went rolling and struggling, in the wild battle of life and death. through the trees, and into the deep drift, staining the snow with their mingled blood! here, two or three men were engaged with a single foe--there, some brave hunter stood battling alone. several were sprawling upon the ground. every moment, the bears were lessening the number of their assailants! "i had been struck down at the commencement of the struggle. on regaining my feet, i saw the animal that had felled me hugging the prostrate body of a man. "it was gode. i leaned over the bear, clutching its shaggy skin. i did this to steady myself; i was weak and dizzy; so were we all. i struck with all my force, stabbing the animal on the ribs. "letting go the frenchman, the bear turned suddenly, and reared upon me. i endeavoured to avoid the encounter, and ran backward, fending him off with my knife. "all at once i came against the snow-drift, and fell over on my back. next moment, the heavy body was precipitated upon me, the sharp claws pierced deep into my shoulder,--i inhaled the monster's fetid breath; and striking wildly with my right arm, still free, we rolled over and over in the snow. "i was blinded by the dry drift. i felt myself growing weaker and weaker; it was the loss of blood. i shouted--a despairing shout--but it could not have been heard at ten paces' distance. then there was a strange hissing sound in my ears,--a bright light flashed across my eyes; a burning object passed over my face, scorching the skin; there was a smell as of singeing hair; i could hear voices, mixed with the roars of my adversary; and all at once the claws were drawn out of my flesh, the weight was lifted from my breast, and i was alone! "i rose to my feet, and, rubbing the snow out of my eyes, looked around. i could see no one. i was in a deep hollow made by our struggles, but i was alone! "the snow all around me was dyed to a crimson; but what had become of my terrible antagonist? who had rescued me from his deadly embrace? "i staggered forward to the open ground. here a new scene met my gaze: a strange-looking man was running across the platform, with a huge firebrand,--the bole of a burning pine-tree,--which he waved in the air. he was chasing one of the hears, that, growling with rage and pain, was making every effort to reach the cliffs. two others were already half-way up, and evidently clambering with great difficulty, as the blood dripped back from their wounded flanks. "the bear that was pursued soon took to the rocks, and, urged by the red brand scorching his shaggy hams, was soon beyond the reach of his pursuer. the latter now made towards a fourth, that was still battling with two or three weak antagonists. this one was `routed' in a twinkling, and with yells of terror followed his comrades up the bluff. the strange man looked around for the fifth. it had disappeared. prostrate, wounded men were strewed over the ground, but the bear was nowhere to be seen. he had doubtless escaped through the snow. "i was still wondering who was the hero of the firebrand, and where he had come from. i have said he was a strange-looking man. he was so-- and like no one of our party that i could think of. his head was bald,--no, not bald, but naked,--there was not a hair upon it, crown or sides, and it glistened in the clear light like polished ivory. i was puzzled beyond expression, when a man--garey--who had been felled upon the platform by a blow from one of the bears, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming,-- "`go it, doc! three chyars for the doctor!' "to my astonishment, i now recognised the features of that individual, the absence of whose brown locks had produced such a metamorphosis as, i believe, was never effected by means of borrowed hair. "`here's your scalp, doc,' cried garey, running up with the wig, `by the livin' thunder! yer saved us all;' and the hunter seized the german in his wild embrace. "wounded men were all around, and commenced crawling together. but where was the fifth of the bears? four only had escaped by the cliff. "`yonder he goes!' cried a voice, as a light spray, rising above the snow-wreath, showed that some animal was struggling through the drift. "several commenced loading their rifles, intending to follow, and, if possible, secure him. the doctor armed himself with a fresh pine; but before these, arrangements were completed, a strange cry came from the spot, that caused our blood to run cold again. the indians leaped to their feet, and, seizing their tomahawks, rushed to the gap. they knew the meaning of that cry--it was the death-yell of their tribe! "they entered the road that we had trampled down in the morning, followed by those who had loaded their guns. we watched them from the platform with anxious expectation, but before they had reached the spot, we could see that, the `stoor' was slowly settling down. it was plain that the struggle had ended. "we still stood waiting in breathless silence, and watching the floating spray that noted their progress through the drift. at length they had reached the scene of the struggle. there was an ominous stillness, that lasted for a moment, and then the indian's fate was announced in the sad, wild note that came wailing up the valley. it was the dirge of a shawano warrior! "they had found their brave comrade dead, with his scalping-knife buried in the heart of his terrible antagonist! "it was a costly supper, that bear-meat, but, perhaps, the sacrifice had saved many lives. we would keep the `cimmaron' for to-morrow; next day, the man-root; and the next,--what next? perhaps--the man! "fortunately, we were not, driven to this extremity. the frost, had again set in, and the surface of the snow, previously moistened by the sun and rain, soon became caked into ice strong enough to bear us, and upon its firm crust we escaped out of the perilous pass, and gained the warmer region of the plains in safety." chapter twenty seven. the swans of america. in our journey we had kept far enough to the north to avoid the difficult route of the ozark hills; and we at length encamped upon the marais de cygnes, a branch of the osage river. beyond this we expected to fall in with the buffalo, and of course we were full of pleasant anticipation. near the point where we had pitched our camp, the banks of the river were marshy, with here and there small lakes of stagnant water. in these a large number of swans, with wild geese and other aquatic birds, were swimming and feeding. of course our guns were put in requisition, and we succeeded in killing a brace of swans, with a grey goose (anser _canadensis_), and a pair of ducks. the swans were very large ones--of the trumpeter species--and one of them was cooked for supper. it was in excellent condition, and furnished a meal for the whole of our party! the other swan, with the goose and ducks, were stowed away for another occasion. while "discussing" the flesh of this great and noble bird, we also discussed many of the points in its natural history. "white as a swan" is a simile old as language itself. it would, no doubt, puzzle an australian, used to look upon those beautiful and stately birds as being of a very different complexion. the simile holds good, however, with the north-american species, all three of which--for there are three of them--are almost snow-white. we need not describe the form or general appearance of the swan. these are familiar to every one. the long, upright, and gracefully-curving neck; the finely-moulded breast, the upward-tending tail-tip, the light "dip," and easy progression through the water, are points that everybody has observed, admired, and remembered. these are common to all birds of the genus _cygnus_, and are therefore not peculiar to the swans of america. many people fancy there are but two kinds of swans--the white and black. it is not long since the black ones have been introduced to general notoriety, as well as to general admiration. but there are many distinct species besides--species differing from each other in size, voice, and other peculiarities. in europe alone, there are four native swans, specifically distinct. it was long believed that the common american swan (_cygnus americanus_) was identical with the common european species, so well-known in england. it is now ascertained, however, not only that these two are specifically distinct, but that in north america there exist two other species, differing from the _cygnus americanus_, and from each other. these are the trumpeter (_cygnus buccinnator_) and the small swan of bewick (_cygnus bewickii_), also an inhabitant of european countries. the common american species is of a pure white, with black hill, logs, and feet. a slight tinge of brownish red is found on some individuals on the crown of the head, and a small patch of orange-yellow extends from the angles of the mouth to the eye. on the base of the bill is a fleshy tubercle or knob, and the upper mandible is curved at the tip. the young of this species are of a bluish-grey colour, with more of the brown-red tinge upon the head. the naked yellow patch, extending from the angles of the mouth to the eye, in the young birds, is covered with feathers, and their bills are flesh-coloured. this description answers in every respect for the swan of bewick; but the latter species is only three-fourths the size of the former; and, besides, it has only eighteen tail feathers, while the american swan has twenty. their note is also entirely unlike. the "trumpeter" is different from either. he is the largest, being frequently met with of nearly six feet in length, while the common swan rarely exceeds five. the bill of the trumpeter is not tuberculated; and the yellow patch under the eye is wanting. the bill, legs, and feet are entirely black. all the rest is white, with the exception of the head, which is usually tinged with chestnut or red-brown. when young, he is of a greyish-white, with a yellow mixture, and the head of deeper red-brown. his tail feathers are twenty-four in number; but there is a material difference between him and his congeners in the arrangement of the windpipe. in the trumpeter this enters a protuberance that stands out on the dorsal aspect of the sternum, which is wanting in both the other kinds. it may be that this arrangement has something to do with his peculiar note, which differs altogether from that of the others. it is much fuller and louder, and at a distance bears a considerable resemblance to the trumpet or french horn. hence the trivial name by which this species is known to the hunters. all the american swans are migratory--that is, they pass from north to south, every autumn, and back again from south to north in the beginning of spring. the period of their migration is different with the three species. the trumpeter is the earliest, preceding all other birds, with the exception of the eagles. the _cygnus americanus_ comes next; and, lastly, the small swans, that are among the very latest of migratory birds. the trumpeters seek the north at the breaking up of the ice. sometimes they arrive at a point in their journey where this has not taken place. in such cases they fly back again until they reach some river or lake from which the ice has disappeared, where they remain a few days, and wait the opening of the waters farther north. when they are thus retarded and sent back, it is always in consequence of some unusual and unseasonable weather. the swans go northward to breed. why they do so is a mystery. perhaps they feel more secure in the inhospitable wastes that lie within the arctic circle. the trumpeters breed as far south as latitude degrees, but most of them retire within the frigid zone. the small swans do not nest so far south, but pursue their course still onward to the polar sea. here they build immense nests by raising heaps of peat moss, six feet in length by four in width, and two feet high. in the top of these heaps is situated the nest, which consists of a cavity a foot deep, and a foot and a half in diameter. the trumpeters and american swans build in marshes and the islands of lakes. where the muskrat (_fiber zibethicus_) abounds, his dome-shaped dwelling--at that season, of course, deserted--serves often as the breeding-place boll? for the swans and wild geese. on the top of this structure, isolated in the midst of great marshes, these birds are secure from all their enemies--the eagle excepted. the eggs of the trumpeter are very large, one of them being enough to make a good meal for a man. the eggs of the american species are smaller and of a greenish appearance, while those of the bewick swan are still smaller and of a brownish-white colour, with a slight clouding of darker hue. six or seven eggs is the usual "setting." the cygnets, when half or full-grown, are esteemed good eating, and are much sought after by the hunters and indians of the fur countries. when the cygnets are full-grown, and the frost makes its appearance upon the lakes and rivers of the hyperborean regions, the swans begin to shift southwards. they do not migrate directly, as in the spring, but take more time on their journey, and remain longer in the countries through which they pass. this no doubt arises from the fact that a different motive or instinct now urges them. in the spring they are under the impulse of philo-progenitiveness. now they range from lake to lake and stream to stream in search only of food. again, as in the spring, the trumpeters lead the van--winging their way to the great lakes, and afterwards along the atlantic coast, and by the line of the mississippi, to the marshy shores of the mexican sea. it may be remarked that this last-mentioned species--the trumpeter--is rare upon the atlantic coast, where the common swan is seen in greatest plenty. again, the trumpeter does not appear on the pacific or by the colombia river, where the common swan is met with, but the latter is there outnumbered by the small species (_cygnus bewickii_) in the ratio of five to one. this last again is not known in the fur countries of the interior, where the _cygnus americanus_ is found, but where the trumpeter exists in greatest numbers. indeed the skins of the trumpeter are those which are mostly exported by the hudson's bay company, and which form an important article of their commerce. the swan is eagerly hunted by the indians who inhabit the fur countries. its skin brings a good price from the traders, and its quills are valuable. besides, the flesh is a consideration with these people, whose life, it must be borne in mind, is one continuous struggle for food; and who, for one-half the year, live upon the very verge of starvation. the swan, therefore, being a bird that weighs between twenty and thirty pounds, ranks among large game, and is hunted with proportionate ardour. every art the indian can devise is made use of to circumvent these great birds, and snares, traps, and decoys of all kinds are employed in the pursuit. but the swans are among the shyest of god's creatures. they fly so rapidly, unless when beating against the wind, that it requires a practised shot to hit them on the wing. even when moulting their feathers, or when young, they can escape--fluttering over the surface of the water faster than a canoe can be paddled. the most usual method of hunting them is by snares. these are set in the following manner:-- a lake or river is chosen, where it is known the swans are in the habit of resting for some time on their migration southward--for this is the principal season of swan-catching. some time before the birds make their appearance, a number of wicker hedges are constructed, running perpendicularly out from the bank, and at the distance of a few yards from each other. in the spaces between, as well as in openings left in the fences themselves, snares are set. these snares are made of the intestines of the deer, twisted into a round shape, and looped. they are placed so that several snares may embrace the opening, and the swans cannot pass through without being caught. the snare is fastened to a stake, driven into the mud with sufficient firmness to hold the bird when caught and struggling. that the snare may not be blown out of its proper place by the wind, or carried astray by the current, it is attached to the wattles of the hedge by some strands of grass. these, of course, are easily broken, and give way the moment a bird presses against the loop. the fences or wattle-hedges are always constructed projecting out from the shore--for it is known that the swans must keep close in to the land while feeding. whenever a lake or river is sufficiently shallow to make it possible to drive in stakes, the hedges are continued across it from one side to the other. swans are also snared upon their nests. when a nest is found, the snare is set so as to catch the bird upon her return to the eggs. these birds, like many others, have the habit of entering the nest on one side, and going out by the other, and it is upon the entrance side that the snare is set. the indians have a belief that if the hands of the persons setting the snare be not clean, the bird will not approach it, but rather desert her eggs, even though she may have been hatching them for some time. it is, indeed, true that this is a habit of many birds, and may be so of the wild swan. certain it is that the nest is always reconnoitred by the returning bird with great caution, and any irregularity appearing about it will render her extremely shy of approaching it. swans are shot, like other birds, by "approaching" them under cover. it requires very large shot to kill them--the same that is used for deer, and known throughout america as "buck-shot." in england this size of shot is termed "swan shot." it is difficult to get within range of the wild swan, he is by nature a shy bird; and his long neck enables him to see over the sedge that surrounds him. where there happens to be no cover--and this is generally the case where he haunts--it is impossible to approach him. sometimes the hunter floats down upon him with his canoe hidden by a garniture of reeds and bushes. at other times he gets near enough in the disguise of a deer or other quadruped--for the swan, like most wild birds, is less afraid of the lower animals than of man. during the spring migration, when the swan is moving northward, the hunter, hidden under some rock, bank, or tree, frequently lures him from his high flight by the imitation of his well-known "hoop." this does not succeed so well in the autumn. when the swans arrive prematurely on their spring journey, they resort sometimes in considerable flocks to the springs and waterfalls, all other places being then ice-bound. at this time the hunters concealing themselves in the neighbourhood, obtain the desired proximity, and deal destruction with their guns. a-- related an account of a swan hunt by torch-light, which he had made some years before. "i was staying some days," said he, "at a remote, settlement upon one of the streams that run into the red river of the north, it was in the autumn season, and the trumpeter-swans had arrived in the neighbourhood on their annual migration to the south. i had been out several times after them with my gun, but was unable to get a shot at them in consequence of their shyness. i had adopted every expedient i could think of--calls, disguises, and decoys--but all to no purpose. i resolved, at length, to try them by torch-light. "it so happened that none of the hunters, at the settlement had ever practised this method; but as most of them had succeeded, by some means or other, in decoying and capturing several swans by other means, my hunter-pride was touched, and i was most anxious to show that i could kill swans as well as they. i had never seen swans shot by torch-light, but i had employed the plan for killing deer, as you already know, and i was determined to make a trial of it upon the swans. "i set secretly about it, resolved to steal a march upon my neighbours, if possible. my servant alone was admitted into my confidence, and we proceeded to make the necessary arrangements. "these were precisely similar to those already described in my limit of the long-tails, except that the canoe, instead of being `a dug-out,' was a light craft of birch-bark, such as are in use among the chippowas and other indians of the northern countries. the canoe was obtained from a settler, and tilled with torch-wood and other necessary articles, but these were clandestinely put on board. "i was now ready, and a dark night was all that was wanted to enable me to carry out my plan. "fortunately i soon obtained this to my heart's satisfaction. a night arrived as dark as erebus; and with my servant using the paddle, we pushed out and shot swiftly down stream. "as soon as we had cleared the `settlement,' we lit our pine-knots in the frying-pan. the blaze refracted from the concave and blackened surface of the bark, cast a brilliant light over the semicircle ahead of us, at the same time that we, behind the screen of birch-bark, were hid in utter darkness. i had heard that the swans, instead of being frightened by torch-light, only became amazed, and even at times curious enough to approach it, just as the deer and some other animals do. this proved to be correct, as we had very soon a practical illustration of it. "we had not gone a mile down the river when we observed several white objects within the circle of our light; and paddling a little nearer, we saw that they were swans. we could distinguish their long, upright necks; and saw that they had given up feeding, and were gazing with wonder at the odd object that was approaching them. "there were five of them in the flock; and i directed my servant to paddle towards that which seemed nearest, and to use his oar with as much silence as possible. at the same time i looked to the caps of my double-barrelled gun. "the swans for a time remained perfectly motionless, sitting high in the water, with their long necks raised far above the surface. they appeared to be more affected by surprise than fear. "when we had got within about a hundred yards of them, i saw that they began to move about, and close in to one another; at the same time was heard proceeding from them a strange sound resembling very much the whistle of the fallow deer. i had heard of the singing of the swan, as a prelude to its death, and i hoped that which now reached my ears was a similar foreboding. "in order to make it so, i leaned forward, levelled my double-barrel-- both barrels being cocked--and waited the _moment_. "the birds had `clumped' together, until their long serpent-like necks crossed each other. a few more noiseless strokes of the paddle brought me within reach, and aiming for the heads of three that `lined,' i pulled both triggers at once. "the immense recoil flung me back, and the smoke for a moment prevented us from seeing the effect. "as soon as it had been wafted aside, our eyes were feasted by the sight of two large white objects floating down the current, while a third, evidently wounded, struggled along the surface, and beating the water into foam with its broad wings. "the remaining two had risen high into the air, and were heard uttering their loud trumpet-notes as they winged their flight through the dark heavens. "we soon bagged our game, both dead and wounded, and saw that they were a large `gander' and two young birds. "it was a successful beginning; and having replenished our torch, we continued to float downward in search of more. half a mile farther on, we came in sight of three others, one of which we succeeded in killing. "another `spell' of paddling brought us to a third flock, out of which i got one for each barrel of my gun; and a short distance below i succeeded in killing a pair of the grey wild geese. "in this way we kept down the river for at least ten miles i should think, killing both swans and geese as we went. indeed, the novelty of the thing, the wild scenery through which we passed--rendered more wild and picturesque by the glare of the torch--and the excitement of success, all combined to render the sport most attractive; and but that our `pine-knots' had run out, i would have continued it until morning. "the failure of these at length brought our shooting to a termination, and we were compelled to put about, and undertake the much less pleasant, and much more laborious, task, of paddling ten miles up-stream. the consciousness, however, of having performed a great feat--in the language of the canadian hunters, a grand `_coup_,' made the labour seem more light, and we soon arrived at the settlement, and next morning triumphantly paraded our game-bag in front of our `lodge.' "its contents were twelve trumpeter-swans, besides three of the `hoopers.' we had also a pair of canada geese; a snow-goose, and three brant,--these last being the produce of a single shot. "the hunters of the settlement were quite envious, and could not understand what means i had employed to get up such a `game-bag.' i intended to have kept that for some time a secret; but the frying-pan and the piece of blackened bark were found, and these betrayed my stratagem; so that on the night after, a dozen canoes, with torches at their bows, might have been seen floating down the waters of the stream." chapter twenty eight. hunting the moose. while crossing the marshy bottom through which our road led, a singular hoof-track was observed in the mud. some were of opinion that it was a track of the great moose-deer, but the hunter-naturalist, better informed, scouted the idea--declaring that moose never ranged, so far to the south. it was no doubt a very large elk that had made the track, and to this conclusion all at length came. the great moose-deer, however, was an interesting theme, and we rode along conversing upon it. the moose (_cervus alces_) is the largest of the deer kind. the male is ordinarily as large as a mule; specimens have been killed of still greater dimensions. one that has been measured stood seventeen bands, and weighed pounds; it was consequently larger than most horses. the females are considerably smaller than the males. the colour of the moose, like that of other animals of the deer kind, varies with the season; it varies also with the sex. the male is tawny-brown over the back, sides, head, and thighs; this changes to a darker hue in winter, and in very old animals it is nearly black; hence the name "black elk," which is given in some districts to the moose. the under parts of the body are light-coloured, with a tinge of yellow or soiled white. the female is of a sandy-brown colour above, and beneath almost white. the calves are sandy-brown, but never spotted, as are the fawns of the common deer. the moose is no other than the elk of northern europe; but the elk of america (_cervus canadensis_), as already stated, is altogether a different animal. these two species may be mistaken for each other, in the season when their antlers are young, or in the velvet; then they are not unlike to a superficial observer. but the animals are rarely confounded--only the names. the american elk is not found indigenous in the eastern hemisphere, although he is the ornament of many a lordly park. the identity of the moose with the european elk is a fact that leads to curious considerations. a similar identity exists between the caribou of canada and the reindeer of northern europe--they are both the _cervus tarandus_ of pliny. so also with the polar hear of both hemispheres, the arctic, fox, and several other animals. hence we infer, that there existed at some period either a land connection, or some other means of communication, between the northern parts of both continents. besides being the largest, the moose is certainly the most ungraceful of the deer family. his head is long, out of all proportion; so, too, are his legs; while his neck is short in an inverse ratio. his ears are nearly a foot in length, asinine, broad, and slouching; his eyes are small; and his muzzle square, with a deep _sulcus_ in the middle, which gives it the appearance of being bifid. the upper lip overhangs the under by several inches, and is highly prehensile. a long tuft of coarse hair grows out of an excrescence on the throat, in the angle between the head and neck. this tuft is observed both in the male and female, though only when full-grown. in the young, the excrescence is naked. an erect mane, somewhat resembling that of a cropped shetland pony, runs from the base of the horns over the withers, and some way down the back. this adds to the stiff and ungainly appearance of the animal. the horns of the moose are a striking characteristic: they are palmated or flattened out like shovels, while along the edge rise the points or antlers. the width from horn to horn at their tops is often more than four feet, and the breadth of a single one, antlers included, is frequently above thirty inches. a single pair has been known to weigh as much as pounds avoirdupois! of course this stupendous head-dress gives the moose quite an imposing appearance; and it is one of the wonders of the naturalist what can be its object. the horns are found only on the males, and attain their full size only when these have reached their seventh year. in the yearlings appear two knobs, about an inch in length; in two-year-olds, these knobs have become spikes a foot high; in the third year they begin to palmate, and antlers rise along their edges; and so on, until the seventh year, when they become fully developed. they are annually caducous, however, as with the common deer, so that these immense appendages are the growth of a few weeks! the haunts and habits of the moose differ materially from those of other deer. he cannot browse upon level ground without kneeling or widening his legs to a great extent: this difficulty arises from the extreme length of his legs, and the shortness of his neck. he can do better upon the sides of steep hills, and he is often seen in such places grazing _upward_. grass, however, is not his favourite food: he prefers the twigs and leaves of trees--such as birch, willow, and maple. there is one species of the last of which he is extremely fond; it is that known as striped maple (_acer striatum_), or, in the language of hunters, "moose-wood." he peels off the bark from old trees of this sort, and feeds upon it, as well as upon several species of mosses with which the arctic regions abound. it will be seen that in these respects he resembles the giraffe: he may be regarded as the giraffe of the frigid zone. the moose loves the forest; he is rarely found in the open ground--on the prairie, never. on open level ground, he is easily overtaken by the hunter, as he makes but a poor run in such a situation. his feet are tender, and his wind short; besides, as we have already said, he cannot browse there without great inconvenience. he keeps in the thick forest and the impenetrable swamp, where he finds the food most to his liking. in summer, he takes to the water, wading into lakes and rivers, and frequently swimming across both. this habit renders him at that season an easy prey to his enemies, the indian hunters, for in the water he is easily killed. nevertheless, he loves to bury himself in the water, because along the shores of lakes and margins of rivers he finds the tall reed-grass, and the pond-lily--the latter a particular favourite with him. in this way, too, he rids himself of the biting gnats and stinging mosquitoes that swarm there; and also cools his blood, fevered by parasites, larvae, and the hot sun. the female moose produces one, two, and sometimes three calves at a birth; this is in april or may. the period of gestation is nine-months. during the summer, they are seen in families--that is, a bull, a cow, and two calves. sometimes the group includes three or four cows; but this is rare. occasionally, when the winter comes on, several of these family parties unite, and form herds of many individuals. when the snow is deep, one of these herds will tread down a space of several acres, in which they will be found browsing on the bark and twigs of the trees. a place of this sort is termed by the hunters a "moose-yard;" and in such a situation the animals become an easy prey. they are shot down on the spot, and those that attempt to escape through the deep snow are overtaken and brought to bay by dogs. this can only happen, however, when the snow is deep and crusted with frost; otherwise, the hunters and their dogs, as well as their heavier game, would sink in it. when the snow is of old standing, it becomes icy on the surface through the heat of the sun, rain, and frost; then it will bear the hunter, but not the deer. the latter break through it, and as these animals are tender-hoofed, they are lacerated at every jump. they soon feel the pain, give up the attempt to escape, and come to bay. it is dangerous for dogs to approach them when in this mood. they strike with the hoofs of their forefeet, a single blow of which often knocks the breath out of the stoutest deer-hound. there are many records of hunters having been sacrificed in a similar manner. where the moose are plentiful, the indians hunt them by pounding. this is done simply by inclosing a large tract of woods, with a funnel-shaped entrance leading into the inclosure. the wide mouth of the entrance embraces a path which the deer habitually take; upon this they are driven by the indians, deployed in a wide curve, until they enter the funnel, and the pound itself. here there are nooses set, in which many are snared, while others are shot down by the hunters who follow. this method is more frequently employed with the caribou, which are much smaller, and more gregarious than the moose-deer. we have already said that the moose are easily captured in summer, when they resort to the lakes and rivers to wade and swim. the biting of gnats and mosquitoes renders them less fearful of the approach of man. the indians then attack them in their canoes, and either shoot or spear them while paddling alongside. they are much less dangerous to assail in this way than the elk or even the common deer (_cervus virginianus_), as the latter, when brought in contact with the frail birch-canoe, often kick up in such a manner as to upset it, or break a hole through its side. on the contrary, the moose is frequently caught by the antlers while swimming, and in this way carried alongside without either difficulty or danger. although in such situations these huge creatures are easily captured, it is far otherwise as a general rule. indeed, few animals are more shy than the moose. its sight is acute; so, too, with its sense of smell; but that organ in which it chiefly confides is the ear. it can hear the slightest noise to a great distance; and the hunter's foot among the dead leaves, or upon the frozen snow-crust, often betrays him long before he can creep within range. they are, however, frequently killed by the solitary hunter stealing upon them, or "approaching," as it is termed. to do this, it is absolutely necessary to keep to leeward of them, else the wind would carry to their quick ears even the cautious tread of the indian hunter. there is one other method of hunting the moose often practised by the indians--that is, trailing them with _rackets_, or snow-shoes, and running them down. as i had partaken of this sport i was able to give an account of it to my companions. "in the winter of --, i had occasion to visit a friend who lived in the northern part of the state of maine. my friend was a backwood settler; dwelt in a comfortable log-house; raised corn, cattle, and hogs; and for the rest, amused himself occasionally with a hunt in the neighbouring woods. this he could do without going far from home, as the great forests of pine, birch, and maple trees on all sides surrounded his solitary clearing, and his nearest neighbour was about twenty miles off. literally, my friend lived in the woods, and the sports of the chase were with him almost a necessity; at all events, they were an everyday occupation. "up to the time of my visit, i had never seen a moose, except in museums. i had never been so far north upon the american continent; and it must be remembered, that the geographical range of the moose is confined altogether to the cold countries. it is only in the extreme northern parts of the united states that he appears at all. canada, with the vast territories of the hudson's bay company, even to the shores of the arctic sea, is the proper _habitat_ of this animal. "i was familiar with bears; cougars i had killed; elk and fallow deer i had driven; 'coons and 'possums i had treed; in short, i had been on hunting terms with almost every game in america except the moose. i was most eager, therefore, to have a shot at one of these creatures, and i well remember the delight i experienced when my friend informed me there were moose in the adjacent woods. "on the day after my arrival, we set forth in search of them, each armed with a hunting-knife and a heavy deer-gun. we went afoot; we could not go otherwise, as the snow lay to the depth of a yard, and a horse would have plunged through it with difficulty. it was an old snow, moreover, thickly crusted, and would have maimed our horses in a few minutes. we, with our broad rackets, could easily skim along without sinking below the surface. "i know not whether you have ever seen a pair of rackets, or indian snow-shoes, but their description is easy. you have seen the rackets used in ball-play. well, now, fancy a hoop, not of circular form, but forced into an elongated pointed ellipse, very much after the shape of the impression that a capsized boat would make in snow; fancy this about three feet long, and a foot across at its widest, closely netted over with gut or deer-thong, with bars in the middle to rest the foot upon, and a small hole to allow play to the toes, and you will have some idea of a snow-shoe. two of these--right and left--make a pair. they are simply strapped on to your boots, and then their broad surface sustains you, even when the snow is comparatively soft, but perfectly when it is frozen. "thus equipped, my friend and i set out _a pied_, followed by a couple of stout deer-hounds. we made directly for a part of the woods where it was known to my friend that the striped maple grew in great plenty. it has been stated already, that the moose are particularly fond of these trees, and there we would be most likely to fall in with them. "the striped maple is a beautiful deciduous little tree or shrub, growing to the height of a dozen feet or so in its natural _habitat_. when cultivated, it often reaches thirty feet. there is one at schonbrunn, near vienna, forty feet high, but this is an exception, and is the largest known. the usual height is ten or twelve feet, and it is more often the underwood of the forest than the forest itself. when thus situated, under the shade of loftier trees, it degenerates almost to the character of a shrub. "the trunk and branches of the striped maple are covered with a smooth green bark, longitudinally marked with light and dark stripes, by which the tree is easily distinguished from others, and from which it takes its name. it has other trivial names in different parts of the country. in new york state, it is called `dogwood;' but improperly so, as the real dogwood (_cornus florida_) is a very different tree. it is known also as `false dogwood,' and `snake-barked maple.' the name `moose-wood' is common among the hunters and frontiers-men for reasons already given. where the striped maple is indigenous, it is one of the first productions that announces the approach of spring. its buds and leaves, when beginning to unfold, are of a roseate hue, and soon change to a yellowish green; the leaves are thick, cordate, rounded at the base, with three sharp lobes at the other extremity, and finely serrated. they are usually four or five inches in length and breadth. the tree flowers in may and june, and its flowers are yellow-green, grouped on long peduncles. the fruit, like all other maples, consists of _samarae_ or `keys;' it is produced in great abundance, and is ripe in september or october. "the wood is white and finely grained; it is sometimes used by cabinet-makers as a substitute for holly, in forming the lines with which they inlay mahogany. "in canada, and those parts of the united states where it grows in great plenty, the farmers in spring turn out their cattle and horses to feed upon its leaves and young shoots, of which these animals are extremely fond; the more so, as it is only in very cold regions that it grows, and the budding of its foliage even precedes the springing of the grass. such is the tree which forms the favourite browsing of the moose. "to return to my narrative. "after we had shuffled about two miles over the snow, my friend and i entered a tract of heavy timber, where the striped maple formed the underwood. it did not grow regularly, but in copses or small thickets. we had already started some small game, but declined following it, as we were bent only on a moose-chase. "we soon fell in with signs that indicated the propinquity of the animals we were in search of. in several of the thickets, the maples were stripped of their twigs and bark, but this had been done previous to the falling of the snow. as yet, there were no tracks: we were not long, however, before this welcome indication was met with. on crossing a glade where there was but little snow, the prints of a great split hoof were seen, which my friend at once pronounced to be those of the moose. "we followed this trail for some distance, until it led into deeper snow and a more retired part of the forest. the tracks were evidently fresh ones, and those, as my friend asserted, of an old bull. "half-a-mile farther on, they were joined by others; and the trail became a broken path through the deep snow, as if it had been made by farm-cattle following each other in single file. four moose had passed, as my friend--skilled in woodcraft--confidently asserted, although i could not have told that from the appearance of the trail. he went still farther in his `reckoning,' and stated that they were a bull, a cow, and two nine-months' calves. "`you shall soon see,' he said, perceiving that i was somewhat incredulous. `look here!' he continued, bending down and pressing the broken snow with his fingers; `they are quite fresh--made within the hour. speak low--the cattle can't be far off. yonder, as i live! yonder they are--hush!' "my friend, as he spoke, pointed to a thicket about three hundred yards distant; i looked in that direction, but at first could perceive nothing more than the thickly-growing branches of the maples. "after a moment, however, i could trace among the twigs the long dark outlines of a strange animal's back, with a huge pair of palmated horns rising above the underwood. it was the bull-moose--there was no mistaking him for any other creature. near him other forms--three of them--were visible: these were of smaller stature, and i could see that they were hornless. they were the cow and calves; and the herd was made up, as my companion had foretold, of these four individuals. "we had halted on the moment, each of us holding one of the dogs, and endeavouring to quiet them, as they already scented the game. we soon saw that it was of no use remaining where we were, as the herd was fully three hundred yards from us, far beyond the reach of even our heavy deer-guns. "it would be of no use either to attempt stealing forward. there was no cover that would effectually conceal us, for the timber around was not large, and we could not, therefore, make shift with the tree-trunks. "there was no other mode, then, but to let the dogs free of their leashes, and dash right forward. we knew we should not get a shot until after a run; but this would not be long, thought we, as the snow was in perfect order for our purpose. "our dogs were therefore unleashed, and went off with a simultaneous `gowl,' while my friend and i followed as fast as we could. "the first note of the deer-hounds was a signal for the herd, and we could hear their huge bodies crashing through the underwood, as they started away. "they ran across some open ground, evidently with the intention of gaining the heavy timber beyond. on this ground there was but little snow; and as we came out through the thicket we had a full view of the noble game. the old bull was in the lead, followed by the others in a string. i observed that none of them galloped--a gait they rarely practise--but all went in a shambling trot, which, however, was a very fast one, equal to the speed of a horse. they carried their heads horizontally, with their muzzles directed forward, while the huge antlers of the bull leaned back upon his shoulders as he ran. another peculiarity that struck me--the divisions of their great split hoofs, as they lifted them from the ground, met with a cracking sound, like the bursting of percussion-caps; and the four together rattled as they ran, as though a string of christmas crackers had been touched off. i have often heard a similar cracking from the hoofs of farm-cattle; but with so many hoofs together, keeping up the fire incessantly, it produced a very odd impression upon me. "in a short time they were out of sight, but we could hear the baying of the dogs as the latter closed upon them, and we followed, guided by the trail they had made. "we had skated along for nearly a mile, when the howl of the hounds began to sound through the woods with more abrupt and fiercer echoes. we knew by this that the moose had been brought to bay, and we hurried forward, eager to have a shot. "on arriving at the place, we found that only the old bull had made stand, and he was successfully engaged in keeping off the dogs, both with feet and horns. the others had gone forward, and were out of view. "the bull, on seeing us approach, once more took the trot, and, followed by the dogs, was soon out of sight. "on reaching the spot where he had made his temporary halt, we found that his trail there parted from that of the other three, as he had taken almost an opposite direction. whether he had done so considerately, in order to lead the dogs away from his weaker companions, i know not; perhaps our sudden appearance had terrified him into confusion, and he had struck out without looking before him. "we did not reflect on these points at the time. my friend, who probably was thinking more about the meat than the sport, without halting a moment, followed the trail of the cow and calves; while i, guided by different motives, took after the bull. i was in too great a hurry to heed some admonitions which were given by my friend as we parted company. as our trails separated, i heard him shouting to me to mind what i was about; but the courses we followed soon carried us beyond earshot or sight of each other. "i followed the chase about half a mile farther, guided by the tracks, as well as by the baying of the hounds. again this assumed the fierce angry tone that denoted a battle going on between the dogs and the deer. "as i neared the spot, the voices of the former seemed to grow feebler; then there was a continued howling, as if the hounds were being roughly handled, and one of them i noticed was altogether silent. "on arriving on the scene, which i did soon after, i learned the cause of this change of tune. one of the dogs met me running back on the trail on three legs only, and woefully mangled. the moose was standing in a snow-pit, which had been trodden out by the animals while battling, and near his feet lay the other dog, mutilated in a most fearful manner, and evidently quite dead. the bull, in his rage, still continued to assail the dead body of the hound, rising and pouncing down upon it with his fore-hoofs until the ribs cracked under the concussion! "on seeing me, he again struck into the snow, and made off; i saw, however, that his limbs were much lacerated by the frozen crust, and that he ran slowly, leaving red tracks behind him. "i did not stop by the dogs--one being dead, and the survivor but little better--but kept on after the game. "we had now got into a tract where the snow lay of more than usual depth, and my snow-shoes enabled me to skim along faster than the moose himself, that i could easily perceive was growing feebler at every plunge. i saw that i was gaining upon him, and would soon be alongside. the woods through which we were passing were pretty open, and i could note every movement of the chase. "i had got within a hundred yards of him, and was thinking of firing at him as he ran, when all at once he came to a stop, and wheeling suddenly round, stood facing me. his huge antlers were thrown back until they touched his withers; his mane stood erect; all the hair upon his body seemed to bristle forward; and his whole attitude was one of rage and defiance: he was altogether as formidable-looking an enemy as it had ever been my lot to encounter. "my first thought, on getting near enough, was to raise my rifle and fire, which i did. i aimed for his chest, that was fair before me; but i shot wide, partly because my fingers were numbed with cold, and partly because the sun at the moment flashed in my eyes as i glanced along the barrel. i hit the moose, however, but in a part that was not mortal--in the shoulder. "the shot enraged him, and without waiting for me to re-load, he dashed madly forward and towards me; a few plunges brought him up, and i had no resource but to get behind a tree. "fortunately there were some large pines in the neighbourhood, and behind one of these i took shelter--not, however, before the enraged animal had almost impaled me upon his antlers. as i slipped behind the trunk, he was following me so close that his horns came in contact with the tree, causing it to vibrate by the terrific shock. he himself drew back a pace or two, and then stopped and stood fast, eyeing the tree with sullen rage; his eyes glared, and his long stiff hair seemed to quiver as he threatened. "in the hope that he would allow me time, i again bethought me of re-loading my gun. what was my chagrin to find that i had not a grain of powder about me! my friend and i had started with but one powder-flask, and that he had carried with him. my gun was as useless as a bar of iron. "what was to be done? i dared not, approach the bull with my knife: my life would not have been worth five minutes' purchase. his horns and great sharp hoofs were weapons superior to mine. he might throw me down at the first outset, gore me to death, or trample me in the snow. i dared not risk such an encounter. "after reflecting for some time, i concluded that it would be wiser for me to leave the moose where he was, and take the back track without him. but how was i to get away from the spot? i was still behind the tree, and the enraged bull was within three feet of it on the other side, without showing any symptoms of retiring. should i step either to one side or the other, he would launch himself upon me, and the result would be my certain destruction. "i now began to perceive that i was in a fix--regularly `treed,' in fact; and the knowledge was anything but cheering. i did not know how long i might be kept so; perhaps the moose might not leave me at all, or until hunger had done its work. the wound i had given him had certainly rendered him desperate and vengeful, and he appeared as if determined to protract the siege indefinitely. "after remaining nearly an hour in this situation, i began to grow angry and impatient. i had shouted to frighten the bull, but to no purpose; i had shouted, and at the top of my voice, in hopes that i might be heard by my friend, but there was no response except the echoes of my own voice borne hoarsely through the aisles of the winter forest. i grew impatient of my odd captivity, and determined to stand it no longer. "on stealing a glance behind me, i perceived a tree as large as the one which sheltered me. i resolved to make for that one, as it would at least not render my situation worse should i reach it in safety. this i effected, but not without having my speed put to the test, for the moose followed so close as almost to touch me with his brow-antlers. once behind this new tree, i was no better off than before, except that it brought me some twenty paces nearer home. the moose--still stood in front of me only a few feet distant, and threatening as fiercely as ever. "after waiting some minutes for my breath, i selected a third tree in the right direction, and made for it in a similar manner, the moose following as before. "another rest and another run brought me behind a fresh tree, and another and another, until i must have made a full mile through the woods, still followed by my implacable and untiring enemy. i knew, however, that i was going homeward, for i guided myself by the trail which we had made in the chase. "i was in hopes that i might make the whole back-journey in this way, when all at once i perceived that the heavy timber came to an end, and a wide, almost open tract intersected the country, over this the trees were small stunted pines, far apart, and offering no hope of shelter from my relentless persecutor. "i had no alternative now but to remain where i was, and await the arrival of my friend, who, i presumed, would come after me as soon as he had finished his own hunt. "with this dubious hope, i kept my stand, although i was ready to drop with fatigue. to add to my misery, it commenced snowing. i saw this with feelings akin to terror, for i knew that the snow would soon blind the trail; and how, then, was my friend to follow it, and find me? the bull still stood before me in the same threatening attitude, occasionally snorting, striking the ground with his hoofs, and ready to spring after me whenever i should move. ever as i changed the attitude of my body, he would start forward again, until i could almost touch him with the muzzle of my gun. "these manoeuvres on his part suggested to me an experiment, and i wondered that i had not thought of it before. i was not long in resolving to carry it out. i was armed with a stout hunting-knife, a bowie; it was pointed as sharp as a needle; and could i only have ventured near enough to the bull, i would soon have settled the dispute with him. the idea now occurred to me of converting my bowie into a lance by splicing it upon the barrel of my gun. with this i had hopes of being able to reach my powerful assailant without coming within range either of his hoofs or horns. "the lance was soon made, a pair of buckskin gaiters which i wore furnished me with thongs. my gun happened to be a long rifle; and the knife, spliced firmly to the muzzle, rendered it a formidable weapon, so that in a few minutes i stood in a better attitude than i had assumed for hours before. "the affair soon came to an issue. as i had anticipated, by showing myself a little to one side of the tree, the bull sprang forward, and i was enabled, by a dexterous thrust, to plant the knife between his ribs. it entered his heart, and the next moment i saw him rolling over, and kicking the crimsoned snow around him in the struggles of death. "i had scarcely completed my victory, when a loud whoop sounded in my ears, and looking up, i saw my friend making towards me across the open ground. he had completed his chase, having killed all three, cut them up, and hung their meat upon the trees, to be sent for on our return to the house. "by his aid the bull was disposed of in a similar manner; and being now satisfied with our day's sport--though my friend very much regretted the loss of his fine dog--we commenced shuffling homeward." chapter twenty nine. the prairie-wolf and wolf-killer. after crossing the marais de cygnes river the country became much more open. there was a mixture of timber and prairie-land--the latter, however, constantly gaining the ascendancy as we advanced farther west. the openings became larger, until they assumed the appearance of vast meadows, inclosed by groves, that at a distance resembled great hedges. now and then there were copses that stood apart from the larger tracts of forests, looking like islands upon the surface of a green sea, and by the name of "islands" these detached groves are known among the hunters and other denizens of prairie-land. sometimes the surface was undulating or, as it is there termed, "rolling," and our road was varied, ascending or descending, as we crossed the gentle declivities. the timber through which we had up to this time been passing consisted of ash, burr oak, black walnut, chestnut oak, buck eye, the american elm, hickory, hackberry, sumach, and, in low moist places, the sycamore, and long-leaved willow. these trees, with many others, form the principal growth of the large forests, upon the banks of the mississippi, both cast and west. as we advanced westward, besancon called our attention to the fact, that all these kinds of timber, one by one, disappeared from the landscape, and in their place a single species alone made up the larger growth of the forest. this was the celebrated "cotton-wood," a species of poplar (_populus angulatus_). i say celebrated, because, being almost the only tree of large size which is found throughout the region of the great plains, it is well-known to all hunters and prairie travellers, who regard it with a peculiar veneration. a grove of cotton-wood is always a glad sight to those who traverse the limitless levels of the prairie. it promises shelter from the wind or sun, wood for the camp-fire, and, above all, water to slake the thirst. as the ocean mariner regards the sight of the welcome port, with similar feelings of joy the mariner of the "prairie-sea" beholds, over the broad waste, the silvery foliage of the cotton-wood grove, regarding it as his temporary home--his place of rest and refuge. after travelling through hundreds of small prairies, separated from each other by groves of cotton-wood, we arrived at a high point on the waters of the "little osage," another tributary of the larger river of that name. as yet we had met with no traces of the buffalo, and were beginning to doubt the correctness of the information we had received at saint louis, when we fell in with a band of kansas indians--a friendly tribe--who received us in the most courteous manner. from them we learned that the buffalo had been upon the little osage at an earlier period in that same year, but that harassed and decimated by their own hunters, they had roamed much farther west, and were now supposed to be on the other side of the "neosho," or grand river--a northern tributary of the arkansas. this was anything but pleasant news. we should have at least another hundred miles to travel before coming up with our game; but there was no thought of going back, until we had done so. no. one and all declared that rather than give up the object of our expedition, we would travel on to the rocky mountains themselves, risking the chances of being scalped by hostile indians. there was a good deal of bravado in this, it is true; but we were fully determined that we would not go back without our buffalo-hunt. thanking our kansas friends for their courtesy, we parted from them, and headed westward for the neosho. as we proceeded, timber became scarce, until at length it was found only on the banks of streams widely distant from each other. sometimes not a tree was in sight for the whole day's journey. we were now fairly on the prairies. we crossed the neosho at length--still no buffalo. we kept on, and crossed several other large streams, all flowing south-eastwardly to the arkansas. still no buffalo. we began to yearn exceedingly for a sight of the great game. the few deer that were killed from time to time offered us but poor sport, and their meat was not sufficient for our supply. of bacon we were heartily tired, and we longed for fresh buffalo-beef. the praises lavished by our guides upon the delicacy of this viand-- their talk over the camp-fire, about "fat cow" and "_boudins_" and "hump-ribs," quite tantalised our palates, and we were all eager to try our teeth upon these vaunted tit-bits. no buffalo appeared yet, and we were forced to chew our bacon, as well as our impatience, for several days longer. a great change now took place in the appearance of the country. the timber became still more scarce, and the soil drier and more sandy. species of cactus (_opuntia_) appeared along the route, with several other plants new to the eyes of most of us, and which to those of besancon were objects of extreme interest. but that which most gratified us was the appearance of a new herbage, different entirely from what we had been passing over, and this was hailed by our guides with exclamations of joy. it was the celebrated "buffalo grass." the trappers declared we should not have much farther to go until we found the buffaloes themselves, for, wherever this grass existed in plenty, the buffalo, unless driven off by hunting, were sure to be found. the buffalo grass is a short grass, not more than a few inches in height, with crooked and pointed culms, often throwing out suckers that root again, and produce other leaves and culms, and in this way form a tolerably thick sward. when in flower or seed, it is headed by numerous spikes of half an inch in length, and on these the spikelets are regular and two rowed. it is a species of _sesleria_ (_sesleria dactyloides_), but besancon informed us that it possesses characters that cause it to differ from the genus, and to resemble the _chondrosium_. the buffalo grass is not to be confounded with, another celebrated grass of the texan and north mexican prairies, the "gramma" of the spaniards. this last is a true chondrosium, and there are several species of it. the _chondrosium foeneum_ is one of the finest fodders in the world for the food of cattle, almost equal to unthrashed oats. the buffalo grass forms the favourite and principal fodder of the buffaloes whenever it is in season, and these animals roam over the prairies in search of it. of course with this knowledge we were now on the _qui vive_. at every new rise that we made over the swells of the prairie our eyes were busy, and swept the surface on every side of us, and in the course of a few days we encountered several false alarms. there is an hallucination peculiar to the clear atmosphere of these regions. objects are not only magnified, but frequently distorted in their outlines, and it is only an old hunter that knows a buffalo when he sees one. brothers a bush is often taken for a wild bull, and with us a brace of carrion crows, seated upon the crest of a ridge, were actually thought to be buffaloes, until they suddenly took wing and rose into the air, thus dispelling the illusion! long before this time we had encountered that well-known animal of the great plains--the "prairie-wolf,"--(_lupus latrans_). the prairie-wolf inhabits the vast and still unpeopled territories that lie between the mississippi river and the shores of the pacific ocean. its range extends beyond what is strictly termed "the prairies." it is found in the wooded and mountainous ravines of california and the rocky mountain districts. it is common throughout the whole of mexico, where it is known as the "coyote." i have seen numbers of this species on the battle-field, tearing at corpses, as far south as the valley of mexico itself. its name of prairie-wolf is, therefore, in some respects inappropriate, the more so as the larger wolves are also inhabitants of the prairie. no doubt this name was given it, because the animal was first observed in the prairie country west of the mississippi by the early explorers of that region. in the wooded countries east of the great river, the common large wolf only is known. whatever doubt there may be of the many varieties of the large wolf being distinct species, there can be none with regard to the _lupus latrans_. it differs from all the others in size, and in many of its habits. perhaps it more nearly resembles the jackal than any other animal. it is the new world representative of that celebrated creature. in size, it is just midway between the large wolf and fox. with much of the appearance of the former, it combines all the sagacity of the latter. it is usually of a greyish colour, lighter or darker, according to circumstances, and often with a tinge of cinnamon or brown. as regards its cunning, the fox is "but a fool to it." it cannot be trapped. some experiments made for the purpose, show results that throw the theory of instinct quite into the background. it has been known to burrow under a "dead fall," and drag off the bait without springing the trap. the steel-trap it avoids, no matter how concealed; and the cage-trap has been found "no go." farther illustrations of the cunning of the prairie-wolf might be found in its mode of decoying within reach the antelopes and other creatures on which it preys. of course this species is as much fox as wolf, for in reality a small wolf is a fox, and a large fox is a wolf. to the traveller and trapper of the prairie regions, it is a pest. it robs the former of his provisions--often stealing them out of his very tent; it unbaits the traps of the latter, or devours the game already secured in them. it is a constant attendant upon the caravans or travelling-parties that cross prairie-land. a pack of prairie-wolves will follow such a party for hundreds of miles, in order to secure the refuse left at the camps. they usually he down upon the prairie, just out of range of the rifles of the travellers; yet they do not observe this rule always, as they know there is not much danger of being molested. hunters rarely shoot them, not deeming their hides worth having, and not caring to waste a charge upon them. they are more cautious when following a caravan of california emigrants, where there are plenty of "greenhorns" and amateur-hunters ready to fire at anything. prairie-wolves are also constant attendants upon the "gangs" of buffalo. they follow these for hundreds of miles--in fact, the outskirts of the buffalo herd are, for the time being, their home. they he down on the prairie at a short distance from the buffaloes, and wait and watch, in hopes that some of these animals may get disabled or separated from the rest, or with the expectation that a cow with her new-dropped calf may fall into the rear. in such cases, the pack gather round the unfortunate individual, and worry it to death. a wounded or superannuated bull sometimes "falls out," and is attacked. in this case the fight is more desperate, and the bull is sadly mutilated before he can be brought to the ground. several wolves, too, are laid _hors de combat_ during the struggle. the prairie traveller may often look around him without seeing a single wolf; but let him fire off his gun, and, as if by magic, a score of them will suddenly appear. they start from their hiding-places, and rush forward in hopes of sharing in the produce of the shot. at night, they enliven the prairie-camp with their dismal howling, although most travellers would gladly dispense with such music. their note is a bark like that of a terrier-dog repeated three times, and then prolonged into a true wolf's howl. i have heard farm-house dogs utter a very similar bark. from this peculiarity, some naturalists prefer calling them the "barking wolf," and that (_lupus latrans_) is the specific appellation given by say, who first described them. prairie-wolves have all the ferocity of their race, but no creature could be more cowardly. of course no one fears them under ordinary circumstances, but they have been known to make a combined attack upon persons disabled, and in severe weather, when they themselves were rendered unusually savage by hunger, as already stated. but they are not regarded with fear either by traveller or hunter; and the latter disdains to waste his charge upon such worthless game. our guide, ike, was an exception to this rule. he was the only one of his sort that shot prairie-wolves, and he did so "on sight." i believe if it had been the last bullet in his pouch, and an opportunity had offered of sending it into a prairie-wolf, he would have despatched the leaden missile. we asked him how many he had killed in his time. he drew a small notched stick from his "possible sack," and desired us to count the notches upon it. we did so. there were one hundred and forty-five in all. "you have killed one hundred and forty-five, then?" cried we, astonished at the number. "yes, i'deed," replied he, with a quiet chuckle, "that many dozen; for every 'un of them nutches count twelve. i only make a nutch when i've throwed the clur dozen." "a hundred and forty-five dozen!" we repeated in astonishment; and yet i have no doubt of the truth of the trapper's statement, for he had no interest in deceiving us. i am satisfied from what i knew of him, that he had slain the full number stated--one thousand seven hundred and forty! of course we became curious to learn the cause of his antipathy to the prairie-wolves; for we knew he had an antipathy, and it was that that had induced him to commit such wholesale havoc among these creatures. it was from this circumstance he had obtained the soubriquet of "wolf-killer." by careful management, we at last got him upon the edge of the stray, and quietly pushed him into it. he gave it to us as follows:-- "wal, strengers, about ten winters agone, i wur travellin' from bent's fort on the arkensaw, to 'laramie on the platte, all alone by myself. i had undertuk the journey on some business for bill bent--no matter now what. "i had crossed the divide, and got within sight o' the black hills, when one night i had to camp out on the open parairy, without either bush or stone to shelter me. "that wur, perhaps, the coldest night this nigger remembers; thur wur a wind kim down from the mountains that wud a froze the bar off an iron dog. i gathered my blanket around me, but that wind whistled through it as if it had been a rail-fence. "'twan't no use lyin' down, for i couldn't a slep, so i sot up. "you may ask why i hadn't a fire? i'll tell you why. fust, thur wan't a stick o' timber within ten mile o' me; and, secondly, if thur had been i dasen't a made a fire. i wur travellin' as bad a bit o' injun ground as could been found in all the country, and i'd seen injun sign two or three times that same day. it's true thur wur a good grist o' buffler-chips about, tol'ably dry, and i mout have made some sort o' a fire out o' that; an' at last i did make a fire arter a fashion. i did it this a way. "seeing that with the cussed cold i wan't agoin' to get a wink o' sleep, i gathered a wheen o' the buffler-chips. i then dug a hole in the ground with my bowie, an' hard pickin' that wur; but i got through the crust at last, and made a sort o' oven about a fut, or a fut and a half deep. at the bottom i laid some dry grass and dead branches o' sage plant, and then settin' it afire, i piled the buffler-chips on top. the thing burnt tol'able well, but the smoke o' the buffler-dung would a-choked a skunk. "as soon as it had got fairly under way, i hunkered, an' sot down over the hole, in sich a position as to catch all the heat under my blanket, an' then i was comf'table enough. of coorse no injun kud see the smoke arter night, an it would a tuk sharp eyes to have sighted the fire, i reckon. "wal, strengers, the critter i rode wur a young mustang colt, about half-broke. i had bought him from a mexikin at bent's only the week afore, and it wur his fust journey, leastwise with me. of coorse i had him on the lariat; but up to this time i had kept the eend o' the rope in my hand, because i had that same day lost my picket pin; an' thinkin' as i wan't agoin' to sleep, i mout as well hold on to it. "by 'm by, however, i begun to feel drowsy. the fire 'atween my legs promised to keep me from freezin', an' i thort i mout as well take a nap. so i tied the lariat round my ankles, sunk my head atween my knees, an' in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail i wur sound. i jest noticed as i wur goin' off, that the mustang wur out some yards, nibbling away at the dry grass o' the parairy. "i guess i must a slep about an hour, or tharabouts--i won't be sartint how long. i only know that i didn't wake o' my own accord. i wur awoke; an' when i did awoke, i still thort i wur a-dreamin'. it would a been a rough dream; but unfort'nately for me, it wan't a dream, but a jenwine reality. "at fust, i cudn't make out what wur the matter wi' me, no how; an' then i thort i wur in the hands o' the injuns, who were draggin' me over the parairy; an' sure enough i wur a draggin' that a way, though not by injuns. once or twice i lay still for jest a second or two, an' then away i went agin, trailin' and bumpin' over the ground, as if i had been tied to the tail o' a gallopin' hoss. all the while there wur a yellin' in my ears as if all the cats an' dogs of creation were arter me. "wal, it wur some time afore i compre'nded what all this rough usage meant. i did at last. the pull upon my ankles gave me the idea. it wur the lariat that wur round them. my mustang had stampedoed, and wur draggin' me at full gallop acrosst the parairy! "the barkin', an' howlin', an' yelpin' i heerd, wur a pack o' parairy-wolves. half-famished, they had attacked the mustang, and started him. "all this kim into my mind at once. you'll say it wur easy to lay hold on the rope, an' stop the hoss. so it mout appear; but i kin tell you that it ain't so easy a thing. it wan't so to me. my ankles wur in a noose, an' wur drawed clost together. of coorse, while i wur movin' along, i couldn't get to my feet; an' whenever the mustang kim to a halt, an' i had half gathered myself, afore i laid reach the rope, away went the critter agin, flingin' me to the ground at full length. another thing hindered me. afore goin' to sleep, i had put my blanket on mexikin-fashion--that is, wi' my head through a slit in the centre-- an' as the drag begun, the blanket flopped about my face, an' half-smothered me. prehaps, however, an' i thort so arterwurd, that blanket saved me many a scratch, although it bamfoozled me a good bit. "i got the blanket off at last, arter i had made about a mile, i reckon, and then for the fust time i could see about me. such a sight! the moon wur up, an' i kud see that the ground wur white with snow. it had snowed while i wur asleep; but that wan't the sight--the sight war, that clost up an' around me the hul parairy wur kivered with wolves--cussed parairy-wolves! i kud see their long tongues lollin' out, an' the smoke steamin' from their open mouths. "bein' now no longer hampered by the blanket, i made the best use i could o' my arms. twice i got hold o' the lariat, but afore i kud set myself to pull up the runnin' hoss, it wur jerked out o' my hand agin. "somehow or other, i had got clutch o' my bowie, and at the next opportunity i made a cut at the rope, and heerd the clean `snig' o' the knife. arter that i lay quiet on the parairy, an' i b'lieve i kinder sort o' fainted. "'twan't a long faint no how; for when i got over it, i kud see the mustang about a half a mile off, still runnin' as fast as his legs could carry him, an' most of the wolves howlin' arter him. a few of these critters had gathered about me, but gettin' to my feet, i made a dash among them wi' the shinin' bowie, an' sent them every which way, i reckon. "i watched the mustang until he wur clur out o' sight, an' then i wur puzzled what to do. fust, i went back for my blanket, which i soon rekivered, an' then i follered the back track to get my gun an' other traps whur i had camped. the trail wur easy, on account o' the snow, an' i kud see whur i had slipped through it all the way. "having got my possibles, i then tuk arter the mustang, and follered for at least ten miles on his tracks, but i never see'd that, mustang agin. whether the wolves hunted him down or not, i can't say, nor i don't care if they did, the scarey brute! i see'd their feet all the way arter him in the snow, and i know'd it wur no use follering further. it wur plain i wur put down on the parairy, so i bundled my possibles, and turned head for laramies afoot. i had a three days' walk o' it, and prehaps i didn't cuss a few! "i wur right bad used. thur wan't a bone in my body that didn't ache, as if i had been passed through a sugar-mill; and my clothes and skin were torn consid'ably. it mout a been wuss but for the blanket an' the sprinkle o' snow that made the ground a leetle slickerer. "howsomever, i got safe to the fort, whur i wur soon rigged out in a fresh suit o' buckskin an' a hoss. "but i never arterward see'd a parairy-wolf within range o' my rifle, that i didn't let it into him, an' as you see, i've throwed a good wheen in their tracks since then. wagh! hain't i, mark?" chapter thirty. hunting the tapir. at one of our prairie-camps our english comrade furnished us with the following account of that strange creature, the tapir. "no one who has turned over the pages of a picture-book of mammalia will be likely to forget the odd-looking animal known as the tapir. its long proboscis-like snout, its stiff-maned neck, and clumsy hog-like body, render the _tout ensemble_ of this creature so peculiar, that there is no mistaking it for any other animal. "when full-grown, the tapir, or anta, as it is sometimes called, is six feet in length by four in height--its weight being nearly equal to that of a small bullock. its teeth resemble those of the horse; but instead of hoofs, its feet are toed--the fore ones having four toes, while the hind-feet have only three each. the eyes are small and lateral, while the ears are large and pointed. the skin is thick, somewhat like that of the hippopotamus, with a very thin scattering of silky hairs over it; but along the ridge of the neck, and upon the short tail, the hairs are longer and more profuse. the upper jaw protrudes far beyond the extremity of the under one. it is, moreover, highly prehensile, and enables the tapir to seize the roots upon which it feeds with greater ease. in fact, it plays the part of the elephant's proboscis to a limited degree. "although the largest quadruped indigenous to south america, the tapir is not very well-known to naturalists. its haunts are far beyond the borders of civilisation. it is, moreover, a shy and solitary creature, and its active life is mostly nocturnal; hence no great opportunity is offered for observing its habits. the chapter of its natural history is therefore a short one. "the tapir is an inhabitant of the tropical countries of america, dwelling near the banks of rivers and marshy lagoons. it is the american representative of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, or, more properly, of the _maiba_, or indian tapir (_tapirus indicus_) of sumatra, which has but lately become known to naturalists. the latter, in fact, is a near congener, and very much, resembles the tapir of south america. "the tapir is amphibious--that is, it frequents the water, can swim and dive well, and generally seeks its food in the water or the soft marshy sedge; but when in repose, it is a land animal, making its haunt in thick coverts of the woods, and selecting a dry spot for its lair. here it will remain couched and asleep during the greater part of the day. at nightfall, it steals forth, and following an old and well-used path, it approaches the bank of some river, and plunging in, swims off in search of its food--the roots and stems of several species of water-plants. in this business it occupies most of the hours of darkness; but at daybreak, it swims back to the place where it entered the water, and going out, takes the `backtrack' to its lair, where it sleeps until sunset again warns it forth. "sometimes during rain, it leaves its den even at midday. on such occasions, it proceeds to the river or the adjacent swamp, where it delights to wallow in the mud, after the manner of hogs, and often for hours together. unlike the hog, however, the tapir is a cleanly animal. after wallowing, it never returns to its den until it has first plunged into the clear water, and washed the mud thoroughly from its skin. "it usually travels at a trot, but when hard pressed it can gallop. its gallop is peculiar. the fore-legs are thrown far in advance, and the head is carried between them in a very awkward manner, somewhat after the fashion of a frolicsome donkey. "the tapir is strictly a vegetable feeder. it lives upon flags and roots of aquatic plants. several kinds of fruits, and young succulent branches of trees, form a portion of its food. "it is a shy, timid animal, without any malice in its character; and although possessed of great strength, never uses it except for defence, and then only in endeavours to escape. it frequently suffers itself to be killed without making any defence, although with its great strength and well-furnished jaws it might do serious hurt to an enemy. "the hunt of the tapir is one of the amusements, or rather employments, of the south-american indians. not that the flesh of this animal is so eagerly desired by them: on the contrary, it is dry, and has a disagreeable taste, and there are some tribes who will not eat of it, preferring the flesh of monkeys, macaws, and the armadillo. but the part most prized is the thick, tough skin, which is employed by the indians in making shields, sandals, and various other articles. this is the more valuable in a country where the thick-skinned and leather-yielding mammalia are almost unknown. "slaying the tapir is no easy matter. the creature is shy; and, having the advantage of the watery clement, is often enabled to dive beyond the reach of pursuit, and thus escape by concealing itself. among most of the native tribes of south america, the young hunter who has killed a tapir is looked upon as having achieved something to be proud of. "the tapir is hunted by bow and arrow, or by the gun. sometimes the `gravatana,' or blow-tube, is employed, with its poisoned darts. in any case, the hunter either lies in wait for his prey, or with a pack of dogs drives it out of the underwood, and takes the chances of a `flying shot.' "when the trail of a tapir has been discovered, its capture becomes easy. it is well-known to the hunter that this animal, when proceeding from its lair to the water and returning, always follows its old track until a beaten-path is made, which is easily discernible. "this path often betrays the tapir, and leads to its destruction. "sometimes the hunter accomplishes this by means of a pitfall, covered with branches and palm-leaves; at other times, he places himself in ambuscade, either before twilight or in the early morning, and shoots the unsuspecting animal as it approaches on its daily round. "sometimes, when the whereabouts of a tapir has been discovered, a whole tribe sally out, and take part in the hunt. such a hunt i myself witnessed on one of the tributaries of the amazon. "in the year --, i paid a visit to the jurunas up the xingu. their _malaccas_ (palm-hut villages) lie beyond the falls of that river. although classed as `wild indians,' the jurunas are a mild race, friendly to the traders, and collect during a season considerable quantities of _seringa_ (indian-rubber), sarsaparilla, as well as rare birds, monkeys, and brazil-nuts--the objects of portuguese trade. "i was about to start back for para, when nothing would serve the _tuxava_, or chief of one of the maloccas, but that i should stay a day or two at his village, and take part in some festivities. he promised a tapir-hunt. "as i knew that among the jurunas were some skilled hunters, and as i was curious to witness an affair of this kind, i consented. the hunt was to come off on the second day of my stay. "the morning arrived, and the hunters assembled, to the number of forty or fifty, in an open space by the malocca; and having got their arms and equipments in readiness, all repaired to the _praya_, or narrow beach of sand, which separated the river from the thick underwood of the forest. here some twenty or thirty _ubas_ (canoes hollowed out of tree-trunks) floated on the water, ready to receive the hunters. they were of different sizes; some capable of containing half a dozen, while others were meant to carry only a single person. "in a few minutes the ubas were freighted with their living cargoes, consisting not only of the hunters, but of most of the women and boys of the malocca, with a score or two of dogs. "these dogs were curious creatures to look at. a stranger, ignorant of the customs of the jurunas, would have been at some loss to account for the peculiarity of their colour. such dogs i had never seen before. some were of a bright scarlet, others were yellow, others blue, and some mottled with a variety of tints! "what could it mean? but i knew well enough. _the dogs were dyed_! "yes, it is the custom among many tribes of south-american indians to dye not only their own bodies, but the hairy coat of their dogs, with brilliant colours obtained from vegetable juices, such as the huitoc, the yellow raucau (_annato_), and the blue of the wild indigo. the light grey, often white, hair of these animals favours the staining process; and the effect produced pleases the eye of their savage masters. "on my eye the effect was strange and fantastical. i could not restrain my laughter when i first scanned these curs in their fanciful coats. picture to yourself a pack of scarlet, and orange, and purple dogs! "well, we were soon in the ubas, and paddling up-stream. the tuxava and i occupied a canoe to ourselves. his only arms were a light fusil, which i had given him as a present. it was a good piece, and he was proud of it. this was to be its first trial. i had a rifle for my own weapon. the rest were armed variously: some had guns, others the native bow and arrows; some carried the gravatana, with arrows dipped in curari poison; some had nothing but machetes, or cutlasses--for clearing the underwood, in case the game had to be driven from the thickets. "there was a part of the river, some two or three miles above the malocca, where the channel was wider than elsewhere--several miles in breadth at this place. here it was studded with islands, known to be a favourite resort of the tapirs. this was to be the scene of our hunt. "we approached the place in about an hour; but on the way i could not help being struck with the picturesqueness of our party. no `meet' in the hunting-field of civilised countries could have equalled us in that respect. the ubas, strung out in a long irregular line, sprang up-stream in obedience to the vigorous strokes of the rowers, and these sang in a sort of irregular concert as they plied their paddles. the songs were improvised: they told the feats of the hunters already performed, and promised others yet to be done. i could hear the word `tapira' (tapir), often repeated. the women lent their shrill voices to the chorus; and now and then interrupted the song with peals of merry laughter. the strange-looking flotilla--the bronzed bodies of the indians, more than half nude--their waving black hair--their blue-head belts and red cotton armlets--the bright _tangas_ (aprons) of the women--their massive necklaces--the macaw feathers adorning the heads of the hunters--their odd arms and equipments--all combined to form a picture which, even to me, accustomed to such sights, was full of interest. "at length we arrived among the islands, and then the noises ceased. the canoes were paddled as slowly and silently as possible. "i now began to understand the plan of the hunt. it was first to discover an island upon which a tapir was supposed to be, and then encompass it with the hunters in their canoes, while a party landed with the dogs, to arouse the game and drive it toward the water. "this plan promised fair sport. "the canoes now separated; and in a short while each of them were seen coursing quietly along the edge of some islet, one of its occupants leaning inward, and scrutinising the narrow belt of sand that bordered the water. "in some places no such sand-belt appeared. the trees hung over, their branches even dipping into the current, and forming a roofed and dark passage underneath. in such places a tapir could have hidden himself from the sharpest-eyed hunters, and herein lies the chief difficulty of this kind of hunt. "it was not long before a low whistle was heard from one of the ubas, a sign for the others to come up. the traces of a tapir had been discovered. "the chief, with a stroke or two of his palm-wood paddle, brought our canoe to the spot. "there, sure enough, was the sign--the tracks of a tapir in the sand-- leading to a hole in the thick underwood, where a beaten-path appeared to continue onward into the interior of the island, perhaps to the tapir-den. the tracks were fresh--had been made that morning in the wet sand--no doubt the creature was in its lair. "the island was a small one, with some five or six acres of surface. the canoes shot off in different directions, and in a few minutes were deployed all around it. at a given signal, several hunters leaped ashore, followed by their bright-coloured assistants--the dogs; and then the chopping of branches, the shouts of the men, and the yelping of their canine companions, were all heard mingling together. "the island was densely wooded. the _uaussu_ and _piriti_ palms grew so thickly, that their crowned heads touched each other, forming a close roof. above these, rose the taller summits of the great forest trees, _cedrelas, zamangs_, and the beautiful long-leaved silk-cotton (_bombax_); but beneath, a perfect net-work of sipos or creepers and llianas choked up the path, and the hunters had to clear every step of the way with their machetes. even the dogs, with all their eagerness, could make only a slow and tortuous advance among the thorny vines of the smilax, and the sharp spines that covered the trunks of the palms. "in the circle of canoes that surrounded the island, there was perfect silence; each had a spot to guard, and each hunter sat, with arms ready, and eyes keenly fixed on the foliage of the underwood opposite his station. "the uba of the chief had remained to watch the path where the tracks of the tapir had been observed. we both sat with guns cocked and ready; the dogs and hunters were distinctly heard in the bushes approaching the centre of the islet. the former gave tongue at intervals, but their yelping grew louder, and was uttered with a fiercer accent. several of them barked at once, and a rushing was heard towards the water. "it came in our direction, but not right for us; still the game was likely to issue at a point within range of our guns. a stroke of the paddle brought us into a better position. at the same time several other canoes were seen shooting forward to the spot. "the underwood crackled and shook; reddish forms appeared among the leaves; and the next moment a dozen animals, resembling a flock of hogs, tumbled out from the thicket, and flung themselves with a splashing into the water. "`no--tapir no--capivara,' cried the chief; but his voice was drowned by the reports of guns and the twanging of bowstrings. half a dozen of the capivaras were observed to fall on the sandy margin, while the rest plunged forward, and, diving beyond the reach of pursuit, were seen no more. "this was a splendid beginning of the day's sport; for half a dozen at a single volley was no mean game, even among indians. "but the nobler beast, the tapir, occupied all our thoughts; and leaving the capivaras to be gathered in by the women, the hunters got back to their posts in a few seconds. "there was no doubt that a tapir would be roused. the island had all the appearance of being the haunt of one or more of these creatures, besides the tracks were evidence of their recent presence upon the spot. the beating, therefore, proceeded as lively as ever, and the hunters and dogs now penetrated to the centre of the thicket. "again the quick angry yelping of the latter fell upon the ear; and again the thick cover rustled and shook. "`this time the tapir,' said the chief to me in an undertone, adding the next moment in a louder voice, `look yonder!' "i looked in the direction pointed out. i could perceive something in motion among the leaves--a dark brown body, smooth and rounded, the body of a tapir! "i caught only a glimpse of it, as it sprang forward into the opening. it was coming at full gallop, with its head carried between its knees. the dogs were close after, and it looked not before it, but dashed out and ran towards us as though blind. "it made for the water, just a few feet from the bow of our canoe. the chief and i fired at the same time. i thought my bullet took effect, and so thought the chief did his; but the tapir, seeming not to heed the shots, plunged into the stream, and went under. "the next moment the whole string of dyed dogs came sweeping out of the thicket, and leaped forward to where the game had disappeared. "there was blood upon the water. the tapir is hit, then, thought i; and was about to point out the blood to the chief, when on turning i saw the latter poising himself knife in hand, near the stern of the canoe. he was about to spring out of it. his eye was fixed on some object under the water. "i looked in the same direction. the waters of the xingu are as clear as crystal: against the sandy bottom, i could trace the dark brown body of the tapir. it was making for the deeper channel of the river, but evidently dragging itself along with difficulty. one of its legs was disabled by our shots. "i had scarcely time to get a good view of it before the chief sprang into the air, and dropped head foremost into the water. i could see a struggle going on at the bottom--turbid water came to the surface--and then up came the dark head of the savage chief. "`ugh!' cried he, as he shook the water from his thick tresses, and beckoned me to assist him--`ugh! senhor, you eat roast tapir for dinner. si--bueno--here tapir.' "i pulled him into the boat, and afterwards assisted to haul up the huge body of the slain tapir. "as was now seen, both our shots had taken effect; but it was the rifle-bullet that had broken the creature's leg, and the generous savage acknowledged that he would have had but little chance of overtaking the game under water, had it not been previously crippled. "the hunt of the day proved a very successful one. two more tapirs were killed; several capivaras; and a paca--which is an animal much prized by the indians for its flesh, as well as the teeth--used by them in making their blow-guns. we also obtained a pair of the small peccaries, several macaws, and no less than a whole troop of guariba monkeys. we returned to the malocca with a game-bag as various as it was full, and a grand dance of the juruna women wound up the amusements of the day." chapter thirty one. the buffaloes at last. the long looked for day at length arrived when the game were to be met with, and i had myself the "distinguished honour" of being the first not only to see the great buffalo, but to throw a couple of them "in their tracks." this incident, however, was not without an "adventure," and one that was neither very pleasant nor without peril. during several late days of our journey we had been in the habit of straggling a good deal in search of game--deer if we could find it, but more especially in hopes of falling in with the buffalo. sometimes we went in twos or threes, but as often one of the party rode off alone to hunt wherever his inclination guided him. sometimes these solitary expeditions took place while the party was on the march, but oftener during the hours after we had pitched our night-camp. one evening, after we had camped as usual, and my brave horse had eaten his "bite" of corn, i leaped into the saddle and rode off in hopes of finding something fresh for supper. the prairie where we had halted was a "rolling" one, and as the camp had been fixed on a small stream, between two great swells, it was not visible at any great distance. as soon, therefore, as i had crossed one of the ridges, i was out of sight of my companions. trusting to the sky for my direction, i continued on. after riding about a mile, i came upon buffalo "sign," consisting of several circular holes in the ground, five or six feet in diameter, known as buffalo wallows i saw at a glance that the sign was fresh. there were several wallows; and i could tell by the tracks, in the dusk, there had been bulls in that quarter. so i continued on in hopes of getting a sight of the animals that had been wallowing. shortly after, i came to a place where the ground was ploughed up, as if a drove of hogs had been rooting it. here there had been a terrible fight among the bulls--it was the rutting season, when such conflicts occur. this augured well. perhaps they are still in the neighbourhood, reasoned i, as i gave the spur to my horse, and galloped forward with more spirit. i had ridden full five miles from camp, when my attention was attracted by an odd noise ahead of me. there was a ridge in front that prevented me from seeing what produced the noise; but i knew what it was--it was the bellowing of a buffalo-bull. at intervals, there were quick shocks, as of two hard substances coming in violent contact with each other. i mounted the ridge with caution, and looked over its crest. there was a valley beyond; a cloud of dust was rising out of its bottom, and in the midst of this i could distinguish two huge forms--dark and hirsute. i saw at once that they were a pair of buffalo-bulls engaged in a fierce fight. they were alone; there were no others in sight, either in the valley or on the prairie beyond. i did not halt longer than to see that the cap was on my rifle, and to cock the piece. occupied as the animals were, i did not imagine they would heed me: or, if they should attempt flight, i knew i could easily overtake one or other; so, without farther hesitation or precaution, i rode towards them. contrary to my expectation, they both "winded" me, and started off. the wind was blowing freshly towards them, and the sun had thrown my shadow between them, so as to draw their attention. they did not run, however, as if badly scared; on the contrary, they went off, apparently indignant at being disturbed in their fight; and every now and then both came round with short turnings, snorted, and struck the prairie with their hoofs in a violent and angry manner. once or twice, i fancied they were going to charge upon me; and had i been otherwise than well mounted, i should have been very chary of risking such an encounter. a more formidable pair of antagonists, as far as appearance went, could not have been well conceived. their huge size, their shaggy fronts, and fierce glaring eyeballs, gave them a wild and malicious seeming, which was heightened by their bellowing, and the threatening attitudes in which they continually placed themselves. feeling quite safe in my saddle, i galloped up to the nearest, and sent my bullet into his ribs. it did the work. he fell to his knees--rose again--spread out his legs, as if to prevent a second fall--rocked from side to side like a cradle--again came to his knees; and after remaining in this position for some minutes, with the blood running from his nostrils, rolled quietly over on his shoulder, and lay dead. i had watched these manoeuvres with interest, and permitted the second bull to make his escape; a side-glance had shown me the latter disappearing over the crest of the swell. i did not care to follow him, as my horse was somewhat jaded, and i knew it would cost me a sharp gallop to come up with him again; so i thought no more of him at that time, but alighted, and prepared to deal with the one already slain. there stood a solitary tree near the spot--it was a stunted cotton-wood. there were others upon the prairie, but they were distant; this one was not twenty yards from the carcass. i led my horse up to it, and taking the trail-rope from the horn of the saddle, made one end fast to the bit-ring, and the other to the tree. i then went back, drew my knife, and proceeded to cut up the buffalo. i had hardly whetted my blade, when a noise from behind caused me to leap to an upright attitude, and look round; at the first glance, i comprehended the noise. a huge dark object was passing the crest of the ridge, and rushing down the hill towards the spot where i stood. it was the buffalo-bull, the same that had just left me. the sight, at first thought, rather pleased me than otherwise. although i did not want any more meat, i should have the triumph of carrying two tongues instead of one to the camp. i therefore hurriedly sheathed my knife, and laid hold of my rifle, which, according to custom, i had taken the precaution to re-load. i hesitated a moment whether to run to my horse and mount him, or to fire from where i stood. that question, however, was settled by the buffalo. the tree and the horse were to one side of the direction in which he was running, but being attracted by the loud snorting of the horse, which had begun to pitch and plunge violently, and deeming it perhaps a challenge, the buffalo suddenly swerved from his course, and ran full tilt upon the horse. the latter shot out instantly to the full length of the trail-rope--a heavy "pluck" sounded in my ears, and the next instant i saw my horse part from the tree, and scour off over the prairie, as if there had been a thistle under his tail. i had knotted the rope negligently upon the bit-ring, and the knot had "come undone." i was chagrined, but not alarmed as yet. my horse would no doubt follow back his own trail, and at the worst i should only have to walk to the camp. i should have the satisfaction of punishing the buffalo for the trick he had served me; and with this design i turned towards him. i saw that he had not followed the horse, but was again heading himself in my direction. now, for the first time, it occurred to me that i was in something of a scrape. the bull was coming furiously on. should my shot miss, or even should it only wound him, how was i to escape? i knew that he could overtake me in a three minutes' stretch; i knew that well. i had not much time for reflection--not a moment, in fact: the infuriated animal was within ten paces of me. i raised my rifle, aimed at his fore-shoulder, and fired. i saw that i had hit him; but, to my dismay, he neither fell nor stumbled, but continued to charge forward more furiously than ever. to re-load was impossible. my pistols had gone off with my horse and holsters. even to reach the tree was impossible; the bull was between it and me. to make off in the opposite direction was the only thing that held out the prospect of five minutes' safety; i turned and ran. i can run as fast as most men, and upon that occasion i did my best. it would have put "gildersleeve" into a white sweat to have distanced me; but i had not been two minutes at it, when i felt conscious that the buffalo gained upon me, and was almost treading upon my heels! i knew it only by my ears--i dared not spare time to look back. at this moment, an object appeared before me, that promised, one way or another, to interrupt the chase; it was a ditch or gully, that intersected my path at right angles. it was several feet in depth, dry at the bottom, and with perpendicular sides. i was almost upon its edge before i noticed it, but the moment it came under my eye, i saw that it offered the means of a temporary safety at least. if i could only leap this gully, i felt satisfied that the buffalo could not. it was a sharp leap--at least, seventeen feet from cheek to cheek; but i had done more than that in my time; and, without halting in my gait, i ran forward to the edge, and sprang over. i alighted cleverly upon the opposite bank, where i stopped, and turned round to watch my pursuer. i now ascertained how near my end i had been: the bull was already up to the very edge of the gully. had i not made my leap at the instant i did, i should have been by that time dancing upon his horns. he himself had balked at the leap; the deep chasm-like cleft had cowed him. he saw that he could not clear it; and now stood upon the opposite bank with head lowered, and spread nostrils, his tail lashing his brown flanks, while his glaring black eyes expressed the full measure of his baffled rage. i remarked that my shot had taken effect in his shoulder, as the blood trickled from his long hair. i had almost begun to congratulate myself on having escaped, when a hurried glance to the right, and another to the left, cut short my happiness. i saw that on both sides, at a distance of less than fifty paces, the gully shallowed out into the plain, where it ended; at either end it was, of course, passable. the bull observed this almost at the same time as myself; and, suddenly turning away from the brink, he ran along the edge of the chasm, evidently with the intention of turning it. in less than a minute's time we were once more on the same side, and my situation appeared as terrible as ever; but, stepping back for a short run, i re-leaped the chasm, and again we stood on opposite sides. during all these manoeuvres i had held on to my rifle; and, seeing now that i might have time to load it, i commenced feeling for my powder-horn. to my astonishment, i could not lay my hands upon it: i looked down to my breast for the sling--it was not there; belt and bullet-pouch too--all were gone! i remembered lifting them over my head, when i set about cutting the dead bull. they were lying by the carcass. this discovery was a new source of chagrin; but for my negligence, i could now have mastered my antagonist. to reach the ammunition would be impossible; i should be overtaken before i had got half-way to it. i was not allowed much time to indulge in my regrets; the bull had again turned the ditch, and was once more upon the same side with me, and i was compelled to take another leap. i really do not remember how often i sprang backwards and forwards across that chasm; i should think a dozen times at least, and i became wearied with the exercise. the leap was just as much as i could do at my best; and as i was growing weaker at each fresh spring, i became satisfied that i should soon leap short, and crush myself against the steep rocky sides of the chasm. should i fall to the bottom, my pursuer could easily reach me by entering at either end, and i began to dread such a finale. the vengeful brute showed no symptoms of retiring; on the contrary, the numerous disappointments seemed only to render him more determined in his resentment. an idea now suggested itself to my mind, i had looked all round to see if there might not be something that offered a better security. there were trees, but they were too distant: the only one near was that to which my horse had been tied. it was a small one, and, like all of its species (it was a cotton-wood), there were no branches near the root. i knew that i could clamber up it by embracing the trunk, which was not over ten inches in diameter. could i only succeed in reaching it, it would at least shelter me better than the ditch, of which i was getting heartily tired. but the question was, could i reach it before the bull? it was about three hundred yards off. by proper manoeuvring, i should have a start of fifty. even, with that, it would be a "close shave;" and it proved so. i arrived at the tree, however, and sprang up it like a mountebank; but the hot breath of the buffalo steamed after me as i ascended, and the concussion of his heavy skull against the trunk almost shook me back upon his horns. after a severe effort of climbing, i succeeded in lodging myself among the branches. i was now safe from all immediate danger, but how was the affair to end? i knew from the experience of others, that my enemy might stay for hours by the tree--perhaps for days! hours would be enough. i could not stand it long. i already hungered, but a worse appetite began to torture me: thirst. the hot sun, the dust, the violent exercise of the past hour, all contributed to make me thirsty. even then, i would have risked life for a draught of water. what would it come to should i not be relieved? i had but one hope--that my companions would come to my relief; but i knew that that would not be before morning. they would miss me of course. perhaps my horse would return to camp--that would send them out in search for me--but not before night had fallen. in the darkness they could not follow my trail. could they do so in the light? this last question, which i had put to myself, startled me. i was just in a condition to look upon the dark side of everything, and it now occurred to me that they might not be able to find me! there were many possibilities that they might not. there were numerous horse-trails on the prairie, where indians had passed. i saw this when tracking the buffalo. besides, it might rain in the night, and obliterate them all--my own with the rest. they were not likely to find me by chance. a circle of ten miles diameter is a large tract. it was a rolling prairie, as already stated, full of inequalities, ridges with valleys between. the tree upon which i was perched stood in the bottom of one of the valleys--it could not be seen from any point over three hundred yards distant. those searching for me might pass within hail without perceiving either the tree or the valley. i remained for a long time busied with such gloomy thoughts and forebodings. night was coming on, but the fierce and obstinate brute showed no disposition to raise the siege. he remained watchful as ever, walking round and round at intervals, lashing his tail, and uttering that snorting sound so well-known, to the prairie-hunter, and which so much resembles the grunting of hogs when suddenly alarmed. occasionally he would bellow loudly like the common bull. while watching his various manoeuvres, an object on the ground drew my attention--it was the trail-rope left by my horse. one end of it was fastened round the trunk by a firm knot--the other lay far out upon the prairie, where it had been dragged. my attention had been drawn to it by the bull himself, that in crossing over it had noticed it, and now and then pawed it with his hoofs. all at once a bright idea flashed upon me--a sudden hope arose within me--a plan of escape presented itself, so feasible and possible, that i leaped in my perch as the thought struck me. the first step was to get possession of the rope. this was not such an easy matter. the rope was fastened around the tree, but the knot had slipped down the trunk and lay upon the ground. i dared not descend for it. necessity soon suggested a plan. my "picker"--a piece of straight wire with a ring-end--hung from one of my breast buttons. this i took hold of, and bent into the shape of a grappling-hook. i had no cord, but my knife was still sate in its sheath; and, drawing this, i cut several thongs from the skirt or my buckskin shirt, and knotted them together until they formed a string long enough to reach the ground. to one end i attached the picker; and then letting it down, i commenced angling for the rope. after a few transverse drags, the hook caught the latter, and i pulled it up into the tree, taking the whole of it in until i held the loose end in my hands. the other end i permitted to remain as it was; i saw it was securely knotted around the trunk, and that was just what i wanted. it was my intention to lasso the bull; and for this purpose i proceeded to make a running-noose on the end of the trail-rope. this i executed with great care, and with all my skill. i could depend upon the rope; it was raw hide, and a hotter was never twisted; but i knew that if anything should chance to slip at a critical moment, it might cost me my life. with this knowledge, therefore, i spliced the eye, and made the knot as firm as possible, and then the loop was reeved through, and the thing was ready. i could throw a lasso tolerably well, but the branches prevented me from winding it around my head. it was necessary, therefore, to get the animal in a certain position under the tree, which, by shouts and other demonstrations, i at length succeeded in effecting. the moment of success had arrived. he stood almost directly below me. the noose was shot down--i had the gratification to see it settle around his neck; and with a quick jerk i tightened it. the rope ran beautifully through the eye, until both eye and loop were buried beneath the shaggy hair of the animal's neck. it embraced his throat in the right place, and i felt confident it would hold. the moment the bull felt the jerk upon his throat, he dashed madly out from the tree, and then commenced running in circles around it. contrary to my intention, the rope had slipped from my hands at the first drag upon it. my position was rather an unsteady one, for the branches were slender, and i could not manage matters as well as i could have wished. but i now felt confident enough. the bull was tethered, and it only remained for me to get out beyond the length of his tether, and take to my heels. my gun lay on one side, near the tree, where i had dropped it in my race: this, of course, i meant to carry off with me. i waited then until the animal, in one of his circles, had got round to the opposite side, and slipping silently down the trunk, i sprang out, picked up my rifle, and ran. i knew the trail-rope to be about twenty yards in length, but i ran a hundred, at least, before making halt. i had even thoughts of continuing on, as i still could not help some misgivings about the rope. the bull was one of the largest and strongest. the rope might break, the knot upon the tree might give way, or the noose might slip over his head. curiosity, however, or rather a desire to be assured of my safety, prompted me to look around, when, to my joy, i beheld the huge monster stretched upon the plain. i could see the rope as taut as a bow-string; and the tongue protruding from the animal's jaws showed me that he was strangling himself as fast as i could desire. at the sight, the idea of buffalo-tongue for supper returned in all its vigour; and it now occurred to me that i should eat that very tongue, and no other. i immediately turned in my tracks, ran towards my powder and balls-- which, in my eagerness to escape, i had forgotten all about--seized the horn and pouch, poured in a charge, rammed down a bullet, and then stealing nimbly up behind the still struggling bull, i placed the muzzle within three feet of his brisket, and fired. he gave a death-kick or two, and then lay quiet: it was all over with him. i had the tongue from between his teeth in a twinkling; and proceeding to the other bull, i finished the operations i had commenced upon him. i was too tired to think of carrying a very heavy load; so i contented myself with the tongues, and slinging these over the barrel of my rifle, i shouldered it, and set out to grope my way back to camp. the moon had risen, and i had no difficulty in following my own trail; but before i had got half-way, i met several of my companions shouting, and at intervals firing off their guns. my horse had got back a little before sunset. his appearance had, of course, produced alarm, and the camp had turned out in search of me. several who had a relish for fresh meat galloped back to strip the two bulls of the remaining tit-bits; but before midnight all had returned; and to the accompaniment of the hump-ribs spurting in the cheerful blaze, i recounted the details of my adventure. chapter thirty two. the bison. the bison--universally, though improperly, called buffalo--is, perhaps, the most interesting animal in america. its great size and strength-- the prodigious numbers in which it is found--its peculiar _habitat_--the value of its flesh and hide to the traveller, as well as to the many tribes of indians--the mode of its chase and capture--all these circumstances render the buffalo an interesting and highly-prized animal. besides, it is the largest ruminant indigenous to america, exceeding in weight even the moose-deer, which latter, however, equals it in height. with the exception of the musk-ox, it is the only indigenous animal of the bovine tribe, but the latter being confined to a very limited range, near the arctic sea, has been less subject to the observation and attention of the civilised world. the buffalo, therefore, may be regarded as the representative of the ox in america. the appearance of the animal is well-known; pictorial illustration has rendered it familiar to the eyes of every one. the enormous head, with its broad triangular front--the conical hump on the shoulders--the small but brilliantly-piercing eyes--the short black horns, of crescent shape--the profusion of shaggy hair about, the neck and foreparts of the body--the disproportioned bulk of the smaller hind-quarters--the short tail, with its tufted extremity; all these are characteristics. the hind-quarters are covered with a much shorter and smoother coat of hair, which adds to their apparent disproportion, and this, with the long hirsute covering of the breast, neck, hump, and shoulders, gives to the buffalo--especially when seen in a picture--a somewhat lion-like figure. the naked tail, with its tuft at the end, strengthens this similarity. some of the characteristics above enumerated belong only to the bull. the cow is less shaggy in front, has a smaller head, a less fierce appearance, and is altogether more like the common black cattle. the buffalo is of a dark brown colour--sometimes nearly black--and sometimes of a burnt or liver hue; but this change depends on the season. the young coat of hair is darker, but changes as the season advances. in autumn it is nearly black, and then the coat of the animal has a shiny appearance; but as winter comes on, and the hair lengthens, it becomes lighter and more bleached-like. in the early part of summer it has a yellowish brown hue, and at this time, with rubbing and wallowing, part of it has already come off, while large flakes hang raggled and loose from the flanks, ready at any moment to drop off. in size, the american buffalo competes with the european species (_bos aurochs_), now nearly extinct. these animals differ in shape considerably, but the largest individuals of each species would very nearly balance one another in weight. either of them is equal in size and weight to the largest specimens of the common ox--prize oxen, of course, excepted. a full-grown buffalo-bull is six feet high at the shoulders, eight feet from the snout to the base of the tail, and will weigh about pounds. rare individuals exist whose weight much exceeds this. the cows are, of course, much smaller than the bulls, and scarcely come up to the ordinary standard of farm-cattle. the flesh of the buffalo is juicy and delicious, equal, indeed superior, to well-fed beef. it may be regarded as beef with a _game flavour_. many people--travellers and hunters--prefer it to any other species of meat. the flesh of the cow, as may be supposed, is more tender and savoury than that of the bull; and in a hunt when "meat" is the object, the cow is selected as a mark for the arrow or bullet. the parts most esteemed are the tongue, the "hump-ribs" (the long spinous processes of the first dorsal vertebra), and the marrow of the shank bones. "boudins" (part of the intestines) are also favourite "tit-bits" among the indians and trappers. the tongues, when dried, are really superior to those of common beeves, and, indeed, the same may be said of the other parts, but there is a better and worse in buffalo-beef, according to the age and sex of the animal. "fat cow" is a term for the super-excellent, and by "poor bull," or "old bull," is meant a very unpalatable article, only to be eaten by the hunter in times of necessity. the range of the buffalo is extensive, though not as it once was. it is gradually being restricted by hunter-pressure, and the encroachments of civilisation. it now consists of a longitudinal strip, of which the western boundary may be considered the rocky mountains, and the eastern the mississippi river, though it is only near the head waters of the latter that the range of this animal extends so far east. below the mouth of the missouri no buffalo are found near the mississippi, nor within two hundred miles of it--not, in fact, until you have cleared the forests that fringe this stream, and penetrated a good distance into the prairie tract. at one period, however, they roamed as far to the east as the chain of the alleghanies. in texas, the buffalo yet extends its migrations to the head waters of the brazos and colorado, but it is not a mexican animal. following the rocky mountains from the great bend of the rio grande, northward, we find no buffalo west of them until we reach the higher latitudes near the sources of the saskatchewan. there they have crossed the mountains, and are now to be met with in some of the plains that lie on the other side. this, however, is a late migration, occasioned by hunter-pressure upon the eastern slope. the same has been observed at different periods, at other points in the rocky mountain chain, where the buffalo had made a temporary lodgment on the pacific side of the mountains, but where they are now entirely extinct. it is known, from the traditional history of the tribes on the west side, that the buffalo was only a newcomer among them, and was not indigenous to that division of the continent. following the buffaloes north, we find their range co-terminous with the prairies. the latter end in an angle between the peace river and the great slave lake, and beyond this the buffalo does not run. there is a point, however, across an arm of the slave lake where buffalo are found. it is called slave point, and although contiguous to the primitive rocks of the "barren grounds" it is of a similar geology (_stratified_ limestone) with the buffalo prairies to the west. this, to the geologist, is an interesting fact. from the slave lake, a line drawn to the head waters of the mississippi, and passing through lake winnipeg, will shut in the buffalo country along the north-east. they are still found in large bands upon the western shores of winnipeg, on the plains of the saskatchewan and the red river of the north. in fact, buffalo-hunting is one of the chief employments of the inhabitants of that half-indian colony known as the "red river settlements." one of the most singular facts in relation to the buffalo is their enormous numbers. nothing but the vast extent of their pasturage could have sustained such droves as have from time to time been seen. thousands frequently feed together, and the plain for miles is often covered with a continuous drove. sometimes they are seen strung out into a long column, passing from place to place, and roads exist made by them that resemble great highways. sometimes these roads, worn by the rains, form great hollows that traverse the level plain, and they often guide the thirsty traveller in the direction of water. another curious fact about the buffalo is their habit of wallowing. the cause of this is not well-ascertained. it may be that they are prompted to it, as swine are, partly to cool their blood by bringing their bodies in contact with the colder earth, and partly to scratch themselves as other cattle do, and free their skins from the annoying insects and parasites that prey upon them. it must be remembered that in their pasturage no trees or "rubbing posts" are to be found, and in the absence of these they are compelled to resort to wallowing. they fling themselves upon their sides, and using their hunch and shoulder as a pivot, spin round and round for hours at a time. in this rotatory motion they aid themselves by using the legs freely. the earth becomes hollowed out and worn into a circular basin, often of considerable depth, and this is known as a "buffalo wallow." such curious circular concavities are seen throughout the prairies where these animals range; sometimes grown over with grass, sometimes freshly hollowed out, and not unfrequently containing water, with which the traveller assuages his thirst, and so, too, the buffalo themselves. this has led to the fanciful idea of the early explorers that there existed on the american continent an animal who _dug its own wells_! the buffaloes make extensive migrations, going in large "gangs." these are not periodical, and are only partially influenced by climate. they are not regular either in their direction. sometimes the gangs will be seen straying southward, at other times to the north, east, or west. the search of food or water seems partially to regulate these movements, as with the passenger-pigeon, and some other migratory creatures. at such times the buffaloes move forward in an impetuous march which nothing seems to interrupt. ravines are passed, and waterless plains traversed, and rivers crossed without hesitation. in many cases broad streams, with steep or marshy banks, are attempted, and thousands either perish in the waters or become mired in the swamp, and cannot escape, but die the most terrible of deaths. then is the feast of the eagles, the vultures, and the wolves. sometimes, too, the feast of the hunter; for when the indians discover a gang of buffaloes in a difficulty of this kind, the slaughter is immense. hunting the buffalo is, among the indian tribes, a profession rather than a sport. those who practise it in the latter sense are few indeed, as, to enjoy it, it is necessary to do as we had done, make a journey of several hundred miles, and risk our scalps, with no inconsiderable chance of losing them. for these reasons few amateur-hunters ever trouble the buffalo. the true professional hunters--the white trappers and indians--pursue these animals almost incessantly, and thin their numbers with lance, rifle, and arrow. buffalo-hunting is not all sport without peril. the hunter frequently risks his life; and numerous have been the fatal results of encounters with these animals. the bulls, when wounded, cannot be approached, even on horseback, without considerable risk, while a dismounted hunter has but slight chance of escaping. the buffalo runs with a gait apparently heavy and lumbering--first heaving to one side, then to the other, like a ship at sea; but this gait, although not equal in speed to that of a horse, is far too fast for a man on foot, and the swiftest runner, unless favoured by a tree or some other object, will be surely overtaken, and either gored to death by the animal's horns, or pounded to a jelly under its heavy hoofs. instances of the kind are far from being rare, and could amateur-hunters only get at the buffalo, such occurrences would be fearfully common. an incident illustrative of these remarks is told by the traveller and naturalist richardson, and may therefore be safely regarded as a fact. "while i resided at charlton house, an incident of this kind occurred. mr finnan mcdonald, one of the hudson's bay company's clerks, was descending the saskatchewan in a boat, and one evening, having pitched his tent for the night, he went out in the dusk to look for game. "it had become nearly dark when he fired at a bison bull, which was galloping over a small eminence; and as he was hastening forward to see if the shot had taken effect, the wounded beast made a rush at him. he had the presence of mind to seize the animal by the long hair on his forehead, as it struck him on the side with its horn, and being a remarkably tall and powerful man, a struggle ensued, which continued until his wrist was severely sprained, and his arm was rendered powerless; he then fell, and after receiving two or three blows, became senseless. "shortly after, he was found by his companions lying bathed in blood, being gored in several places; and the bison was couched beside him, apparently waiting to renew the attack, had he shown any signs of life. mr mcdonald recovered from the immediate effects of the injuries he received, but died a few months after." dr richardson adds:--"many other instances might be mentioned of the tenaciousness with which this animal pursues its revenge; and i have been told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in a tree, by an old bull which had taken its post below to watch him." the numbers of the buffalo, although still very great, are annually on the decrease. their woolly skins, when dressed, are of great value as an article of commerce. among the canadians they are in general use; they constitute the favourite wrappers of the traveller in that cold climate: they line the cariole, the carriage, and the sleigh. thousands of them are used in the northern parts of the united states for a similar purpose. they are known as buffalo-robes, and are often prettily trimmed and ornamented, so as to command a good price. they are even exported to europe in large quantities. of course this extensive demand for the robes causes a proportionate destruction among the buffaloes. but this is not all. whole tribes of indians, amounting to many thousands of individuals, subsist entirely upon these animals, as the laplander upon the reindeer, or the guarani indian upon the _moriche_ palm. their blankets are buffalo-robes, part of their clothing buffalo-leather, their tents are buffalo-hides, and buffalo-beef is their sole food for three parts of the year. the large prairie tribes--as the sioux, the pawnees, the blackfeet, the crows, the chiennes, the arapahoes, and the comanches, with several smaller bands-- live upon the buffalo. these tribes, united, number at least , souls. no wonder the buffalo should be each year diminishing in numbers! it is predicted that in a few years the race will become extinct. the same has been often said of the indian. the _soi-disant_ prophet is addicted to this sort of melancholy foreboding, because he believes by such babbling he gains a character for philanthropic sympathy; besides, it has a poetic sound. believe me, there is not the slightest danger of such a destiny for the indian: his race is not to become extinct; it will be on the earth as long as that of either black or white. civilisation is removing the seeds of decay; civilisation will preserve the race of the red man yet to multiply. civilisation, too, may preserve the buffalo. the hunter races must disappear, and give place to the more useful agriculturist. the prairies are wide--vast expanses of that singular formation must remain in their primitive wildness, at least for ages, and these will still be a safe range for the buffalo. chapter thirty three. trailing the buffalo. after a breakfast of fresh buffalo-meat we took the road in high spirits. the long-expected sport would soon come off. every step showed us "buffalo sign"--tracks, wallows, fresh ordure. none of the animals were yet in sight, but the prairie was filled with undulations, and no doubt "a gang" would be found in some of the valleys. a few miles farther on, and we came suddenly upon a "buffalo road," traversing the prairie nearly at right angles to our own direction. this caused a halt and consultation. should we follow the road? by all means thought every one. the tracks were fresh--the road a large one-- thousands of buffaloes must have passed over it; where were they now? they might be a hundred miles off, for when these animals get upon one of those regular roads they often journey at great speed, and it is difficult to overtake them. when merely browsing over the prairie the case is different. then they travel only a few miles a day, and a hunter trailing them soon comes up with the gang. ike and redwood were consulted as to what was best to be done. they had both closely examined the trail, bending down to the ground, and carefully noting every symptom that would give them a clue to the condition of the herd--its numbers--its time of passing--the rate of its speed, etcetera. "thur's a good grist o' 'em," said ike, "leastways a kupple o' thousand in the gang--thur's bulls, cows, yearlins, an' young calf too, so we'll have a choice o' meat--either beef or veal. kin we do better than foller 'em up? eh, mark?" "wal! i don't think we can, ole boss," replied redwood. "they passed hyur yesterday, jest about noon--that is the thick o' the drove passed then." "how do you tell that?" inquired several. "oh, that's easy made out," replied the guide, evidently regarding the question as a very simple one; "you see most o' these hyur tracks is a day old, an' yet thur not two." "and why not?" "why how could they be two," asked the guide in astonishment, "when it rained yesterday before sun-up? thur made since the rain, yu'll admit that?" we now remembered the rain, and acknowledged the truth of this reasoning. the animals must have passed since it rained; but why not immediately after, in the early morning? how could redwood tell that it was the hour of noon? how? "easy enough, comrades," replied he. "any greenhorn mout do that," added ike. the rest, however, were puzzled and waited the explanation. "i tells this a way," continued the guide. "ef the buffler had passed by hyur, immediately after the rain, thar tracks wud a sunk deeper, and thar wud a been more mud on the trail. as thar ain't no great slobber about, ye see, i make my kalklations that the ground must a been well dried afore they kim along, and after such a wet, it could not a been afore noon at the least--so that's how i know the buffler passed at that hour." we were all interested in this craft of our guides, for without consulting each other they had both arrived at the same conclusion by the same process of mental logic. they had also determined several other points about the buffalo--such as that they had not all gone together, but in a straggling herd; that some had passed more rapidly than the rest; that no hunters were after them; and that it was probable they were not bound upon any distant migration, but only in search of water; and the direction they had taken rendered this likely enough. indeed most of the great buffalo roads lead to watering-places, and they have often been the means of conducting the thirsty traveller to the welcome rivulet or spring, when otherwise he might have perished upon the dry plain. whether the buffalo are guided by some instinct towards water, is a question not satisfactorily solved. certain it is, that their water paths often lead in the most direct route to streams and ponds, of the existence of which they could have known nothing previously. it is certain that many of the lower animals possess either an "instinct," or a much keener sense in these matters than man himself. long before the thirsty traveller suspects the propinquity of water, his sagacious mule, by her joyful hinney, and suddenly altered bearing, warns him of its presence. we now reasoned that if the buffalo had been making to some watering-place, merely for the purpose of drinking and cooling their flanks, they would, of course, make a delay there, and so give us a chance of coming up. they had a day the start of us, it is true, but we should do our best to overhaul them. the guides assured us we were likely to have good sport before we came up with the great gang. there were straggling groups they had no doubt, some perhaps not over thirsty, that had hung in the rear. in high hopes, then, we turned our heads to the trail, and travelled briskly forward. we had not gone many hundred yards when a very singular scene was presented to our eyes. we had gained the crest of a ridge, and were looking down into a little valley through which ran the trail. at the bottom of the valley a cloud of dust was constantly rising upward, and very slowly moving away, as the day was quite calm. although there had been rain a little over thirty hours before, the ground was already parched and dry as pepper. but what caused the dust to rise? not the wind--there was none. some animal then, or likely more than one! at first we could perceive no creature within the cloud, so dun and thick was it; but after a little a wolf dashed out, ran round a bit, and then rushed in again, and then another and another, all of them with open jaws, glaring eyes, manes erect, and tails switching about in a violent and angry manner. now and then we could only see part of their bodies, or their bushy tails flung upward, but we could hear by their yelping barks that they were engaged in a fierce contest either among themselves, or with some other enemy. it was not among themselves, as ike and redwood both affirmed. "an old bull 's the game," said they; and without waiting a moment, the two trappers galloped forward, followed closely by the rest of our party. we were soon in the bottom of the little valley. ike already cracking away at the wolves--his peculiar enemies. several others, led away by the excitement, also emptied their pieces at these worthless creatures, slaying a number of them, while the rest, nearly a dozen in all, took to their heels, and scampered off over the ridges. the dust gradually began to float off, and through the thinner cloud that remained we now saw what the wolves had been at. standing in the centre of a ring, formed by its own turnings and struggles, was the huge form of a buffalo-bull. its shape indicated that it was a very old one, lank, lean, and covered with long hair, raggled and torn into tufts. its colour was that of the white dust, but red blood was streaming freshly down its hind flanks, and from its nose and mouth. the cartilage of the nose was torn to pieces by the fierce enemies it had so lately encountered, and on observing it more closely we saw that its eyes were pulled out of their sockets, exhibiting a fearful spectacle. the tail was eaten off by repeated wrenches, and the hind-quarters were sadly mangled. spite of all this mutilation, the old bull still kept his feet, and his prowess had been proved, for no less than five wolves lay around, that he had "rubbed out" previous to our arrival. he was a terrible and melancholy spectacle--that old bull, and all agreed it would be better to relieve him by a well-aimed bullet. this was instantly fired at him; and the animal, after rocking about a while on his spread legs, fell gently to the earth. of course he had proved himself too tough to be eatable by anything but prairie-wolves, and we were about to leave him as he lay. ike, however, had no idea of gratifying these sneaking creatures at so cheap a rate. he was determined they should not have their dinner so easily, so taking out his knife he extracted the bladder, and some of the smaller intestines from the buffalo. these he inflated in a trice, and then rigging up a sapling over the body, he hung them upon it, so that the slightest breeze kept them in motion. this, as we had been already assured, was the best mode of keeping wolves at a distance from any object, and the hunter, when wolves are near, often avails himself of it to protect the venison or buffalo-meat which he is obliged to leave behind him. the guide having rigged his "scare wolf," mounted his old mare, and again joined us, muttering his satisfaction as he rode along. we had not travelled much farther when our attention was attracted by noises in front, and again from a ridge we beheld a scene still more interesting than that we had just witnessed. as before, the actors were buffalo and wolves, but this time there was very little dust, as the contest was carried on upon the green turf--and we could see distinctly the manoeuvres of the animals. there were three buffaloes--a cow, her calf, and a large bull that was acting as their champion and protector. a pack of wolves had gathered around them, in which there were some of the larger species, and these kept up a continuous attack, the object of which was to destroy the calf, and its mother if possible. this the bull was using all his endeavours to prevent, and with considerable success too, as already several of the wolves were down, and howling with pain. but what rendered the result doubtful was that fresh wolves were constantly galloping up to the spot, and the buffaloes would likely have to yield in time. it was quite amusing to see the efforts made by the cunning brutes, to separate the calf front its protector. sometimes they would get it a few feet to the one side, and fling it to the ground; but before they could do it any great injury, the active bull, and the cow as well, would rush forward upon them, scattering the cowardly creatures like a flock of birds. then the calf would place itself between the old ones, and would thus remain for a while, until the wolves, having arranged some new plan, would recommence the attack, and drive it forth again. once the position was strikingly in favour of the buffaloes. this position, which seemed in the hurry of the conflict to turn up accidentally, was in fact the result of design, for the old ones every now and then endeavoured to renew it, but were hindered by the stupidity of the calf. the latter was placed between them in such a way that the heads of the bull and cow were in opposite directions, and thus both flanks were guarded. in this way the buffaloes might have held their ground, but the silly calf when closely menaced by the wolves foolishly started out, rendering it necessary for its protectors to assume a new attitude of defence. it was altogether a singular conflict, a touching picture of parental fondness. the end of it was easily guessed. the wolves would tire out the old ones, and get hold of the calf of course, although they might spend a long time about it. but the great herd was distant, and there was no hope for the cow to get her offspring back to its protection. it would certainly be destroyed. notwithstanding our sympathy for the little family thus assailed, we were not the less anxious to do for them just what the wolves wished to do--kill and eat them. with this intent we all put spur to our horses, and galloped right forward to the spot. not one of the animals--neither wolves nor buffaloes--took any notice of us until we were within a few yards of them. the wolves then scampered off, but already the cracking rifles and shot-guns were heard above the shouts of the charging cavalcade, and both the cow and calf were seen sinking to the earth. not so the huge bull. with glaring eyeballs he glanced around upon his new assailants, and then, as if aware that farther strife was useless, he stretched forth his neck, and breaking through the line of horsemen, went off in full flight. a fresh touch of the spur, with a wrench of the bridle-rein, brought our horses round, and set their heads after him, and then followed as fine a piece of chasing as i remember to have taken part in. the whole eight of us swept over the plain in pursuit, but as we had all emptied our pieces on first charging up, there was not one ready to deliver a shot even should we overtake the game. in the quick gallop no one thought of re-loading. our pistols, however, were still charged, and these were grasped and held in readiness. it was one of the most exciting chases. there before us galloped the great game, under full view, with neither brake nor bush to interrupt the pleasure of our wild race. the bull proved to be one of the fastest of his kind--for there is a considerable difference in this respect. he led us nearly half-a-mile across the ridges before even the best of our horses could come up, and then just as we were closing in upon him, before a shot had been fired, he was seen to give a sudden lounge forward and tumble over upon the ground. some of us fancied he had only missed his footing and stumbled; but no motion could be perceived as we rode forward, and on coming up he was found to be quite dead! a rifle-bullet had done the work--one that had been fired in the first volley; and his strong fast run was only the last spasmodic effort of his life. one or two remained by the dead bull to get his hide and the "tit-bits" of his meat, while the rest rode back to recover the more precious cow and calf. what was our chagrin to find that the rascally wolves had been before us! of the tender calf, not a morsel remained beyond a few tufts of hairy skin, and the cow was so badly torn and mutilated that she was not worth cutting up! even the tongue, that most delicate bit, had been appropriated by the sneaking thieves, and eaten out to the very root. as soon as they had observed us coming back, they had taken to their heels, each carrying a large piece with him, and we could now see them out upon the prairie devouring the meat before our very eyes. ike was loud in his anathemas, and but that the creatures were too cunning for him, would have taken his revenge upon the spot. they kept off, however, beyond range of either rifle or double-barrel, and ike was forced to nurse his wrath for some other occasion. we now went back to the bull, where we encamped for the night. the latter, tough as he was, furnished us an excellent supper from his tongue, hump-ribs, boudins, and marrow bones, and we all lay down to sleep and dream of the sports of to-morrow. chapter thirty four. approaching the buffalo. next morning, just as we were preparing to resume our journey, a gang of buffalo appeared upon one of the swells, at the distance of a mile or a mile and a half from our camp. there were about a dozen of them, and, as our guides asserted, they were all cows. this was just what we wanted, as the flesh of the cows is much more delicate than that of the bulls, and were eager to lay in a stock of it. a hurried consultation was held, in which it was debated as to the best manner of making an attack upon the herd. some advised that we should ride boldly forward, and overtake the cows by sheer swiftness, but this mode was objected to by others. the cows are at times very shy. they might break off long before we were near, and give our horses such a gallop as would render them useless for the rest of the day. besides, our animals were in no condition for such exercise. our stock of corn had run out, and the grass feeding and hard travelling had reduced most of them to skeletons. a hard gallop was therefore to be avoided if possible. among those who counselled a different course wore the guides ike and redwood. these men thought it would be much better to try the cows by "approaching," that is, by endeavouring to creep up, and get a shot when near enough. the ground was favourable enough for it, as there were here and there little clumps of cactus plants and bushes of the wild sage (_artemisia_), behind which a hunter might easily conceal himself. the trappers farther alleged that the herd would not be likely to make off at the first shot, unless the hunter discovered himself. on the contrary, one after another might fall, and not frighten the rest, so long as these did not get to leeward, and detect the presence of their enemy by the scent. the wind was in our favour, and this was a most important consideration. had it been otherwise the game would have "winded" us at a mile's distance, as they can recognise the smell of man, and frequently comprehend the danger of being near such an enemy. indeed, it is on their great power of scent that the buffalo most commonly rely for warning. the eyes of these creatures, and particularly the bulls, are so covered with the shaggy hair hanging over them, that individuals are often seen quite blinded by it, and a hunter, if he keep silent enough, may walk up and lay his hand upon them, without having been previously noticed. this, however, can only occur when the hunter travels against the wind. otherwise he finds the buffalo as shy and difficult to approach as most game, and many along spoil of crouching and crawling has been made to no purpose--a single sniff of the approaching enemy proving enough to startle the game, and send it off in wild flight. ike and his brother trapper urged that if the approach should prove unsuccessful there would still be time to "run" the herd, as those who did not attempt the former method might keep in their saddles, and be ready to gallop forward. all this was feasible enough; and it was therefore decided that the "approach" should have a trial. the trappers had already prepared themselves for this sort of thing. they were evidently desirous of giving us an exhibition of their hunter-prowess, and we were ready to witness it. we had noticed them busied with a pair of large wolf-skins, which they had taken off the animals entire, with the heads, ears, tails, etcetera, remaining upon the skins. the purpose of these was to enable the hunters to disguise themselves as wolves, and thus crawl within shooting distance of the buffalo herd. strange to say this is quite possible. although no creature is a greater enemy to the buffalo than the wolf, the former, as already stated, permits the latter to approach quite close to him without making any attempt to chase him off, or without exhibiting the slightest symptoms of fear on his own account. the buffalo cannot prevent the wolf from prowling close about him, as the latter is sufficiently active, and can easily get out of the way when pursued by the bulls--on the other hand, the buffaloes, unless when separated from the herd, or in some way disabled, have no fear of the wolf. under ordinary circumstances they seem wholly to disregard his presence. the consequence is, that a wolf-skin is a favourite disguise of the indians for approaching the buffalo, and our trappers, ike and redwood, had often practised this _ruse_. we were likely then to see sport. both were soon equipped in their white wolf-skins, their heads being enveloped with the skins of the wolves' heads, and the remainder tied with thongs, so as to cover their backs and sides. at best the skins formed but a scanty covering to the bodies of the trappers; but, as we have already remarked, the buffalo has not a very keen sense of sight, and so long as the decoys kept to leeward, they would not be closely scrutinised. when fairly in their new dress, the hunters parted from the company, leaving their horses at the camp. the rest of us sat in our saddles, ready to gallop forward, in case the _ruse_ did not succeed, and make that kind of a hunt called "running." of course the trappers went as far as was safe, walking in an upright attitude; but long before they had got within shot, we saw both of them stoop down and scramble along in a crouching way, and then at length they knelt upon the ground, and proceeded upon their hands and knees. it required a good long time to enable them to get near enough; and we on horseback, although watching every manoeuvre with interest, were beginning to get impatient. the buffalo, however, quietly browsing along the sward, seemed to be utterly unconscious of the dangerous foe that was approaching them, and at intervals one or another would fling itself to the earth in play, and after kicking and wallowing a few seconds, start to its feet again. they were all cows, with one exception--a bull--who seemed to be the guardian and leader. even at a mile's distance, we could recognise the shape and size of the latter, as completely differing from all the rest. the bull seemed to be more active than any, moving around the flock, and apparently watching over their safety. as the decoys approached, we thought that the bull seemed to take notice of them. he had moved out to that side of the herd, and seemed for a moment to scrutinise them as they drew near. but for a moment, however, for he turned apparently satisfied, and was soon close in to the gang. ike and redwood had at length got so close, that we were expecting every moment to see the flash of their pieces. they were not so close, however, as we in the distance fancied them to be. just at this moment we perceived another buffalo--a large bull--running up behind them. he had just made his appearance over a ridge, and was now on his way to join the herd. the decoys were directly in his way, and these did not appear to see him until he had run almost between them, so intent were they on watching the others. his intrusion, however, evidently disconcerted them, spoiling their plans, while in the very act of being carried into execution. they were, no doubt, a little startled by the apparition of such a huge shaggy animal coming so suddenly on them, for both started to their feet as if alarmed. their pieces blazed at the same time, and the intruder was seen rolling over upon the plain. but the _ruse_ was over. the bull that guarded the herd was witness to this odd encounter, and bellowing a loud alarm to his companions, set off at a lumbering gallop. all the rest followed as fast as their legs would carry them. fortunately they ran, not directly from us, but in a line that inclined to our left. by taking a diagonal course we might yet head them, and without another word our whole party put to the spur, and sprang off over the prairie. it cost us a five-mile gallop before any of us came within shooting distance; and only four of us did get so near--the naturalist, besancon, the kentuckian, and myself. our horses were well blown, but after a good deal of encouragement we got them side by side with the flying game. each one chose his own, and then delivered his shot at his best convenience. the consequence was, that four of the cows were strewed out along the path, and rewarded us for our hard gallop. the rest, on account of saving our horses, were suffered to make their escape. as we had now plenty of excellent meat, it was resolved to encamp again, and remain for some time on that spot, until we had rested our horses after their long journey, when we should make a fresh search for the buffalo, and have another "run" or two out of them. chapter thirty five. unexpected guests. we found ike and redwood bitterly angry at the bull they had slain. they alleged that he had made a rush at them in coming up, and that was why they had risen to their feet and fired upon him. we thought such had been the case, as we had noticed a strange manoeuvre on the part of the bull. but for that, our guides believed they would have succeeded to their hearts' content; as they intended first to have shot the other bull, and then the cows would have remained until all had fallen. a place was now selected for our night-camp, and the meat from the cows brought in and dressed. over a fire of cotton-wood logs we soon cooked the most splendid supper we had eaten for a long time. the beef of the wild buffalo-cow is far superior to that of domestic cattle, but the "tit-bits" of the same animal are luxuries never to be forgotten. whether it be that a prairie appetite lends something to the relish is a question. this i will not venture to deny; but certainly the "baron of beef" in merry old england has no souvenirs to me so sweet as a roast rib of "fat cow," cooked over a cotton-wood fire, and eaten in the open air, under the pure sky of the prairies. the place where we had pitched our camp was upon the banks of a very small spring-stream, or creek, that, rising near at hand, meandered through the prairie to a not distant branch of the arkansas river. where we were, this creek was embanked very slightly; but, at about two hundred yards' distance, on each side, there was a range of bluffs that followed the direction of the stream. these bluffs were not very high, but sufficiently so to prevent any one down in the creek bottom from having a view of the prairie level. as the bottom itself was covered with very coarse herbage, and as a better grass--the buffalo--grew on the prairie above, we there picketed our horses, intending to bring them closer to the camp when night set in, or before going to sleep. the camp itself--that is the two tents, with jake's waggon--were on the very edge of the stream; but jake's mules were up on the plain, along with the rest of the _cavallada_. it was still two hours before sunset. we had made our dinner, and, satisfied with the day's sport, were enjoying ourselves with a little brandy, that still held out in our good-sized keg, and a smoke. we had reviewed the incidents of the day, and were laying out our plans for the morrow. we were admonished by the coldness of the evening that winter was not far off, and we all agreed that another week was as long as we could safely remain upon the prairies. we had started late in the season, but our not finding the buffalo farther to the east had made a great inroad upon our time, and spoiled all our calculations. now that we had found them, a week was as much as we could allow for their hunt. already frost appeared in the night hours, and made us uncomfortable enough, and we knew that in the prairie region the transition from autumn to winter is often sudden and unexpected. the oldest and wisest of the party were of the opinion that we should not delay our return longer than a week, and the others assented to it. the guides gave the same advice, although these cared little about wintering on the prairie, and were willing to remain as long as we pleased. we knew, however, that the hardships to which we should be subjected would not be relished by several of the party, and it would be better for all to get back to the settlements before the setting in of severe weather. i have said we were all in high spirits. a week's hunting, with something to do at it every day, would satisfy us. we should do immense slaughter on the buffalo, by approaching, running, and surrounding them. we should collect a quantity of the best meat, jerk and dry it over the fire, load our waggon with that, and with a large number of robes and horns as trophies, should go back in triumph to the settlements. such were our pleasant anticipations. i am sorry to say that these anticipations were never realised--not one of them. when we reached the nearest settlement, which happened, about six weeks after, our party presented an appearance that differed as much from a triumphal procession as could well be imagined. one and all of us were afoot. one and all of us--even to the fat little doctor--were emaciated, ragged, foot-sore, frost-bitten, and little better than half alive. we had a number of buffalo-skins with us it is true, but these hung about our shoulders, and were for use, and not show. they had served us for weeks for beds and blankets by night, and for great coats under the fierce winter rains. but i anticipate. let us return to our camp on the little creek. i have said that we sat around the blazing fire discussing our future plans, and enjoying the future by anticipation. the hours passed rapidly on, and while thus engaged night came down upon us. at this time some one advised that we should bring up the horses, but another said it would be as well to let them browse a while longer, as the grass where they were was good, and they had been for some days on short commons. "they will be safe enough," said this speaker. "we have seen no indian sign, or if any of you think there is danger, let some one go up to the bluff, but by all means let the poor brutes have a good meal of it." this proposal was accepted. lanty was despatched to stand guard over the horses, while the rest of us remained by the fire conversing as before. the irishman could scarcely have had time to get among the animals, when our ears were saluted by a medley of sounds that sent the blood to our hearts, and caused us to leap simultaneously from the fire. the yells of indians were easily understood, even by the "greenest" of our party, and these, mingled with the neighing of horses, the prancing of hoofs, and the shouts of our guard, were the sounds that readied us. "injuns, by god!" cried ike, springing up, and clutching his long rifle. this wild exclamation was echoed by more than one, as each leaped back from the fire and ran to his gun. in a few seconds we had cleared the brushwood that thickly covered the bottom, and climbed out on the bluff. here we were met by the terrified guard, who was running back at the top of his speed, and bellowing at the top of his voice. "och, murther!" cried he, "the savage bastes--there's a thousand ov thim! they've carried off the cattle--every leg--mules an' all, by jaysus!" rough as was this announcement, we soon became satisfied that it was but too true. on reaching the place where the _cavallada_ had been picketed, we found not the semblance of a horse. even the pins were drawn, and the _lazoes_ taken along. far off on the prairie we could discern dimly a dark mass of mounted men, and we could plainly hear their triumphant shouts and laughter, as they disappeared in the distance! we never saw either them or our horses again. they were a party of pawnees, as we afterwards learned, and no doubt had they attacked us, we should have suffered severely; but there were only a few of them, and they were satisfied with plundering us of our horses. it is just possible that after securing them they might have returned to attack us, had not lanty surprised them at their work. after the alarm they knew we would be on the look-out for them, and therefore were contented to carry off our animals. it is difficult to explain the change that thus so suddenly occurred in our feelings and circumstances. the prospect before us--thus set afoot upon the prairie at such a distance from the settlements, and at such a season--was perfectly appalling. we should have to walk every inch of the way--carry our food, and everything else, upon our backs. perhaps we might not be too much burdened with food. that depended upon very precarious circumstances--upon our hunting luck. our "stock" in the waggon was reduced to only a few days' rations, and of course would go but a few days with us, while we had many to provide for. these thoughts were after-reflections--thoughts of the next morning. during that night we thought only of the indians, for of course we did not as yet believe they had left us for good. we did not return to sleep by the fire--that would have been very foolishness. some went back to get their arms in order, and then returning we all lay along the edge of the bluff, where the path led into the bottom, and watched the prairie until the morning. we lay in silence, or only muttering our thoughts to one another. i have said until the morning. that is not strictly true, for before the morning that succeeded that _noche triste_ broke upon us, another cruel misfortune befel us, which still farther narrowed the circumstances that surrounded us. i have already stated that the herbage of the creek bottom was coarse. it consisted of long grass, interspersed with briars and bunches of wild pea vines, with here and there a growth of scrubby wood. it was difficult to get through it, except by paths made by the buffalo and other animals. at this season of the year the thick growth of annuals was now a mass of withered stems, parched by the hot suns of autumn until they were as dry as tinder. while engaged in our anxious vigil upon the plain above, we had not given a thought either to our camp or the large fire we had left there. all at once our attention was directed to the latter by a loud crackling noise that sounded in our ears. we sprang to our feet, and looked into the valley behind us. the camp was on fire! the brush was kindled all around it, and blazed to the height of several feet. we could see the blaze reflected from the white canvas both of waggon and tents, and in a few seconds these were licked into the hot flames, and disappeared from our view. of course we made no effort to save them. that would have been an idle and foolish attempt. we could not have approached the spot, without the almost certain danger of death. already while we gazed, the fire spread over the whole creek bottom, and passed rapidly both up and down the banks of the stream. for ourselves there was no danger. we were up on the open prairie covered only with short grass. had this caught also, we knew how to save ourselves; but the upper level, separated by a steep bluff, was not reached by the conflagration that raged so fiercely below. we stood watching the flames for a long while, until daylight broke. the bottom, near where we were, had ceased to burn, and now lay beneath us, smoking, smouldering, and black. we descended, and picked our steps to where our camp had stood. the tents were like black cerements. the iron work of the waggon alone remained, our extra clothing and provisions were all consumed. even the produce of our yesterday's hunt lay among the ashes a charred and ruined mass! chapter thirty six. a supper of wolf-mutton. our condition was now lamentable indeed. we even hungered for our breakfast, and had nothing to eat. the fire had consumed everything. a party went to look for the remains of the buffalo-bull killed by the guides, but returned without a morsel of meat. the wolves had cleaned the carcass to a skeleton. the marrow bones, however, still remained, and these were brought in--afterwards, the same parts of the four cows; and we made our breakfast on marrow--eating it raw--not but that we had fire enough, but it is less palatable when cooked. what was next to be done? we held a consultation, and of course came to the resolve to strike for the nearest settlement--that was the frontier town of independence on the missouri river. it was nearly three hundred miles off, and we calculated in reaching it in about twenty days. we only reckoned the miles we should have to traverse. we allowed nothing for the numerous delays, caused by marshes and the fording of flooded streams. it afterwards proved that our calculation was incorrect. it was nearly twice twenty days before we arrived at independence. we never thought of following the trail of the indians to recover our horses. we knew they were gone far beyond pursuit, but even could we have come up with them, it would only have been to imperil our lives in an unequal strife. we gave up our horses as lost, and only deliberated on how we were to undertake the journey afoot. here a serious question arose. should we at once turn our faces to the settlement, how were we to subsist on the way? by heading for independence we should at once get clear of the buffalo-range, and what other game was to be depended on? a stray deer, rabbit, or prairie grouse might suffice to sustain a single traveller for a long time, but there were ten of us. how was this number to be fed on the way? even with our horses to carry us in pursuit of game, we had not been able on our outward journey to procure enough for all. how much less our opportunity now that we were afoot! to head directly homeward therefore was not to be thought of. we should assuredly perish by the way. after much discussion it was agreed that we should remain for some days within the buffalo-range, until we had succeeded in obtaining a supply of meat, and then each carrying his share we should begin our journey homeward. in fact, this was not a disputed point. all knew there remained no other way of saving our lives. the only difference of opinion was as to the direction we should ramble in search of the buffalo; for although we knew that we were on the outskirts of a great herd, we were not certain as to its whereabouts, and by taking a false direction we might get out of its range altogether. it so happened, however, that fortune lately so adverse, now took a turn in our favour, and the great buffalo drove was found without much trouble on our part. indeed almost without any exertion, farther than that of loading and firing our guns, we came into possession of beef enough to have victualled an army. we had, moreover, the excitement of a grand hunt, although we no longer hunted for the sport of the thing. during that day we scattered in various directions over the prairie, agreeing to meet again at night. the object of our thus separating was to enable us to cover a greater extent of ground, and afford a better chance of game. to our mutual chagrin we met at the appointed rendezvous all of us empty-handed. the only game brought in was a couple of marmots (prairie dogs), that would not have been sufficient for the supper of a cat. they were not enough to give each of the party a taste, so we were compelled to go without supper. having had but a meagre breakfast and no dinner, it will not be wondered at that we were by this time as hungry as wolves; and we began to dread that death by starvation was nearer than we thought of. buffaloes--several small gangs of them--had been seen during the day, but so shy that none of them could be approached. another day's failure would place our lives in a perilous situation indeed; and as these thoughts passed through our minds, we gazed on each other with looks that betokened apprehension and alarm. the bright blaze of the camp-fire--for the cold had compelled us to kindle one--no longer lit up a round of joyful faces. it shone upon checks haggard with hunger and pallid with fear. there was no story for the delighted listener--no adventure to be related. we were no longer the historians, but the real actors in a drama--a drama whose _denouement_ might be a fearful one. as we sat gazing at each other, in hopes of giving or receiving some morsel of comfort and encouragement, we noticed old ike silently glide from his place by the fire, and after a whisper to us to remain silent, crawl off on his hands and knees. he had seen something doubtless, and hence his singular conduct. in a few minutes his prostrate form was lost in the darkness, and for some time we saw or heard no more of him. at length we were startled by the whip-like crack of the guide's rifle, and fancying it might be indians, each sprang up in some alarm and seized his gun. we were soon reassured, however, by seeing the upright form of the trapper as he walked deliberately back towards the camp-fire, and the blaze revealed to us a large whitish object dangling by his side and partly dragging along the ground. "hurrah!" cried one, "ike has killed game." "a deer--an antelope," suggested several. "no-o," drawled redwood. "'taint eyther, but i guess we won't quarrel with the meat. i could eat a raw jackass jest about now." ike came up at this moment, and we saw that his game was no other than a prairie-wolf. better that than hunger, thought all of us; and in a brace of seconds the wolf was suspended over the fire, and roasting in the hide. we were now more cheerful, and the anticipation of such an odd viand for supper, drew jokes from several of the party. to the trappers such a dish was nothing new, although they were the only persons of the party who had partaken of it. but there was not one fastidious palate present, and when the "wolf-mutton" was broiled, each cleaned his joint or his rib with as much _gout_ as if he had been picking the bones of a pheasant. before the supper was ended the wolf-killer made a second _coup_, killing another wolf precisely as he had done the former; and we had the gratification of knowing that our breakfast was now provided for. these creatures, that all along our journey had received nothing from us but anathemas, were now likely to come in for a share of our blessings, and we could not help feeling a species of gratitude towards them, although at the same time we thus killed and ate them. the supper of roast wolf produced an agreeable change in our feelings, and we even listened with interest to our guides, who, appropriate to the occasion, related some curious incidents of the many narrow escapes they had had from starvation. one in particular fixed our attention, as it afforded an illustration of trapper life under peculiar circumstances. chapter thirty seven. hare hunting and cricket driving. the two trappers, in company with two others of the same calling, were on a trapping expedition to one of the tributaries of the great bear river, west of the rocky mountains, when they were attacked by a band of hostile utahs, and robbed not only of the produce of their hunt, but their horses and pack-mules were taken from them, and even their arms and ammunition. the indians could have taken their lives as well, but from the interference of one of the chiefs, who knew old ike, they were allowed to go free, although in the midst of the desert region where they were, that was no great favour. they were as likely as not to perish from hunger before they could reach any settlement--as at that time there was none nearer than fort hall upon the snake river, a distance of full three hundred miles. our four trappers, however, were not the men to yield themselves up to despair, even in the midst of a desert; and they at once set about making the most of their circumstances. there were deer upon the stream where they had been trapping, and bear also, as well as other game, but what did that signify now that they had no arms? of course the deer or antelopes sprang out of the shrubbery or scoured across the plain only to tantalise them. near where they had been left by the indians was a "sage prairie," that is, a plain covered with a growth of the _artemisia_ plant--the leaves and berries of which--bitter as they are--form the food of a species of hare, known among the trappers as the "sage rabbit." this creature is as swift as most of its tribe, but although our trappers had neither dog nor gun, they found a way of capturing the sage rabbits. not by snaring neither, for they were even without materials to make snares out of. their mode of securing the game was as follows. they had the patience to construct a circular fence, by wattling the sage plants together, and then leaving one side open, they made a "surround" upon the plain, beating the bushes as they went, until a number of rabbits were driven within the inclosure. the remaining part of the fence was then completed, and the rabbit hunters going inside chased the game about until they had caught all that were inside. although the fence was but about three feet in height, the rabbits never attempted to leap over, but rushed head foremost against the wattles, and were either caught or knocked over with sticks. this piece of ingenuity was not original with the trappers, as ike and redwood admitted. it is the mode of rabbit-hunting practised by some tribes of western indians, as the poor shoshonees and miserable "diggers," whose whole lives are spent in a constant struggle to procure food enough to sustain them. these indians capture the small animals that inhabit their barren country by ways that more resemble the instinct of beasts of prey than any reasoning process. in fact there are bands of these indians who can hardly be said to have yet reached the hunter state. some of them carry as their sole armour a long stick with a hooked end, the object of which is to drag the _agama_ and the lizard out of its cave or cleft among the rocks; and this species of game is transferred from the end of the stick to the stomach of the captor with the same despatch as a hungry mastiff would devour a mouse. impounding the sage hare is one of the master strokes of their hunter-craft, and forms a source of employment to them for a considerable portion of the year. our four trappers, then, remembering the indian mode of capturing these creatures put it in execution to some advantage, and were soon able to satisfy their hunger. after two or three days spent in this pursuit they had caught more than twenty hares, but the stock ran out, and no more could be found in that neighbourhood. of course only a few were required for present use, and the rest were dried over a sage fire until they were in a condition to keep for some days. packing them on their backs, the trappers set out, heading for the snake river. before they could reach fort hall their rabbit meat was exhausted, and they were as badly off as before. the country in which they now found themselves was if possible more of a desert than that they had just quitted. even rabbits could not dwell in it, or the few that were started could not be caught. the _artemisia_ was not in sufficient plenty to make an inclosure with, and it would have been hopeless to have attempted such a thing; as they might have spent days without trapping a single hare. now and again they were tantalised by seeing the great sage cock, or, as naturalists call it, "cock of the plains" (_tetrao urophasianus_), but they could only hear the loud "burr" of its wings, and watch it sail off to some distant point of the desert plain. this bird is the largest of the grouse kind, though it is neither a bird of handsome plumage, nor yet is it delicate in its flesh. on the contrary, the flesh, from the nature of its food, which is the berry of the wild wormwood, is both unsavoury and bitter. it would not have deterred the appetites of our four trappers, could they have laid their hands upon the bird, but without guns such a thing was out of the question. for several days they sustained themselves on roots and berries. fortunately it was the season when these are ripe, and they found here and there the prairie turnip (_psoralea esculenta_), and in a marsh which they had to cross they obtained a quantity of the celebrated kamas roots. all these supplies, however, did not prove sufficient. they had still four or five days' farther journey, and were beginning to fear they would not get through it, for the country to be passed was a perfect barren waste. at this crisis, however, a new source of subsistence appeared to them, and in sufficient plenty to enable them to continue their journey without fear of want. as if by magic, the plain upon which they were travelling all at once become covered with large crawling insects of a dark brown colour. these were the insects known among the trappers as "prairie crickets," but from the description given of them by the trappers the hunter-naturalist pronounced them to be "locusts." they were of that species known in america as the "seventeen years' locust" (_cicada septemdecem_), so called because there is a popular belief that they only appear in great swarms every seventeen years. it is probable, however, that this periodical appearance is an error, and that their coming at longer or shorter intervals depends upon the heat of the climate, and many other circumstances. they have been known to arrive in a great city, coming not from afar, but out of the ground from between the bricks of the pavement and out of crevices in the walls, suddenly covering the streets with their multitudes. but this species does not destroy vegetation, as is the case with others of the locust tribe. they themselves form the favourite food of many birds, as well as quadrupeds. hogs eagerly feed upon and destroy vast numbers of them; and even the squirrels devour them with as great a relish as they do nuts. these facts were furnished by the hunter-naturalist, but our trappers had an equally interesting tale to tell. as soon as they set eyes upon the locusts and saw that they were crawling thickly upon the plain, they felt that they were safe. they knew that these insects were a staple article of food among the same tribes of indians--who hunt the sage hare. they knew, moreover, their mode of capturing them, and they at once set about making a large collection. this was done by hollowing out a circular pit in the sandy earth, and then the four separating some distance from each other, drove the crickets towards a common centre--the pit. after some manoeuvring, a large quantity was brought together, and these being pressed upon all sides, crawled up to the edge of the pit, and were precipitated into its bottom. of course the hole had been made deep enough to prevent them getting out until they were secured by the hunters. at each drive nearly half a bushel was obtained, and then a fresh pit was made in another part of the plain, and more driven in, until our four trappers had as many as they wanted. the crickets were next killed, and slightly parched upon hot stones, until they were dry enough to keep and carry. the indians usually pound them, and mixing them with the seeds of a species of gramma grass, which grows abundantly in that country, form them into a sort of bread, known among the trappers as "cricket-cake." these seeds, however, our trappers could not procure, so they were compelled to eat the parched crickets "pure and unmixed;" but this, in the condition in which they then were, was found to be no hardship. in fine, having made a bundle for each, they once more took the route, and after many hardships, and suffering much from thirst, they reached the remote settlement of fort hall, where, being known, they were of course relieved, and fitted out for a fresh trapping expedition. ike and redwood both declared that they afterwards had their revenge upon the utahs, for the scurvy treatment they had suffered, but what was the precise character of that revenge they declined stating. both loudly swore that the pawnees had better look out for the future, for they were not the men to be "set afoot on the parairy for nuthin." after listening to the relations of our guides, a night-guard was appointed, and the rest of us, huddling around the camp-fire, were soon as sound asleep as though we were reposing under damask curtains, on beds of down. chapter thirty eight. a grand battue. the spot we had chosen for our camp was near the edge of a small rivulet with low banks. in fact, the surface of the water was nearly on a level with that of the prairie. there was no wood, with the exception of a few straggling cotton-woods, and some of the long-leafed willows peculiar to the prairie streams. out of the cotton-woods we had made our camp-fire, and this was some twenty or thirty paces back from the water, not in a conspicuous position, but in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the prairie; a curious formation, for which none of us could account. it looked as if fashioned by art, as its form was circular, and its sides sloped regularly downward to the centre, like the crater of a volcano. but for its size, we might have taken it for a buffalo wallow, but it was of vastly larger diameter than one of these, and altogether deeper and more funnel-shaped. we had noticed several other basins of the same sort near the place, and had our circumstances been different, we should have been interested in endeavouring to account for their existence. as it was, we did not trouble ourselves much about the geology of the neighbourhood we were in. we were only too anxious to get out of it; but seeing that this singular hole would be a safe place for our camp-fire--for our thoughts still dwelt upon the rascally pawnees--we had kindled it there. reclined against the sloping sides of the basin, with our feet resting upon its bottom, our party disposed themselves, and in this position went to sleep. one was to be awake all night as guard; though, of course, all took turns, each awaking the sentinel whose watch was to follow his. to the doctor was assigned the first two hours, and as we went to sleep, we could perceive his plump rounded form seated upon the outer rim of the circular bank above us. none of us had any great faith in the doctor as a guard, but his watch was during the least dangerous time of night, so far as indians are concerned. these never make their attack until the hours after midnight, as they know well that these are the hours of soundest sleep. the horse-drive of the previous night was an exception, but that had happened because they had drawn near and seen no horse-guard. it was a very unusual case. they knew that we were now on the alert; and if they had meditated farther mischief, would have attempted it only after midnight hour. we had no apprehensions therefore, and one and all of us being very much fatigued with the day's hunting afoot, slept soundly. the bank against which we rested was dry and comfortable; the fire warmed us well, and redoubled our desire for repose. it appears that the doctor fell asleep on his post, or else we might all of us have been better prepared for the invasion that we suffered during that night. i was awakened by loud shouts--the guides were uttering them. i sprang to my feet in the full belief that we were attacked by indians, and at first thought caught hold of my gun. all my companions were roused about the same time, and, labouring under a similar hallucination, went through a like series of manoeuvres. but when we looked up, and beheld the doctor stretched along the ridge, and still snoring soundly, we scarce knew what to make of it. ike and redwood, however, accustomed to sleep with one eye open, had waked first, and had already climbed the ridge; and the double report of their guns confirmed our suspicions that we were attacked by indians. what else could they be firing at? "this way all of you!" cried redwood, making signs for us to come up where he and his companion already were, waving their guns around their heads, and acting in a very singular manner, "this way, bring your guns, pistols, and all--quick with you!" we all dashed up the steep, just at the moment that the doctor suddenly awaking ran terrified down. as we pressed up, we could hear a mingling of noises, the tramp of horsemen as we thought, and a loud bellowing, as if from a hundred bulls. the last sounds could not well have been more like the bellowing of bulls, for in reality it was such. the night was a bright moonlight, and the moment we raised our heads above the scarp of the ridge we saw at once the cause of our alarm. the plain around us was black with buffaloes! tens of thousands must have been in the drove which was passing us to a great depth on both sides. they were running at a fast trot--some of them even galloping, and in some places they were so thickly packed together, that one would be seen mounting upon the hind-quarters of the other, while some were thrown down, and trampled over by their companions. "hyur, hyur, all of ye!" cried ike, "stand by hyur, or they'll git into the hole, and tramp us to shucks!" we saw at a glance the meaning of these instructions. the excited animals were rushing headlong, and nothing seemed to stay their course. we could see them dashing into and across the little streamlet without making any account of it. should they pour into the circle in which we stood, others would follow, and we might get mingled with the drove. there was not a spot on the prairie where we could have been safe. the impetuous mass was impelled from behind, and could neither halt nor change its course. already a pair of bulls had fallen before the rifles of our guides, and to some extent prevented the others from breaking over the ring, but they would certainly have done so had it not been for the shouts and gestures of the trappers. we rushed to the side indicated, and each of us prepared to fire, but some of the more prudent held their loads for a while, others pulled trigger, and a succession of shots from rifles, double-barrels, and revolvers soon raised a pile of dead buffaloes that blocked up the passage of the rest, as though it had been a barrier built on purpose. a breathing space was now allowed us, and each loaded his piece as fast as he was able. there was no time lost in firing, for the stream of living creatures swept on continuously, and a mark was found in a single glance of the eye. i think we must have continued the loading and firing for nearly a quarter of an hour. then the great herd began to grow thinner and thinner, until the last buffalo had passed. we now looked around us to contemplate the result. the ground on every side of the circle was covered with dark hirsute forms, but upon that where we stood a perfect mass of them lay together. these forms were in every attitude, some stretched on their sides, others upon their knees, and still a number upon their feet, but evidently wounded. some of us were about to rush out of our charmed circle to complete the work, but were held back by the warning voices of the guides. "for yur lives don't go," cried redwood, "don't stir from hyur till we've knocked 'em all over. thur's some o' them with life enough left to do for a ween o' ye yet." so saying, the trapper raised his long piece, selected one of the bulls that were seen on their feet, and sent him rolling over. another and another was disposed of in the same way, and then those that were in a kneeling position were reconnoitred to see if they were still alive, and when found to be so were speedily disposed of by a bullet. when all were laid out we emerged from our hole, and counted the game. there were no less than twenty-five dead immediately around the circle, besides several wounded that we could see straggling off over the plain. we did not think of going to rest again until each of us had eaten about two pounds of fresh buffalo-beef, and what with the excitement of this odd adventure, and the jokes that followed--not a few of them levelled at our _quondam_ guard--it was near morning before we closed our eyes again in sleep. chapter thirty nine. the route home. we awoke more confident of our future. we had now provision enough and thousands of pounds to spare. it only remained for us to make it portable, and preserve it by drying; and this would occupy us about three full days. our guides understood well how to cure meat without salt, and as soon as we had breakfasted all of us set to work. we had to pick and choose amidst such mountains of meat. of course the fat cows only were "butchered." the bulls were left where they had fallen, to become the food of wolves, scores of which were now seen skulking around the spot. a large fire was kindled, and near this was erected a framework of branches, on which was laid or suspended the meat, cut into thin slices and strips. these were placed at such a distance from the fire that it acted upon them only to dry up the juices, and in less than forty-eight hours the strips became hard and stiff, so that they would keep for months without danger of spoiling. meanwhile some employed themselves in dressing buffalo-skins, so as to render them light and portable, in other words to make robes of them that would serve us for sleeping in. at the end of the third day we had arranged every thing, and were ready to set forth on our homeward journey. each was to carry his own rations of the jerked meat, as well as his arms, robes, and equipments. of course, loaded in this manner, we did not expect to make a long daily journey, but, supplied as we were with provisions for thirty days, we had no fear but that before the end of that time we would reach independence. we were in high spirits as we set out, although, before we had walked far, the pressure of our packs somewhat moderated the exuberance of our feelings; and before we had been fifty hours upon the road, an incident occurred that once more reduced us to a new state of despondency, and placed us once more in peril of our lives. many an accident of flood and field, many a "hair-breadth 'scape" are to be encountered in a journey through prairie-land, and the most confident calculations of the traveller are often rendered worthless in a single moment. so we found to our consternation. the accident which befel us was one of a deplorable character. we had reached the banks of a small stream, not over fifty yards in width, but very deep. after going down it for several miles no place could be found that was fordable, and at length we made up our minds to swim across, rather than spend more time in searching for a ford. this was easy enough, as we were all swimmers, and in a few minutes most of the party were safely landed on the other side. but it remained to get our provisions and other matters over, and for this purpose a small raft had been constructed, upon which the packs of meat, robes, as well as our arms and ammunition, were laid. a cord was attached to the raft, and one of the party swam over with the cord, and then several taking hold commenced dragging over the raft with its load. although the stream was narrow, the current was strong and rapid, and just as the raft had got near the middle the towing line snapped, and away went the whole baggage down stream. we all followed along the banks, in hopes of securing the raft when it should float near, and at first we had little apprehension about the matter. but to our mortification we now perceived a rapid just below, and there would be no chance of preventing the frail structure from going over it. the packs, robes, and guns had been laid upon the raft, not even fastened to it, for in our careless security, we never anticipated such a result. it was too late to leap into the stream and endeavour to stop the raft. no one thought of such a thing. all saw that it was impossible, and we stood with anxious hearts watching the floating mass as it swept down and danced over the foaming waters. then a shock was heard--the raft heeled round--and poised upon a sharp rock, stood for a moment in mid stream, and then once more washed free it glided on into the still water below. we rushed down the banks, after an effort secured the raft, and drew it ashore; but to our consternation most of the provisions, with the guns and ammunition, were gone! they had been tossed off in the very middle of the rapids, and of course were lost for ever. only three packs of the meat, with a number of robes, remained upon the raft. we were now in a more serious condition than ever. the provision saved from the wreck would not last us a week, and when that was consumed how were we to procure more? our means of killing game was taken from us. we had no arms but pistols and knives. what chance of killing a deer, or any other creature, with these? the prospect was gloomy enough. some even advised that we should go back to where we had left the buffalo carcasses. but by this time the wolves had cleaned them of their flesh. it would have been madness to go back. there was no other course but to head once more towards the settlements, and travel as fast as we could. on half rations we continued on, making our daily journeys as long as possible. it was fortunate we had saved some of the robes, for it was now winter, and the cold had set in with extreme bitterness. some nights we were obliged to encamp without wood to make a fire with, but we were in hopes of soon reaching the forest region, where we should not want for that, and where, moreover, we would be more likely to meet with some game that we could capture. on the third day after leaving the stream that had been so fatal to us, it began snowing, and continued to snow all night. next morning the whole country was covered with a white mantle, and we journeyed on, at each step sinking in the snow. this rendered our travelling very difficult, but as the snow was only a foot or so in depth we were able to make way through it. we saw many tracks of deer, but heeded them not, as we knew there was no chance of capturing the animals. our guides said if it would only thaw a little, and then freeze again, they could kill the deer without their rifles. it did thaw during the day, and at night froze so hard, that in the morning there was a thick crust of ice upon the surface of the snow. this gave us some hope, and next morning a deer hunt was proposed. we scattered in different directions in parties of two and three, and commenced tracking the deer. on re-assembling at our night-camp, our different parties came back wearied and empty-handed. the guides, ike and redwood, had gone by themselves, and were the last to reach the rendezvous. we watched anxiously for their return. they came at length, and to our joy each of them carried the half of a deer upon his shoulders. they had discovered the animal by his trail in the snow, and pursued it for miles, until its ankles and hoofs became so lacerated by the crust that it allowed them to approach near enough for the range of their pistols. fortunately it proved to be a good-sized buck, and would add a couple of days to our stock of provisions. with fresh venison to our breakfast, we started forth next morning in better spirits. this day we intended to make a long journey, in hopes of getting into heavy timber, where we might find deer more plentiful, and might capture some before the snow thawed away. but before the end of the day's journey we were so stocked with provision, that we no longer cared about deer or any other game. our commissariat was once more replenished by the buffalo, and in a most unexpected manner. we were tramping along upon the frozen snow, when upon ascending the crest of a ridge, we saw five huge forms directly in front of us. we had no expectation of meeting with buffalo so far to the eastward, and were somewhat in doubt as to whether they were buffaloes. their bodies, against the white hill side, appeared of immense size, and as they were covered all over with hoar frost, and icicles depending from their long shaggy tufts of hair, they presented a singular aspect, that for awhile puzzled us. we took them for pine-trees! we soon saw, however, that they were in motion, moving along the hill, and they could be no other than buffaloes, as no other animals could have presented such an appearance. of course they were at a long distance, and this prevented us from at once recognising them. this was an important discovery, and brought our party to a halt and a consultation. what course was to be adopted? how were we to capture one or all of them? had the snow been of sufficient depth the thing would have been easy; but although as it was, it might impede their running, they could get through it much faster than we. the only chance was to "approach" them by stealth; but then we must creep within pistol range, and that upon the plain white surface would be absolutely impossible. the foot of the hunter crunching through the frozen snow, would warn them of their danger long before he could get near. in fact, when every circumstance had been weighed and discussed, we every one despaired of success. at that moment what would we not have given for a horse and a gun. as we talked without coming to any determination, the five huge forms disappeared over the sharp ridge, that can transversely to our course. as this ridge would shelter us from view, we hurried forward in order to see what advantages there were in the ground on its other side. we were in hopes of seeing timber that might enable us to get closer to the game, and we made for a small clump that grew on the top of the ridge. we reached it at length, and to our great chagrin, saw the five great brutes galloping off on the opposite side. our hearts fell, and we were turning to each other with disappointed looks, when a tumultuous shout of triumph broke from redwood and the wolf-killer, and both calling out to us to follow them, dashed off in the direction of the buffalo! we looked to ascertain the cause of this strange conduct. a singular sight met our eyes. the buffalo were sprawling and kicking on the plain below; now rushing forward a short distance, then spreading their limbs, and halting, while some of them came heavily down upon their sides, and lay flinging their legs about them, as if they had been wounded! all these manoeuvres would have been mysterious enough, but the guides rushing forward had already given the key to them, by exclaiming that _the buffalo were upon the ice_! it was true. the snow-covered plain was a frozen lake, and the animals in their haste had galloped upon the ice, where they were now floundering. it cost us but a few minutes' time to come up with them, and in a few minutes more--a few minutes of fierce deadly strife--in which pistols cracked and knife-blades gleamed, five great carcasses lay motionless upon the blood-stained snow. this lucky capture, for we could only attribute it to good fortune, was perhaps the means of saving the lives of our party. the meat furnished by the five bulls--for bulls they were--formed an ample stock, which enabled us to reach the settlements in safety. it is true we had many a hard trial to undergo and many a weary hour's walking, before we slept under a roof; but although in wretched plight, as far as looks went, we all got back in excellent health. at independence we were enabled to "rig" ourselves out, so as to make an appearance at saint louis--where we arrived a few days after--and where, seated around the well-filled table of the planters' hotel, we soon forgot the hardships, and remembered only the pleasures, of our wild hunter-life. the end. internet archive. transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_. hints on coyote and wolf trapping [illustration] [illustration: leaflet no. ] hints on wolf and coyote trapping by stanley p. young, _principal biologist, in charge division of predatory-animal and rodent control, bureau of biological survey_ issued july, the range of coyotes and wolves in the united states to-day is confined mainly to the immense area west of the mississippi river. wolves, however, have been so materially reduced in numbers west of the one-hundredth meridian that except for those drifting into the united states from the northern states of mexico, they are the cause of little concern. the areas now most heavily infested with wolves are in alaska, eastern texas, oklahoma, arkansas, missouri, wisconsin, minnesota, and michigan. a few r of these animals are found also in northern louisiana and eastward along the gulf coastal area into mississippi. coyotes, on the other hand, exist in all the western states, as well as in the mid-western states above listed as inhabited by wolves. they have also been reported in orleans county, n. y., and in southeastern alabama where introduced. [sidenote: why control is necessary] coyotes and wolves make serious inroads on the stocks of sheep and lambs, cattle, pigs, and poultry, as well as on the wild game mammals and the ground-nesting and insectivorous birds of the country. wherever these predatory animals occur in large numbers, they are a source of worry and loss to stockmen, farmers, and sportsmen because of their destructiveness to wild and domestic animals. the coyote is by far the most persistent of the predators of the western range country; and moreover, it is a further menace because it is a carrier of rabies, or hydrophobia. this disease was prevalent in nevada, california, utah, idaho, and eastern oregon in and , and later in washington and in southern colorado. since this widespread outbreak, sporadic cases of rabid coyotes have occurred each year in the western states. the coyote has also been found to be a carrier of tularemia, a disease of wild rabbits and other rodents that is transmissible and sometimes fatal to human beings. much of the country inhabited by coyotes and wolves is purely agricultural and contains vast grazing areas, and a large percentage of the food of the animals of those areas consists of the mutton, beef, pork, and poultry produced by the stockman and farmer, and the wild game that needs to be conserved. it is a matter of great importance, therefore, to the nation's livestock-producing sections, as well as to the conservationist's plan of game protection or game propagation, that coyotes and wolves be controlled in areas where they are destructive. trapping has been found to be one of the most effective methods of capturing these animals. [sidenote: strategy required] every wild animal possesses some form of defense against danger or harm to itself. with wolves and coyotes this is shown in their acute sense of smell, alert hearing, and keen eyesight. to trap these animals successfully, one must work to defeat these highly developed senses when placing traps, and success in doing so will come only with a full knowledge of the habits of the two predators and after repeated experiments with trap sets. of the two animals, possibly the wolf is the more difficult to trap. it is cunning, and as it matures from the yearling stage to the adult its cleverness at times becomes uncanny. individual coyotes also possess this trait, particularly old animals that have been persistently hunted and trapped with crude methods. the steel trap, in sizes and for coyotes and sizes k and for wolves ( in alaska), is recommended for capturing these large predators. steel traps have been used in this country by many generations of trappers, and although deemed by many persons to be inhumane, no better or more practical device has yet been invented to take their place. [sidenote: scent posts] on the open range coyotes and wolves have what are commonly referred to as "scent posts," or places where they come to urinate. the animals usually establish these posts along their runways on stubble of range grasses, on bushes, or possibly on some old bleached-out carcasses. where ground conditions are right for good tracking, these scent posts may be detected from the toenail scratches on the ground made by the animals after they have urinated. this habit of having scent posts and of scratching is similar to that noted in dogs. as wolves and coyotes pass over their travel ways, they generally stop at these posts, invariably voiding fresh urine and occasionally excreta also. [sidenote: where to set traps] finding these scent posts is of prime importance, for it is at such points that traps should be set. if such posts 'can not be found, then one can be readily established, if the travel way of the coyote or wolf has been definitely ascertained, by dropping scent of the kind to be described later on a few clusters of weeds, spears of grass, or stubble of low brush. the trap should then be set at this point. any number of such scent stations can thus be placed along a determined wolf or coyote travel way. time consumed in finding a wolf or coyote scent post is well spent, for the success of a trap set depends upon its location. coyotes and wolves can not be caught unless traps are set and concealed where the animals will step into them. if traps are placed where the animals are not accustomed to stop on their travel ways, the chances are that they will pass them by on the run. even if a wolf or a coyote should detect the scent, the fact that it is in an unnatural place may arouse the suspicion of the animal and cause it to become shy and make a detour. often the fresh tracks of shod horses along wolf and coyote runways are sufficient to cause the predators to leave the trail for some distance. a lone wolf is much more cautious than a pack of wolves running together. travel ways of coyotes and wolves are confined to open and more or less broken country. in foraging for food over these runways the animals may use trails of cattle or sheep, canyons, old wood roads, dry washes, low saddles on watershed divides, or even highways in thinly settled areas. any one of these places, or any combination of them, may be a wolf or coyote runway. wolves have been known to cover a circuitous route of more than a hundred miles in an established runway. it is in such country that their scent posts should be looked for. [illustration: b ; b ; b figure .--first step in setting traps for wolves and coyotes. the stubble and woods near the traps are the scent post: a, trap and stake in position, and "setting cloth"; b, doable trap set; c, trap set showing distance from scent post, and stake driven into ground] places where carcasses of animals killed by wolves and coyotes or of animals that have died from natural causes have lain a long time offer excellent spots for setting traps, for wolves and coyotes often revisit these carcasses. it is always best to set the traps a few yards away from the carcasses at weeds, bunches of grass, or low stubble of bushes. other good situations are at the intersection of two or more trails, around old bedding grounds of sheep, and at water holes on the open range. ideal places for wolf or coyote traps are points to inches from the bases of low clusters of weeds or grasses along a trail used as a runway. [illustration: b ; b figure .--burying the traps: a, a shoulder of dirt should be built up around and under the pan as a foundation for the trap pad, which is shown in place; b, trap completely bedded, springs and jaws covered, and pan unobstructed, ready for trap pad to be put in place] [sidenote: setting the traps] traps used should be clean, with no foreign odor. in making a set, a hole the length and width of the trap with jaws open is dug with a trowel, a sharpened piece of angle iron, or a prospector's pick. while digging, the trapper stands or kneels on a "setting cloth," about feet square, made of canvas or of a piece of sheep or calf hide. if canvas is used, the human scent may be removed by previously burying it in an old manure pile. the livestock scent acquired in this process is usually strong enough to counteract any scent later adhering to the setting cloth and likely to arouse suspicion. the dirt removed from the hole dug to bed the trap is placed on the setting cloth. the trap is then dropped into the hole and firmly bedded so as to rest perfectly level. instead of using digging tools, some hunters bed the trap where the ground is loose, as in sandy loam, by holding it at its base and with a circular motion working it slowly into the ground even with the surface and then removing the dirt from under the pan before placing the trap pad to be described later. an important advantage of this method is that there is less disturbance of the ground around the scent post than when tools are used, for the secret of setting a trap successfully is to leave the ground as natural as it was before the trap was concealed. a double trap set, as shown in figure , b, may be used and is often preferred to a single set for coyotes. the trap may be left unanchored or anchored. either draghooks may be attached to a chain (preferably feet long) fastened by a swivel to the trap base or to a spring, and all buried underneath, or a steel stake pin (fig. , a and c) may be used, attached by a swivel to a -foot chain fastened to the base or a spring of the trap. if a stake pin is used, it should be driven full length into the ground near the right-hand spring of the trap, with the trigger and pan directly toward the operator. anchoring the trap is the preferred method, because animals caught are obtained without loss of time and because other animals are not driven out of their course by one of their kind dragging about a dangling, clanking trap, often the case where drag hooks are used. the next stage (fig. , a and b) is the careful burying of the trap and building up of a so-called shoulder around and under the pan. this should be so built that, when it is completed, the shape of the ground within the jaws of the trap represents an inverted cone, in order to give a foundation for the pan cover, commonly called the "trap pad." the trap pad may be made of canvas, of old "slicker cloth," or even of a piece of ordinary wire fly screen cut into the shape shown in figure , a. the trap pad to be effective must contain no foreign odor that might arouse the suspicion of wolf or coyote. in placing the trap pad over the pan and onto the shoulders of the dirt built up for carrying it, the utmost care must be taken to see that no rock, pebble, or dirt slips under the pan, which would prevent the trap from springing. with the trap pad in place (fig. , a), the entire trap is carefully covered with the remaining portion of earth on the setting cloth (fig. , b). cover traps at least half an inch deep with dry dust if possible. it is well to have the covered surface over the trap a little lower than the surrounding ground, for a wolf or a coyote is then less apt to scratch and expose the trap without springing it. furthermore, the animal will throw more weight on a foot placed in a depression, and thus is more likely to be caught deeper on the foot and with a firmer grip. all surplus earth on the setting cloth not needed for covering the trap should be taken a good distance away and scattered evenly on the ground. [illustration: b ; b ; b figure .--completed trap sets, with ground made to blend again with surroundings. the small stone in the foreground of a and the triangular stick in b serve to break the natural gait of the animal and cause it to step directly over it onto the pan of the trap; c, place the scent on side of brush or weed that is nearest the trap] a few drops of scent are now applied (fig. , c) to the weed, cluster of grass, or stubble used as the scent post. a scent tested and successfully used by government hunters is made as follows: [sidenote: scenting] put into a bottle the urine and the gall of a wolf or a coyote, depending on which is to be trapped, and also the anal glands, which are situated under the skin on either side of the vent and resemble small pieces of bluish fat. if these glands can not be readily found, the whole anal parts may be used. to every ounces of the mixture add ounce of glycerin, to give it body and to prevent too rapid evaporation, and grain of corrosive sublimate to keep it from spoiling. let the mixture stand several days, then shake well and scatter a few drops on weeds or ground or inches from the place where the trap is set. the farther from the travelway the trap is set, the more scent will be needed. a little of the scent should be rubbed on the trapper's gloves and shoe soles to conceal the human odor. if the animals become "wise" to this kind of scent, an effective fish scent may be prepared in the following way: grind the flesh of sturgeon, eels, trout, suckers, carp, or other oily variety of fish in a sausage mill, place in strong tin or iron cans, and leave in a warm place of even temperature to decompose thoroughly. provide each can with a small vent to allow the escape of gas (otherwise there is danger of explosion), but screen the aperture with a fold of cloth to prevent flies depositing eggs, as the scent seems to lose much of its quality if many maggots develop. this scent may be used within days after it is prepared, but it is more lasting and penetrating after a lapse of days. it is also very attractive to livestock, and its use on heavily stocked ranges is not recommended, as cattle are attracted to such scent stations and will spring the traps. an excellent system for a hunter to follow is to commence with a quantity of ground fish placed in large iron containers, similar to a milk can. as the original lot is used on the trap line, it should be replenished by adding more ground fresh fish. the addition from time to time of new material seems to improve the quality of the scent mixture. where no moisture has fallen, rescenting of scent posts need be done only every four or five days. in wet weather every third day is good practice. for dropping the scent it is best to use a to ounce shaker-corked bottle. the actual trapping of a wolf or a coyote by the method here described occurs when the animal comes over its runway and is attracted to the "post" by the scent that has been dropped. in approaching the spot for a smell the animal invariably puts a foot on the concealed pan; the jaws are thus released and the foot is securely held. the place where a wolf or a coyote has thus been caught affords an excellent location for a reset after the animal has been removed from the trap. this is due to the natural scent dropped by the animal while in the trap. it is advisable always to wear gloves while setting traps and to use them for no other purpose than for trap setting. u. s. government printing office: for sale by the superintendent of documents, washington, d. c. price cents transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. "pirate captain" is inconsistently capitalized. on page , in the phrase "'chattery-chattery--chat-chat chatterdy,' said man friday," man friday should possibly be man saturday. barty crusoe and his man saturday [illustration: barty and the good wolf had everything you could imagine] barty crusoe and his man saturday by frances hodgson burnett author of "little lord fauntleroy," "the little princess," "the good wolf," etc. [illustration] new york moffat, yard and company copyright, , , by holiday publishing co. new york copyright, , by moffat, yard and company new york entered at stationers' hall all rights reserved published, november, list of illustrations page barty and the good wolf had everything you could imagine _frontispiece_ he was so delighted with robinson crusoe that he could not remember the time "hello!" he called, "were you the ones at the snow feast?" "it's getting worse," gasped the good wolf barty leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gazed with all his might barty drew nearer and the next moment gave a shout the pirates began to row towards the shore "oh!" said the captain, "i'm really smiling" the pirate captain took off his hat with a big flourish "it's another pirate vessel and it is going to attack us" "we've won! we've won!" cried barty [illustration] chapter one barty crusoe and his man saturday i hope you remember that i told you that the story of barty and the good wolf was the kind of story which could go on and on, and that when it stopped it could begin again. it was like that when tim's mother told it to tim, and really that was what tim liked best about it--that sudden way it had of beginning all over again with something new just when you felt quite mournful because you thought it had come to an end. there are very few stories like that,--very few indeed,--so you have to be thankful when you find one. this new part began with barty finding an old book in the attic of his house. he liked the attic because you never knew what you might find there. once he had even found an old sword which had belonged to his grandfather and which _might_ have killed a man if his grandfather had worn it in war. one rainy day he found the book. it was a rather fat book, and it had been read so much that it was falling to pieces. on the first page there was a picture of a very queer looking man. he was dressed in clothes made of goat skin; he carried a gun on one shoulder and a parrot on the other, and his name was printed under the picture and it was--robinson crusoe. now, barty was a very good reader for his age. he had to spell very few words when he read aloud, so he sat down at once on the attic floor and began to read about robinson crusoe as fast as ever he could. that day he was late to his dinner and was late for bed, and as the days went on he was late so often that his mother thought he must be losing his appetite. but he was not. he was only so delighted with robinson crusoe that he could not remember the time. that week the good wolf was away on very important business, and if barty had not had his wonderful book to read he might have felt lonely. the good wolf had taught him a special little tune to play on his whistle when he wanted to call _him_ without calling all the other animals. [illustration: he was so delighted with robinson crusoe that he could not remember the time] the day barty finished reading his book he tucked it under his arm and ran into the wood to his secret place and played his tune, and in less than two minutes he turned round and saw the good wolf trotting towards him out of the green tunnel. barty ran and hugged him, and while he was hugging him the book under his arm fell down to the grass. "what is that?" asked the good wolf, and he went to it and sniffed it over carefully. "it is a book i have been reading," answered barty. "it is about a man whose name was robinson crusoe. he was shipwrecked on a desert island." "what is a desert island?" inquired the good wolf. "it is a perfectly beautiful place with a sea all around it. oh! i wonder if there are any desert islands around here!" the good wolf looked thoughtful. he sat down and gently scratched his left ear with his hind foot. "do you want one?" he asked. "let us make ourselves comfortable and talk it over." so they sat down and barty leaned against him with one arm round his neck and began to explain. "a desert island is a place where no one lives but you. there are no other people on it and there are no houses and no shops and you have to make yourself a hut to live in. and beautiful things grow wild--cocoanuts and big bunches of grapes. and there are goats and parrots you can tame so that they sit on your shoulder and talk to you." "do the goats sit on your shoulder and talk to you?" asked the good wolf, looking a little surprised. "no, only the parrots," said barty. "the goats follow you about and are friends with you. the only trouble sometimes is cannibals." the good wolf shook his head. "i never saw a cannibal," he remarked. "they are not nice," said barty, "they are savage black men who want to eat people--but you can frighten them away with your gun," he ended quite cheerfully. then he told about robinson crusoe's man friday and about everything else he could remember, and the story was so interesting and exciting that several times the good wolf quite panted. "why, i should like it myself," he said, "i really should." "if we only knew where there _was_ a desert island," said barty. the good wolf looked thoughtful again and once more scratched his left ear with his right foot, but there was an expression on his face which made barty open his eyes very wide. "_do_ you know where there is one?" he cried out. "you look as if--" the good wolf stood up and shook his pink ear _very hard_--and then he shook his blue one. "nothing flew out," said barty. "i saw nothing at all." "what flew out did not fly out here," answered the good wolf. "it flew out in the place where it was wanted--ten thousand miles away." barty caught his breath and clapped his hands. "i know something nice is going to happen," he shouted, "and it's something about a desert island." "get on my back and clasp your arms around my neck and shut your eyes," the good wolf said. "this is not a trifling matter." barty scrambled up joyfully and did as he was told. the good wolf's fur felt soft and thick when he laid his face against it. he shut his eyes tight and then just for a few moments he felt as if they both were almost flying over the ground. they went so fast, indeed, and the air sung so in his ears as he rushed through it that it made him feel drowsy and he soon fell asleep. * * * * * when he felt himself waking he was quite warm, as if the sun were shining on him. there was a sound in his ears still; it was not the rushing of the air but a sound like rushing of water, which he had never heard before. he had never seen the sea and knew nothing about waves except what he had read in the story of robinson crusoe. he sat up and stared straight before him and his eyes grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger. he was sitting on a snow-white beach and there before him was spread the great blue ocean, and its waves were swelling and breaking into snowy foam, and rushing and spreading and curling on the sand. after he had looked straight before him for quite five minutes he turned and looked round about him. what he saw was a curve of beach and some cliffs rising from behind it. and on top of the cliffs were big leaved plants and straight, slender palm trees which waved and waved like spreading green feathers. "i wonder if cocoanuts grow on them," said barty. "that would be _very_ nice: robinson crusoe found cocoanuts." when he said robinson crusoe that made him remember. "why, it's a desert island," he said. "it's a desert island!" then, of course, he remembered about the good wolf and he turned round to look for him. and there he sat on the sand a few feet away. "were we wrecked?" asked barty. "well, not exactly _wrecked_," answered the good wolf, "but here we are." "where is here?" asked barty. "ten thousand miles from everybody," said the good wolf. "oh," said barty, and his mouth was very round. "you _said_ a desert island," remarked the good wolf, watching him. "yes," answered barty, trying to speak cheerfully, because he did not want to hurt the good wolf's feelings by seeming dissatisfied. "and--and it is _very_ nice and desert, isn't it?" "it is," answered the good wolf. "i chose the kind--like robinson crusoe's, you know." "it is a very nice one," said barty, "and i am much obliged to you." then he dug his toe into the sand a little. "i am just thinking about my mother," he said while he was doing it. the good wolf looked as cheerful as ever. "i had something in my pink ear which i shook out as we passed your cottage," he chuckled. "it's a kind of scent like mignonette and it makes mothers forget the time. it's very useful in case of long journeys, because when you come back they never say 'where have you been?' they don't know how long you have been away. i shook out a whole lot when we passed your house and i heard your mother say 'how sweet the mignonette smells to-day!'" barty's face was quite cheerful by the time the good wolf had finished. "i'm so glad i know you," he said. "you can do everything, can't you?" the good wolf looked thoughtful again (which makes three times), and he scratched his ear with his hind foot more seriously than ever. "look here," he said. "there is something i shall be obliged to tell you." "what is it?" asked barty, feeling very much interested. "i can't do _everything_ on desert islands." "can't you shake things out of your ears?" exclaimed barty. "no," answered the good wolf. "i won't deceive you. i can't." barty could hardly gasp out "why?" "just cast your eye on them, just look at them," said the good wolf. "you have been too much excited to notice them before. do they _look_ as if i could shake things out of them?" barty _did_ look at them and he _did_ gasp then. his voice was almost a whisper. "no," he answered. the tall pink ear and the tall blue ear had dwindled until they were only ordinary bad wolf ear size. "there is something in the air of desert islands that makes them dwindle away," the good wolf explained. "i could not shake a pin out of them now." barty drew a long breath, stood up straight and dug his strong little hands into his pockets. "well," he said cheerfully, "all right. i asked for a desert island and i've got one. we shall have to look for everything and make everything exactly like robinson crusoe did. i believe it will be more fun. don't you?" "sure of it," chuckled the good wolf. "quite sure of it. if we could shake everything out of our ears when we wanted it, it would be scarcely any fun at all. it doesn't make _me_ feel mournful." "it doesn't make me feel mournful either," said barty. "think what a lot of things we shall have to do." "yes," the good wolf answered. "we shall have to find a place to sleep in and things to eat and a fire to cook them with." "i wonder where we shall find the fire?" said barty. "i don't know yet," the good wolf answered, "but on robinson crusoe's desert island you _did_ find things somehow." "it will be great fun looking for them--like playing hide-and-seek," barty said. there seemed so many new things to do that he did not know where to begin first. but the little curling edges of the waves which came spreading out on the white sand seemed just for that minute to be nicer than anything else. so he sat down and began to take off his shoes and stockings. "i am going to wade," he said. "i never waded in my life. i forgot desert islands were the seaside." it was so cool and lovely and splashy and it was such fun to pretend he was going to let a wave catch him and then turn and run, shouting and laughing away from it, that for a few moments he almost forgot about the good wolf. but at last as he was running away from a big wave, he saw him come galloping along the beach as if he had been somewhere and was returning. "where did you go?" called barty. "come along with me," said the good wolf, "and i will show you." they turned and went back to where the rocks were. there was a large circle of them and inside the circle was a pool of quiet, clear water. "here is something better than wading," said the good wolf. "i felt sure this was here. it is just the kind of a place you find on a desert island when you want to learn to swim. take off your clothes and i will take you in and teach you." barty took off his clothes in one minute and a half. "come on," said the good wolf. "catch hold of my hair and hold tight, just at first." and in he jumped and barty with him. the water had been warmed by the sun and was as clear as crystal. it wasn't too deep, either. "do exactly as i do," the good wolf said when they were splashing about together. he could swim splendidly, and barty imitated him. at first he held on to his friend's thick, shaggy coat with one hand and paddled with the other, and kicked his legs. when he had learned what to do with his hands and feet the good wolf made him splash about in the shallower places until he began to feel quite brave, and actually swam a few strokes alone. "i never, never thought i should learn to swim," he kept shouting joyfully. "see, i'm keeping up all by myself." "of course you will learn to swim," said the good wolf. "it is one of the first things you have to do when you are wrecked on a desert island." by the time they decided to come out of the water barty knew that it would not be long before he could swim as if he were a little fish. he felt so proud and happy that he sang out loud as he run up and down in the sun to dry himself before he put on his clothes again. there are no towels on desert islands. "what shall we do next?" asked barty when he had finished dressing. "well," said the good wolf, "supposing now that i could shake things out of my ears what do you think you should ask me to shake out first?" barty did not think many minutes. "my belt," said barty, "is rather loose by this time. if you could shake things out i think i should ask you to shake out some dinner." "it's what i should have chosen myself," said the good wolf. "what robinson crusoe did on his desert island when he wanted his dinner, was to go and look for it until he found it." "yes," said barty, "i suppose we shall have to go and look too." "all right, it's part of the game," said the good wolf. then he looked at barty a little anxiously. "are you very hungry?" he inquired. "yes," said barty, quite like a soldier. "so was robinson crusoe. that's part of the game, too." "come on," said the good wolf. "you are a good companion to be shipwrecked with. there are boys of your age who might have cried and said they wanted to go home." "oh, but i said a desert island," answered barty. "and i meant a desert island. and it will be splendid finding something good to eat when your belt is as loose as mine." the good wolf smiled a smile which reach to his ears, and off they went towards the place where the trees were. [illustration] chapter two chapter two as barty and the wolf walked along together they talked about robinson crusoe in the book. "his ship was wrecked on the rocks and broken all to pieces," said barty. "but _we_ did not come in a ship, did we?" "no," answered the wolf. "and barrels and boxes full of biscuits and things floated about in the water and he swam after them. it would be rather nice to see a box of biscuits now, wouldn't it?" barty said. "is your belt very loose?" asked the good wolf. "it never was as loose as this before," said barty. "buckle it a little tighter," said the good wolf. so barty buckled it one hole tighter. they walked along the shore till they came to a place where they could begin to climb the green cliff. then they climbed and climbed and climbed and the grass grew greener and thicker and there were flowers growing on every side and bushes with birds singing on them, and the birds were all sorts of lovely colors. some of them stopped singing just to look at barty. "they have never seen any boys before," remarked the good wolf. "do you think they like them?" asked barty. "you ought to go and see," the good wolf answered. on one of the nearest bushes a bird was sitting which was prettier than all the rest. it had a white body and breast and soft blue wings and crest. barty crept towards it with gentle little steps. he hoped very much that he would not frighten it. it did not look frightened. it put its head on one side and watched him. then barty took his whistle out of his pocket and softly played the tune the good wolf had taught him. the bird put his head on the other side and listened as if he were pleased. he was very attentive until barty had finished and then suddenly he flew up in the air and fluttered 'round and 'round about, singing the tune himself. "he is answering me!" cried out barty, joyfully. "he learned the tune in a minute." "he is a clever bird," said the good wolf. "perhaps he knows a whole lot of things." "i believe he likes me," said barty. "i believe he does." "all birds know a good thing when they see it," was what the good wolf said with his wisest air. "all animals do. i am an animal myself. you never threw a stone at a bird, did you, by the way?" barty stood quite still and looked at the ground, thinking very hard. "i never threw a stone at anything," he said when he looked up. "ah," said the good wolf. "such a _good_ plan that: never to throw a stone at anything. in fact it's a good plan never to throw _anything_ at _anything_. i shouldn't be surprised if you find your desert island ever so much nicer just because you're like that. animals know, i tell you. so do fairies. look at the bird!" barty was looking at it. it flew a few yards ahead of him and perched on a slender young tree, making funny little chirping noises. "it sounds--" said barty, "why, it sounds as if it were saying 'trot along, trot along,' just as you did when we went to the snow feast." "i did not see it at the snow feast," the good wolf said. "but perhaps it had a relation there. if it says 'trot along,' let us trot. perhaps it is clever enough to notice how loose your belt is, and it thinks it can show us something to eat which will make it tighter." so barty trotted along and the good wolf trotted with him. the bird with the blue crest flew before them and barty was quite sure it was showing them the way somewhere, because every now and then it stopped and perched on a bough and sang its little song. they went up the hill and up and up until they came to a place where they suddenly found themselves on the edge of a green hollow, and the minute they saw it the good wolf cried out, "_there's_ something we want," and trotted down as fast as he could to a big, clear pool which lay at the bottom of the hollow, and began to lap quickly. "i want it, too," shouted barty, and ran down the green slope himself. he was just going to kneel down when he saw his bird fluttering about under a tall tree, and when he looked up he saw the tree was a very funny one. it was like a palm tree but it had great balls hanging from it and something queer was going on high up among the branches. the leaves were shaking as if things were moving about among them, and barty was rather startled because he heard chattering, squeaking little voices. the sounds were so funny that for a minute he forgot that he was thirsty. "that isn't birds," he said to the good wolf. "it isn't singing and it isn't chirping. what do you think it is?" "just watch a minute and you will see," the good wolf answered. barty did not get up from his knees but he threw his curly head back and looked with all his might. what do you suppose he saw? first one little tiny black face with sharp eyes and sharp white teeth and a wrinkled nose, and then another little tiny funny black face with sharp eyes and sharp white teeth and a wrinkled nose, and then another, and then another. they peeped at him from under the leaves, and from over the leaves and round the big balls which hung from the branches. they gibbered and chattered and squeaked, and squeaked and gibbered and chattered. barty's eyes got bigger and bigger and began to sparkle, and suddenly he jumped up and clapped his hands. "they're monkeys!" he shouted. "they are little jet black monkeys, just like the ones that played in the land of the snow feast. horray! horray! horray! perhaps they are the very ones." he put his hands up to his mouth and made a trumpet of them and shouted through it to the top of the tree. it was such a very tall tree and there were so many monkeys in it and they were making such a noise that they never could have heard him if he hadn't shouted. [illustration: "hello!" he called, "were you the ones at the snow feast?"] "hello!" he called. "were you the ones at the snow feast? did you play in the band?" there was such a lot of chattering and squeaking at this that barty thought it must mean "yes." there was rustling and jumping and scuffling, and suddenly a tiny black arm and hand darted out and plucked off one of the big hanging balls and threw it down to the earth. it bounded and bounded and rolled, and barty ran after it and caught it just as it was going to roll into the pool of water. "what is it?" he cried out. "what can it be?" "it is something that will make your belt tighter," chuckled the good wolf. "it is another thing we wanted. it's a big fresh cocoanut." he gave a jump as he said it and so did barty. "there comes another," he called out, "and another and another." they had to keep jumping about because the jet-black monkeys were throwing the big nuts down as fast as they could. "they know we are hungry," said barty. when the monkeys stopped throwing they settled themselves on the branches and watched with their little bright eyes twinkling as if they were delighted. they evidently wanted to see what barty would do. the good wolf soon showed him what to do. he found a flat rock by the edge of the pool and laid the big nut on it and then looked for a stone heavy enough to break it open. when it was broken open barty felt sure nothing had ever looked so nice before. he had never known what a fresh young cocoanut was like. it was soft and creamy and rich, like some new kind of wonderful breakfast food. barty took a piece of the cocoanut shell and used it for a spoon. he sat comfortably on the grass and made quite a good breakfast. the blue and white bird watched him and the jet-black monkeys watched him, and the good wolf watched him. presently the blue and white bird flew down from the twig she was sitting on and began to peck very hard at some green leaves growing among the grass. she was so busy that the good wolf stopped watching barty and began to watch her. "that is a very clever bird," he said in a few minutes. "i believe she knows more about desert islands than people who have been to school for ten years." barty stopped his cocoanut shell spoon halfway to his mouth. "i believe she is trying to dig up something," he said. "claws are stronger than beaks," said the good wolf. "i will go and help her." he went to the place where the green leaves grew, and the minute he came near her the blue and white bird hopped out of his way and hopped on to the nearest bush and sang the little whistling song she had learned from barty. it sounded so like talking that barty almost shouted with delight. "she says 'all right,'" he cried out. "that is bird talk." the good wolf had begun to be very busy himself. he was digging very fast in the earth with his claws. soon barty saw he had dug up the root of the green leaves and it looked like a nice potato. he looked quite pleased and excited and went on digging and digging until he had dug up six fine roots and then he sat down by them and panted delightedly, with his nice big red tongue hanging out of his mouth. "well," he said, when he found his breath again, "the intelligence of that bird is beyond everything. what would you think of a hot roast potato, when your belt got a little loose again?" "i should _love_ it," answered barty. "sometimes my mother lets me roast a potato for myself, and it is nicer than anything." the good wolf looked down at his six roots and chuckled. "blue crest has shown us something just like potatoes, only nicer. there are plenty of them growing about here. we can always dig them up, and when we have roasted them we can get some of the salt that has dried on the rocks by the sea to eat them with. what do you think of that?" barty was too joyful for anything. "it is _just_ like robinson crusoe," he cried out. "just--just--just! he was _always_ finding things." "that's the advantage of a desert island," answered the good wolf. "you find everything when you have looked for it long enough to give you a beautiful appetite. nobody could live on desert islands if they were not like that." [illustration] chapter three [illustration] chapter three when the good wolf made his remark about the convenience of desert islands, such a chattering broke out among the black monkeys in the high branches in the cocoanut tree that barty threw his head back as far as he could to see what was happening. "why," he cried out the next instant, "they are all sitting together at the very top of the tree as if they were holding a meeting. i am sure they are talking to each other about something important." "perhaps they are talking about us," the good wolf said. "i do think they are," laughed barty. "they keep turning their heads to look down on us." then he jumped up and stood on his feet and shouted out to them as he had shouted before. "hello!" he said. "i don't know whether you are the ones who played in the band at the snow feast, but will you be friends? let us be friends." they all chattered so fast at this that it seemed as if they had gone crazy. "you can't understand what they say," said barty, "but i believe they mean that they will." "ah, they'll be friends," the good wolf answered. "you see, there is something about you that _makes_ friends." "is there?" cried barty, quite delighted. "i _am_ glad. i wonder what it is that does it?" "well, you're a jolly little chap," said the good wolf. "you've got such stout little legs, and you always seem to be enjoying yourself." "i _am_ always enjoying myself," barty answered. "i'm enjoying myself now 'normously. what shall we do next?" the good wolf scratched behind his right ear, and barty saw it was that thoughtful sort of scratch of his--the one he scratched when he was turning things over in his mind. "well," he said, after being quiet for a few moments, "robinson crusoe looked for a good many things that first day, didn't he?" "yes, he did," murmured barty. "now what do you think we had better look for first?" the good wolf asked him. "what do _you_ think?" said barty. "i want you to tell _me_," replied the good wolf. "it's _your_ desert island, you know, and you ought to take some of the responsibility." barty stood still and looked down at the ground, and the crowd of black monkeys at the top of the tree looked down at _him_ and stopped chattering as if they wanted to hear what he would say. after about a minute he looked up. "we can't roast potatoes unless we have a fire, and we can't have a fire unless we have some matches, and we haven't any matches," he said. the good wolf shook his head seriously. "no, we haven't any matches," he answered. "do you think we should find any if we went to look for some?" barty asked, feeling rather uncertain. the good wolf got up and shook his fur coat thoroughly. "there is no knowing _what_ one may find on a desert island," he remarked. "there is absolutely no knowing." then he stopped a minute. "is that all you can think of just now?" he asked barty. "just look about you." barty looked about him on the grass and under the trees, but he saw nothing which made him think of anything new. "look _all_ about you," said the good wolf. so he looked not only on the ground, but up into the tree tops and over them into the sky. it looked very blue and hot and beautiful, but far away he saw a rather small cloud of a very queer color--it was purplish-black and had ragged edges. "it's a storm cloud," said the good wolf, looking serious, "and it's coming towards the island. do you see the wind beginning to stir the tops of the trees?" "yes," said barty, looking rather anxious himself. "on robinson crusoe's desert island there was a kind of storm they call a tropical storm--i don't know what 'tropical' means, but the storms were dreadful. is there going to be one now?" "there is," said the good wolf. "tropical storms are storms in the hot countries, and they are not nice to be out in." barty gave a shout. "then it's a house we must find first," he said, "as quickly as ever we can. we can't stay in the forest because the wind roots up the trees and the lightning strikes them and they fall crashing and crashing. we must find a house or a place to hide in. could we run back to the beach and dig a hole in the sand and creep into it?" "the kind of storm that cloud is bringing here," answered the good wolf, "will lash the sea into waves like mountains, and they will roll in and cover the beach like a big tide." "the tree tops are beginning to shake now and the monkeys are chattering as if they were frightened," said barty. "it's very queer and exciting." "we must get away from the trees," said the good wolf. "are you frightened?" "yes, i am frightened," answered barty, "but there isn't any time to cry. shall we run as fast as ever we can and look about us everywhere while we are running?" "yes," answered the good wolf; "we had better run to a place where there will be nothing to fall on us. one to be ready, two to be steady, three and--away!" and off they both started as fast as they could, and left the monkeys chattering and screaming behind them. there were trees everywhere except near the shore, so they ran back towards where the sea was. "if we stay on the cliffs the mountain waves won't dash up that high, will they?" barty panted as he ran. "no, they won't," answered the good wolf, "but the wind may blow us off the cliffs into the water." "i don't see any house anywhere," said barty. "neither do i," said the good wolf. "you don't find houses on desert islands; you have to build them." barty's stout little legs were flying over the ground faster than they had ever flown before, and he was in such a hurry he could scarcely find breath to speak, but he gave a little gasping laugh. "there isn't much time to build one now," he said. and the good wolf grinned from ear to ear. how they did run--over the grass and up the slopes and down the hollows and over the green gullies! the wind came in hot puffs and shook the tree tops, and the purplish-black cloud looked more ragged than ever, and was growing bigger and coming nearer. by the time they got to the bottom of the long green slope which led to the top of the cliff they had to stop a few moments to take breath. it was just then that barty thought he saw a little black head dart out of the long grass and then dart back again. "did you see anything near that big leaf?" he asked his companion. "no," answered the good wolf. "i thought i saw something, but perhaps i didn't," barty said. then they began to climb the long green slope, and it was very steep, and the hot puffs of wind seemed to rush down it to push them back. "did you see anything peep out from behind that bush?" barty said, stopping suddenly again. "no," answered the good wolf, "nothing." then they climbed and climbed. the big puffs of wind grew hotter and fiercer, and the cloud spread until it was blotting out the blue of the skies quite fast. barty's stout little legs were very tired. "did you see anything peep up from behind that bit of rock?" he said suddenly, for the third time. "no," answered the good wolf; "nothing at all." "i was almost sure _i_ did," said barty, "but it was gone so quickly that i couldn't see what it was." the good wolf looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "was it black?" he inquired. "yes," answered barty. "perhaps you did see it." "no," replied the good wolf; "i didn't see it exactly, but i thought that if _you_ were to see anything just at this time it would be something black." "why?" asked barty. "why?" "trot along, trot along, trot along," said the good wolf. "we haven't found a house yet, but at the top of the cliff there is a hollow in the ground that we might lie down in." the cloud had grown so big that it had spread itself over the sun and was making the sky look quite dark. the hot wind was blowing so hard that the good wolf had to bend his head and stiffen himself on his four legs to stand up against it. "take hold of my hair and hold on tight!" he called out. his thick coat was being blown all about, and barty's curly hair was streaming straight out behind him. the wind made such a noise that they could hardly hear each other's voices. the waves off the shore were rolling and breaking on the beach with a sound like thunder. "it's getting worse," gasped the good wolf. "hold on to me and we will push as hard as we can until we get to the top." "th-this is a t-t-tropical storm," barty panted. "do you wish you were at home?" the good wolf managed to ask before the wind blew his breath away. [illustration: "it is getting worse," gasped the good wolf] "n-no-not yet," barty managed to shout back, almost without any breath at all. "i s-_said_ a desert island." "y-y-you are a j-jolly little ch-chap!" the good wolf shouted back. "y-you are a-a st-stayer. hold on to me tighter--here's a b-big blow coming." it was such a tremendous blow that they had to throw themselves flat on the ground and let it pass over them. but they were nearly at the top of the cliff by this time, and after a few more battles and gasping short runs they reached the place where the green hollow was and threw themselves down into it and huddled close together. they lay there for some time before they could get their breath again. "the purple-black cloud looks as if it were dragging in the sea, and flashes are coming out of it," said barty, when he could speak. as soon as he could get breath again the good wolf sat up and scratched behind his ear _very_ seriously. "what has happened?" cried barty suddenly. "it seems as if the wind had stopped all at once." "i'm afraid it hasn't stopped for long," the good wolf answered. "i don't like the look of this at all." a big drop fell on barty's nose and made him jump. "that was a 'mense drop of rain!" he cried out; "and it felt as heavy as a stone." "that's what i don't like," the good wolf said. "when the rain comes down it will come in a deluge, and if the wind doesn't blow us over the cliff the deluge will half drown us." barty gave another jump, but this time it was not because a raindrop had startled him. it was because he heard something a few yards away behind him. it was a squeaky, gibbering little voice, and it sounded as if it said something very much like this: "chatterdy-chatterdy-chat-chat-chatterdy. chat-chatter-chat!" barty heard it because the wind had stopped blowing and everything seemed for a few moments to be quite still. he stood up to look. "it's the black thing!" he cried out. "it's one of the black monkeys who has followed us. he keeps popping his head in and out of a hole." "i thought it was about time," the good wolf remarked. "let us go and look at the hole." "chat-chat-chattery, chattery-chatterdy," said the black monkey, as if he were telling them to come. they went to look, and as they drew near it the monkey kept darting in and out and chattering all the time. the hole was in a piece of rock which stood out of the cliff. the opening was just big enough to crawl into. "if we can get in it will keep the rain off us," cried barty, and he went right down on his stomach and crawled in to see if there was room enough. "chattery-chattery-chat-chat-chatterdy," said the black monkey, running before him. almost as soon as barty had crawled into the hole he gave a shout. he found he had crawled into an open place like a room, with walls of rock, and on one side there was actually an opening like a window, which looked out on the sea. "it's a cave! it's a cave!" he called back to the good wolf, and the good wolf came scrambling in after him. "it's a cave in the cliff," he said, "and the storm may do what it likes; it can't touch us. we found it just in time." they were _only_ just in time, for at that very moment there came a great bellowing roar of thunder and a great rushing roar of rain. but it was all outside and they were safe and warm, and barty danced for joy, and the black monkey danced too. [illustration] [illustration] chapter four chapter four the tropical storm went on. the thunder crashed and the lightning flashed and the rain poured down in torrents. barty had never heard such a noise in his life, but inside the cave everything was dry and warm and comfortable. the floor was covered with fine white sparkling sand, like a wonderful new kind of carpet. the walls and roof were made of white rock which sparkled also. the good wolf sat down on the white sand floor and smiled cheerfully. barty sat down, too, and the black monkey sat down at the same time, because he was still perched on barty's shoulder. he seemed an affectionate monkey, for he put one funny arm round the little boy's neck and leaned a black cheek against his curly hair. "come down and sit on my knee," barty said to him, "i want to look at you. i never had a monkey for a friend in all my life before." the black monkey jumped down on to his knee as if he had learned boys' language in his cradle. he could only chatter monkey chatter himself, but it was quite plain that he understood barty. he _was_ funny when he sat down and folded his tiny hands before him, as if he were waiting to hear what was going to be said to him. "he has such nice eyes," said barty. "i believe he is asking me to tell him to do something." "yes, that's what he wants," replied the good wolf. "that is what he came for. i knew he was coming. that was why i asked you if you had seen something black." "was it?" said barty. "you know all about this desert island, don't you?" "yes," the good wolf answered. "every single thing," and he said it with such a peculiar smile that barty knew there was some secret in his mind and he wondered what it was, but he did not ask because he felt sure that the good wolf would tell him some time. the black monkey was looking at him so eagerly and with such a funny expression that barty could not help laughing. "his face is so tiny and wrinkled that he looks like a baby a hundred years old--only babies never are a hundred years old," he said. "will you stay with me?" he asked the monkey. "if i were really robinson crusoe and you were bigger you might be my man friday." "chat-chat--chattery-chatterdy-chatterdy," replied the little black creature, getting so excited that he quite jumped up and down as if he could not keep still. he chattered so hard and his chatter sounded so much as if he were talking that it made barty laugh more than ever and put a queer new thought into his head. "it seems as if he were trying to say saturday," he cried out. "perhaps he is saying it in monkey language. i'm going to call him that. if he isn't a man friday he can be a man saturday." and man saturday seemed so pleased and the good wolf thought it such a good idea, that barty was delighted and hugged his new little black friend quite tight in his arms. "things get nicer and nicer," he chuckled. "i wouldn't have missed coming to this desert island for anything." tropical storms come very quickly and go very quickly. suddenly this one seemed to end all at once. the thunder stopped and the lightning stopped and the rain was over and the huge black cloud disappeared and out came the blazing sun looking as if it were pretending that it had never been hidden at all. barty and the good wolf went to look out through the big hole in the wall of the cave which was like a window. everything was sparkling and blue and green and splendid again. the sea, and the sky, and the grass, and the trees all looked so beautiful that barty stood and gazed out of the window for about five minutes, forgetting everything else. then suddenly he turned and looked around the cave. "where is saturday?" he cried out. the good wolf turned and looked about too, and after he had done it he shook his ears in a mystified way. "i don't see him anywhere," he said. "he is not in that corner and he is not in _that_ one, and he is not in that one, and he is not in the _other_ one. if he were in the middle we should see him, of course." "i am sure he wouldn't run away," said barty. "i feel quite sure he wouldn't. he had such a nice look in his eyes and i know he took me for his friend. and i took him for mine. when people are friends they don't run away." "oh no," answered the good wolf. "certainly not. let us walk slowly all round the cave and look very carefully. this cave is a queer shape and it may have corners we can't see just at first." so they walked round side by side and looked very carefully indeed. once they walked round, twice they walked round, three times they walked round, and then they stopped and looked at each other. the good wolf sat down and scratched his ear with his hind foot in a very careful manner, and barty put his hands in his pockets and whistled a little, quite thoughtfully. but almost the very next minute he cheered up and his face beamed all over. "why," he exclaimed, "you see, if he is my man saturday, he has things to do for me! i've not lived on a desert island long enough to know what they are, but i daresay they are very important. i believe he has gone to do something for me which he knows is his duty." the good wolf stopped scratching his ear with his hind foot and became as cheerful as barty. "_of course!_" he exclaimed emphatically. "you are a very clever boy to think of that. you always think of the right things at the right time, instead of thinking of the right things at the wrong time or the wrong things at the right time, which is very confusing." "shall we go outside and see if he is anywhere about?" said barty. "that is a good idea, too," responded the good wolf. "you are full of good ideas, and they are the most useful things a person can have on a desert island." they walked down the cave--it was rather a long cave--towards the narrow passage which led from the hole outside to which saturday had led barty. as they came to the entrance to it they both drew back to look at something very queer which was coming towards them through the passage itself. it certainly was the queerest thing barty had ever beheld since he had been a boy, and the good wolf himself looked as if it seemed a queer thing even to him. it would have seemed queer to you, too. what it really was barty could not possibly have told, but what it _looked_ like was a bundle of dried leaves bound together by long grass and _walking_ over the ground by itself as if it were alive. "it _is_ walking, isn't it?" asked barty, too much astonished to be sure his eyes did not deceive him. "it certainly is," the good wolf replied, "there is no mistake about that, and though i am noah's ark wolf and have lived for ages and ages, i have never seen a bundle of dry leaves walk before. it is very interesting, indeed." he actually sat down to watch it and barty leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gazed with all his might. on it came. it did not walk fast at all, but rather slowly as if it found it rather hard to get along--which seemed very natural, because no bundle of dried leaves could have had much practice in walking. [illustration: barty leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gazed with all his might.] it walked past them and it walked the full length of the cave until it reached the corner nearest the window. "it's stopping," called out barty, and the next minute he called out again: "it's lying down." it did lie down, almost as if it were tired, but it did not lie still more than a minute. it rolled over on its side and lay there, and there was a scuffling and a couple of black legs were to be seen kicking themselves loose, and a pair of black arms twisting themselves from under it, and a little black wrinkled face and head with cunning, bright eyes pushed themselves out, and the minute barty saw them he shouted aloud with glee: "saturday! saturday! saturday!" he cried out. "it was man saturday all the time. he was carrying the bundle of leaves himself and it was so big and he was so little and the leaves hung down so that we didn't see him." man saturday came running across to his little master. it was plain to be seen that he was so pleased about something that he did not know what to do. he caught hold of barty's hand and chatterdy-chattered at him and tried to pull him towards the corner. "he wants me to do something," said barty. "he brought the leaves for something. he wants me to find out what they are for." man saturday danced before him to the corner where the bundle of leaves lay. he began to pull at the twigs which tied them together, and barty knelt down and helped him. "i'm sure they are for something important," he said. "i am going to think very hard." he stood up and put his hands in his pockets and he stood astride because boys can often think harder when they stand that way. man saturday tried to imitate him, but as he hadn't any pockets he put his hands on his hips and held his head on one side while he watched barty with his sharp little eyes, all eagerness to see if he would find out what he meant. he looked so funny. "you couldn't _eat_ them however loose your belt was," barty said, looking at the leaves. "and you couldn't _drink_ them even if you were dreadfully thirsty--and you couldn't _wear_ them even if your clothes were worn out as robinson crusoe's were. even if you had a needle and thread to stitch them together they would break to pieces because they are so dry and brittle." "yes, they are very dry," remarked the good wolf, quietly. and then all in a minute barty felt sure he knew. "if there were enough of them you could lie down on them," he said in great excitement. "_that's_ what they are for! saturday knows where there are more of them and they are for a bed." when he said that, man saturday gave a squeak of delight and he immediately caught at barty's hand and began to pull him towards the passage which was the way out of the cave. "he has got a store of them somewhere," said the good wolf, "and it is a place where the rain could not reach it. let us trot along and see." barty and man saturday were trotting along already, at least man saturday was trotting and barty was creeping through the passage, and in two minutes he was out on the side of the cliff again and standing upon the ledge outside the cave. it was a very convenient ledge, and you could walk nearly all round the cliff on it. it was the kind of ledge you would only find on a desert island like barty's--a really nice desert island. man saturday led the way, and after a few yards they came to a place where some trees and bushes hung over the edge, and beneath them was a hole in the rock, rather like a very little cave, and there were a great many leaves near the entrance to it. anyone could see how they had got there. they were blown from the trees and bushes, and when barty bent down and peeped into the hole he saw that it was full of leaves which had been blowing in there for years until the tiny cave seemed almost stuffed with them. no rain could reach them and so they were quite nice and dry. the hole was too small for barty to crawl into, but it was more than large enough for man saturday, and chattering to barty as fast as he could he crawled in and began to put together another bundle. he got the twigs from a bush close by and he pushed leaves out to barty, so that he might help him. it was great fun for barty. he knew he could carry quite a bundle, and so he made a big one and when it was done he carried it back to his cave and pushed it before him when he crawled through the passage. man saturday brought one suited to his own size, because he was determined to work, too. then they went back and made more bundles and the good wolf carried a big one on his back. in about half an hour the corner of the cave had a beautiful soft, heaped up, dry leaf bed in it, and barty was rolling over and jumping and turning somersaults on it, and man saturday was jumping about with him. the leaves were piled so high and were so springy to jump on that it was like dancing in a hay stack, but rather nicer. "now," said barty, stopping a minute to take breath after turning six somersaults on end, "we have a beautiful bath and we have a house and we have a bed and we have a man saturday--and we found something to eat when we looked, and i believe we shall find something more when we look again. i think just now i will lie down and have a sleep. running very hard in storms does make you sleepy." "that's a good idea, too," answered the good wolf. "i believe i should like to curl up and get a few thousand winks myself. forty wouldn't be enough." and he did curl up at the bottom of barty's big bed of leaves, and almost before he had time to do it barty had curled up, too, like a squirrel in a nest, and he was fast asleep--and so was little man saturday, who curled up close beside him. [illustration] chapter five chapter five barty's bed of leaves was so comfortable that he slept all night like a dormouse and never rolled over once. there is no knowing when he would have opened his eyes if he had been left to himself, but when the sun had risen and begun to make the blue sea look as if it were sparkling with diamonds, he suddenly awakened and sat up to listen to something he had heard in his sleep. what he had heard was blue crest. there she sat on the edge of the cave window, whistling the calling song she had learned from him the day before. "hello," said barty, "i'm glad you've come back. i wondered where you were in the tropical storm." blue crest spread her wings and flew into the cave to perch on his wrist. she sang a little song of her own. she was saying "good morning" and letting him know she was glad he had come to the desert island. barty whistled back to her and stroked her feathers with his fingers and lifted her up to put his cheek against her soft wing. anyone would like to be wakened by a bird who was tame enough to sit on one's wrist and sing. "but where is the good wolf? and i don't see man saturday," he said suddenly, looking round the cave. blue crest spread her wings and flew to the cave window again. barty scrambled down from his leaf bed and followed her. it was a very nice window to look through. you could see so much sea and sky, and the white beach seemed so far below; and when he looked down barty saw where the good wolf and man saturday had gone. they were standing in the sands together and looked as if they were very much interested in something lying near them. barty was just wondering what they were doing when he was so startled by something that he jumped. there was a sudden sound of the flapping of wings and a large white bird rushed past him quite close to his face. it flew out of a round hole in the front of the cliff, and the sight of it made barty think of something. "if she were a hen i should know there were eggs there," he said, "and that would be convenient." the truth was that getting up had made him think of breakfast, and breakfast made him think of eggs. blue crest put her head on one side and gave three cheerful chirps. then she flew to the round hole and disappeared inside. in about a minute she appeared again standing at the entrance, and she whistled barty's call. the little boy scrambled out onto the ledge outside the cave window. he knew that she was calling him to come and look at something. by standing on tiptoe he could look into the hole, and when he looked he saw it was full of very white eggs, which was so exciting that he could not help calling out to the good wolf and saturday. "hel-lo! hel-lo!" he shouted. "i'm coming and i've got some eggs for breakfast." he was putting some into his blouse, which seemed a good place to carry them, when he saw the good wolf look up at him and then saw him turn towards the cliff and begin to run. he ran up the green slope so fast that he began to gallop, and he galloped until his tail and his hair streamed straight out behind him as they had done when he was running away from the tropical storm. he was excited. barty ran to meet him. he wanted to hear what had happened, so did blue crest; she flew after him. when they met the good wolf, he was quite out of breath and so was barty. blue crest was not, but she fluttered down for a rest on barty's shoulder. "have you a piece of glass in your pocket?" the good wolf panted out. "yes," answered barty, beginning to fumble in his pockets. "at least i had yesterday a piece of grandma's old spectacles. where is it?" fumbling deeper and deeper. "oh! i must have lost it! it's gone!" "i thought so," said the good wolf. "it fell out of your pocket onto the beach and something has happened. come and see what it is." you may be sure barty did not lose any time. he had to hold his blouse tight so that the eggs would not break when he was running. when he got to the beach he found man saturday standing as he had seen him from the cliff ledge. he was looking very hard at the small pile of something barty had noticed that they were watching when he first saw them. "what is it?" he cried out, feeling very much interested himself. "don't you see anything curious?" asked the good wolf. barty drew nearer and the next minute he gave a shout. "smoke is beginning to come out of it," he said. "it looks like real smoke. what set it on fire? what is that shining thing? why, it's my piece of glass," and he made a jump towards it. "don't touch it," said the good wolf. "the sun has been shining through it onto the leaves and has made it into a burning-glass, and it has lighted a fire. that is what has happened. now you can cook your eggs." "let us roast them," said barty. "roasted eggs make you feel just like a picnic." [illustration: barty drew nearer and next moment gave a shout] man saturday gave him a cunning little look and then began to be very busy indeed. he ran and brought more sticks and leaves and barty knelt down and blew the tiny flame until it grew into a bigger one, and then he fanned with his hat until the chips and twigs were snapping. in a few minutes there was fire enough to cook anything and then began the breakfast making. it _was_ like a picnic. they put the eggs in the hot sand to roast and found some crystals of salt dried in the crannies of the rocks. man saturday brought some young cocoanuts and some of the roots that were like a potato, and they were roasted too. man saturday ran about chattering and imitated everything barty did. he seemed quite delighted with the idea of roasting things in hot ashes, and when barty and the good wolf went together to their swimming pool to have a bath while the breakfast was cooking, he sat beside the fire and watched it, with his arms hugging his knees and his eyes twinkling. "he always looks as if he were thinking very hard indeed," barty said. "perhaps he is thinking now how queer it is that a piece of glass can set things on fire. i dare say he never saw fire before." barty splashed about splendidly in the clear green water of the swimming pool and before his bath was ended he could swim ever so much better than he had swam the day before. he came out of the sparkling water all rosy and laughing with delight. but when he was putting on his clothes he stopped with a stocking half way on and began to think. "it is very queer," he said in a puzzled voice, "but i keep thinking of something and i don't know what it is i'm thinking about." "that's queer," said the good wolf. "the desert island is beautiful, and the cave, and man saturday, and blue crest, and the swimming, but i feel as if i want to tell somebody about it and i don't know who it is. i can't remember." "you'll remember in time," said the good wolf, "if you don't bother about it. i think the eggs must be roasted enough by now." they went to see and found them all beautifully done. it was a lovely breakfast. they drank cocoanut milk out of cocoanut shells, instead of coffee, and the roasted eggs tasted _exactly_ like a picnic. man saturday ate a cocoanut and seemed to enjoy it very much. after he had finished he began to walk up and down the beach and to look out at the sea as if he were keeping watch. barty thought he looked anxious about something. "what do you think he is looking for?" he asked the good wolf. just at that minute man saturday stopped walking up and down and stood quite still shading his eyes with his small black paw. the good wolf watched him for a few minutes. "i think," he said, "that he must be looking out for ships." "what does he want them for?" said barty. "he doesn't want them," answered the good wolf. "he is afraid of them." "why," said barty, "what sort of ships?" "pirates," said the good wolf. that made barty feel just a little uncomfortable. "pirates are almost as bad as cannibals, aren't they?" he said. "sometimes worse," said the good wolf, "though of course it depends upon the kind of pirates." man saturday was not looking out from under his hand any more; he was running quickly across the beach to the cliff. when he got there he began to climb up the face of it. only a monkey could have done it. he caught hold of tiny bushes and twigs and clumps of green things and pulled himself up like lightning. in a few minutes he was as high as the cave and he stood on the ledge and looked out from there, shading his eyes again with his black paw. "he can see round the point from there," said the good wolf. "do you feel at all nervous?" asked barty. "i had a good night's sleep and i have had an excellent breakfast," the good wolf said, "and i am prepared for almost anything--but pirates and cannibals are known to be very disagreeable." "but they are adventures, if they don't catch you," said barty, cheering himself up. "they are adventures if they _do_ catch you," answered the good wolf. "the best adventure is finding out how to get away," said barty. "well, you see a person comes to a desert island for adventures," said the good wolf. barty sat and hugged his knees and looked rather serious. "robinson crusoe had a good many," he said. "he had to be shipwrecked before he could get to his island." "look at man saturday!" he said the next minute. man saturday was dancing up and down on the ledge and looking very much excited. he kept pointing round the headland and they could see that he was chattering though they could not hear him. "he sees something coming round the point," said the good wolf. "this is beginning to look serious." "but in adventures people always do get away," said barty, cheering himself up again. "you see they couldn't write the adventures if they didn't." "there, you have thought of the right thing at the right time again," said the good wolf. "it's a most valuable habit. do i see a ship with black sails coming round the point?" "yes," answered barty, "you do, because i see it myself. it is a very fierce looking ship, with guns sticking out through holes, and there are black flags as well as black sails, and white bones and skulls are painted on them. it is a very fierce ship indeed." "man saturday is beckoning to us to go to the cave," the good wolf said, "perhaps we would better go." barty thought so, too, so they had another run back up the green slope and blue crest flew with them. they ran as fast as they had run in the storm, and when they got to the creeping in place they were inside in two minutes. man saturday had clambered in through the window and he was chattering as fast as he could. he jumped onto barty's shoulder and put his arm round his neck as if he intended to protect him. blue crest perched on the leaf bed and sang a little thrilling song which barty knew was meant to be encouraging and was also full of good advice if he could have understood it. then all four went to the window and looked out. the pirate ship had come quite close to the shore by this time. barty could see that there was a crowd of men on the deck and that they looked as fierce as the ship. they had big hats, and big beards, and big moustaches, and big sharp-looking crooked swords at their sides. some of them had taken their swords out of their scabbards and were flourishing them about. "that biggest one is feeling the edge of his to see if it is sharp," said barty. "i think he must be the captain. it would be so nice to stay in here and watch them if they wouldn't come and find us." "chattery-chattery--chat-chat chatterdy," said man friday, pointing to make them look at something which was happening at the side of the ship. [illustration: the pirates began to row towards the shore] he was pointing at some of the pirates who were letting down a boat into the sea. as soon as it was in the water they let down a rope ladder and half a dozen of them swarmed down it. then the captain walked to the side and climbed down too. he took a seat and sat with his bare crooked sword across his knees. he waved his arm fiercely to the other pirates and they began to row towards the shore. "don't let us look out of the window any more," said barty. "they might see us." "i am afraid they saw us when we ran up the hill," said the good wolf. barty rather gasped. you would have gasped yourself, you know, if you had been in a cave on a desert island and a boat full of pirates was being rowed very fast to the shore, just at the foot of the cliff where your cave was. "well," said barty, "this _is_ an adventure. i hope it will end right. but i do wish there weren't so many pirates and they did not look so fierce." and he sat down quite flat on the cave floor, and so did the good wolf, and so did man saturday. blue crest sat on barty's shoulder and really hung her head and drooped her wings. [illustration] chapter six [illustration: "oh!" said the captain, "i'm really smiling."] chapter six barty and the good wolf and saturday and blue crest sat very quiet indeed. it is always best to sit very quiet when pirates are landing on the beach just below your cave. you never can tell what will happen if you do something that attracts their attention. but after a few minutes barty could not help whispering a little. "i have only read one book about pirates," he whispered, "and they blindfolded prisoners and made them walk out on a plank until they tumbled into the sea. they slashed heads off, too. will they take us prisoners?" "if they take us at all they will take us as prisoners," said the good wolf. barty looked round the cave and thought what a nice place it was and how comfortable the leaf bed had been. "i can't help thinking about that thing which i can't remember," he said to the good wolf. "i'm thinking very hard about it just now. i wonder what it is." the good wolf had no time to answer because they heard the pirates shouting so loudly as they tried to pull their boat upon the beach that he _had_ to go to the window and peep to see what they were doing. "they look fiercer than ever, now that they are nearer," he whispered. "they have such crooked swords and such curly black mustaches. you would better come and peep yourself." so barty went and peeped. he did it very carefully so that only the least bit of his curly head was above the cave window-ledge and it only stayed there for a mite of a minute. the pirates dragged their boat up on the beach with savage shouts and songs, and then they stood and looked all about them as if they were searching for something. they looked up the beach and down the beach, and then they began to look at the cliff and talk to each other about it. barty could _see_ they were talking to each other about it. "i believe they know we are here and are trying to find out where we are hidden," he said. it certainly looked as if they were. they looked and looked and talked and talked. at last the captain walked ahead a few dozen yards and climbed upon the rock and stood there staring up at the cliff-front as hard as ever he could; then he took a spy-glass out of his satchel and he looked through that. "it seems as if he is looking right at the window," said barty, rather shaking, "i'm sure he must see it." he did see it that very minute, because he began to shout to the other pirates and to wave his hat and his sword. "there's a cave!" he yelled. "there's a cave! they are hiding in there." then he jumped down from the rock and ran with the other pirates to the place where the green slope began. barty and the good wolf and saturday could hear their shouts as they ran, and they knew they were running fast though they could not see them from the cave window. i will not say that barty did not turn a little pale. a desert island is a most interesting place and adventures are most exciting, but pirates chasing up a green slope to your cave, waving swords and shouting and evidently intending to search for you, seems almost too dangerous. "i can't help thinking of that thing i can't remember properly," he said to the good wolf. "i wonder what it is." "come and stand by me," said the good wolf. "whatever happens we ought to stand by one another." barty went and stood by him and put his arm tight round his furry neck. there was something about the good wolf which comforted you even when pirates were coming. they were coming nearer and nearer, and louder and louder their shouts sounded. they had come up the green slope very fast indeed, and barty and the good wolf could even hear what they were saying. "a little boy and a wolf," they heard. "they ran up the hill. they must have hidden somewhere." then after a few minutes they heard the pirate crew on the ledge not far from the window. "there must be a way in," the captain called out. "swords and blood and daggers! we must find it. daggers and blood and swords! where can it be?" barty stood by the good wolf and saturday stood by barty and blue crest stood by saturday, so they were all in a row prepared to meet their fate. suddenly there was a great big savage shout and there stood the pirates, all in a row, too, six of them staring in at the window. it was enough to frighten any one just to look at them, with their dark-skinned faces and white, sharp teeth gleaming, and their black eyes and beards, and their hats on one side. "swords and blood and daggers!" said the captain, when he saw barty and the good wolf and saturday and blue crest standing in a row looking at him. "blood and daggers and swords!" and he jumped over the window ledge right into the cave and all the other five jumped after him. after they were all inside, there was just one minute in which both rows stood and stared at each other. barty wondered, of course, what would happen next. no one could help wondering. would they begin to chop with the crooked swords? but they did not. they did something quite different. this is what they did: [illustration: the pirate captain took off his hat with a big flourish] the captain took off his big hat with a great flourish and made a bow right down to the ground, then the second pirate took off his big hat with a great flourish and made a bow right down to the ground, then the third pirate took off his hat, and the fourth and the fifth, until all six had taken off their hats with a flourish and made the most magnificently polite bow any one had ever seen. "i beg your pardon," said the captain in a most fierce voice. "i hope we are not disturbing you. i apologize most sincerely--i trust you will excuse us--i really do." barty's eyes and mouth opened quite wide. his mouth looked like a very red, round o. "why?" he gasped out, "how polite you are." "thank you extremely," roared the captain. "we appreciate the compliment. we are not known anywhere but on this particular desert island, but if we were known, we should be known for our politeness. we are the perfectly polite pirates," and his row of pirates made six bows again. "i--i didn't know pirates were _ever_ polite," said barty. "they never are," answered the captain. "they are rude, all but ourselves. we were rude until a few years ago--when we met the baboo bajorum, and he would not stand it any longer." "who is he?" asked barty. the perfectly polite pirate captain made a splendid bow to saturday. "he is a relation of this gentleman," he said, "only he is twenty times as big and twenty times as strong, and if you do anything he does not like he can break you into little pieces and throw you away." barty gave saturday an alarmed look. "have you a relation like that?" he said. "chatterdy-chat-chatterdy," saturday answered, and barty knew he meant that if he had he was not a _very near_ relation. one thing which puzzled barty very much was that though the pirates were so polite that they kept bowing all the time they looked as fierce as ever, and when the captain said such polite things, his voice was so rough and savage that it made you almost jump out of your skin when he began to speak. "i hope you won't be cross at my speaking about it," barty said, "but your voice scarcely sounds polite at all." "oh!" said the captain as fiercely as ever, "i beg five hundred thousand million pardons, but that is nothing but a bad habit we can't get rid of. we spoke like this for such a long time that now we can't make our voices sound polite at all. we take voice lozenges six times a day, but it seems scarcely any use, and we can't help looking fierce and swinging our swords. but we are really as gentle as doves." "i--i never sh-should have thought it," said barty, moving back a little, because the pirate captain began to swing his sword that very minute, and it looked rather alarming even if he were as gentle as a dove. he saw that barty was startled and stopped himself and made another bow. "pray excuse me," he said. "you see what a habit it is." "what did you come here for?" asked barty, feeling rather braver. "to ask you to a tea party--to inquire if we might have the extreme pleasure of your society at a tea party on the ship." "i never should have thought that either," said barty. "we ran away and hid because you looked so frightening." the pirate captain put his sword into its scabbard carefully, and took out his pocket handkerchief to wipe away the tears which came into his eyes. "that is always the way," he said, looking quite overcome. "that is what happens when you get into bad habits and can't get out of them. we are so fond of having tea parties, but people don't want to come to them. when we feel that we can't live any longer without a tea party, we have to put to shore and chase people with our swords and take them prisoners. sometimes we have to blindfold them and put chains on them to get them on board, for they always think they are going to be made to walk the plank. they are _so_ surprised when we take off the chains and give them tea and muffins and strawberry jam." barty began to feel quite cheerful. this was a much nicer adventure than he had thought it was going to be. to meet real pirates who were perfectly polite, and to go on board a pirate ship to tea, was really entertaining as well as exciting. "will you come?" inquired the pirate captain perfectly politely in spite of his savage voice, which barty was beginning not to mind. "you will do us such an honor. and will this gentleman come?" he bowed to the good wolf. "and these two?" he made a bow to saturday and blue crest. "we will all come," said barty; "every one of us." all the six pirates bowed down to the floor of the cave again. but then the pirate captain frowned such an awful frown that barty began to feel a little frightened again. "don't you want us to go?" he inquired. "you look as if something had made you angry." "oh! i _beg_ your pardon," said the captain. "you think i am frowning, but i am not. i am really smiling. that is my way of looking pleased. i can't do it the other way. i was so fierce all the years before i became polite that i can't untwist my face, and when i am perfectly delighted i scowl as if i were going to bite people's heads off. it is most inconvenient. _don't_ let it disturb you." "i will try not to," answered barty, "but it startles me because i am not used to it." "will you come to the ship now?" said the captain. "baboo bajorum is waiting." that made barty give another little jump. "baboo bajorum," he said; "the one who is strong enough to break people into little bits?" "he can break them into very little bits," said the captain. "and he does not always save the pieces. but he never does it if you are polite. he is really very nice indeed." "i always try to remember to say 'please,'" said barty. "and i believe i should like to see what he is like." "he will be another adventure," said the good wolf. "pray, do us the honor to lead the way," said the pirate captain, bowing, and he and his men stepped behind barty and the good wolf and saturday and blue crest. so barty crept through the passage and the good wolf crept after him and saturday crept after him and blue crest hopped after him, and then the six pirates lay down on their stomachs and crept after them, and when they all crawled out in a line through the entrance on to the hill, they made such a long row that they reached yards and yards. [illustration] chapter seven chapter seven they went down to the seashore and all got into the boat. barty sat at one end and the good wolf sat at his feet. saturday took a seat on barty's knee and blue crest sat on his shoulder. the boat was a pretty white one and the pirates rowed so well that it went up and down over the waves in a most agreeable manner, rather like a rocking-horse. when they reached the ship the rest of the pirates crowded to the side to see who had been brought to the tea party. "how they are all scowling," said barty to the captain. "you must remember what i told you," the captain said. "those are smiles. they are really grinning from ear to ear with pleasure because they see you come without being chained and padlocked." "ah! i must remember," said barty, "that when they look cross they are only trying to look perfectly delighted." two of the sailors let down a rope ladder. blue crest flew up it and saturday ran up it in a minute. the pirates in the boat held it steady and the pirate captain carried barty up on his back. the good wolf looked serious for a second or so and then began to walk up as calmly as if he had used rope ladders all his life. when barty was once on board every pirate on the ship began to wave his hat and cheer. a few of them took out their swords and began to flourish them and then seemed suddenly to remember that sword waving might not seem polite, and very quickly put them back into their scabbards. barty looked all around him. the deck was very big and clean and the cannons were polished until the brass they were made of shone like gold. at one end there was a gay blue and white awning spread, and under it was a table which looked as if it were piled with the kind of good things you have at a tea party. "where is baboo bajorum?" asked barty, because he was really very curious. "if you will have the extreme goodness to please be so kind as to do me the honor to step this way i will show you," said the pirate captain. so they went in a procession, the pirate captain leading the way with his hat in his hand, barty following, the good wolf following barty, saturday following the good wolf, blue crest hopping after saturday, and the six pirates in a line behind them. the pirates made bows all the time and barty took off his hat for politeness. when they reached the awning a very big black person, who looked as if he were saturday who had suddenly grown immense, rose from a chair and made a low bow. he was covered with shaggy hair and had strong long arms and strong long hands. "he is a gorilla," said the good wolf in a low voice to barty, "but i know him quite well, and though you would not think it, he has a delightful disposition." at all events he knew how to manage pirates and make them give a beautiful tea party. barty and the good wolf and saturday and blue crest were all given comfortable seats under the blue and white awning, and the captain and six pirates handed them things faster than they could eat. blue crest had a muffin with strawberry jam on it, and she perched on the end of her plate and pecked away in perfect delight. saturday had sugared walnuts which he had never tasted before and which filled him with glee. barty and the good wolf had everything you could imagine, only the good wolf did not care for tea. baboo bajorum did not talk except to make a remark now and then to saturday, who understood his language. the pirates seemed to understand him without any words. he just sat and watched them and they watched him to see if he were pleased with what they were doing. once a pirate who was greedy stole a piece of cake before he handed the plate to barty, and baboo bajorum stretched out his enormously long hairy arm and seized him by the seat of his trousers and threw him over the rail into the sea. the pirate could swim very well and in a few minutes came clambering over the side of the ship again, but he looked very wet and ashamed and sneaked down into the hold as if he knew better than to come back to the party. "that is the way he teaches us," said the captain to barty, eagerly handing him a currant bun with one of his best bows. "it is a way that makes you improve very quickly. he never argues. if he hits you or throws you overboard you know you have made some mistake and you make haste to find out what it is." "i dare say that does teach people quickly," answered barty, "but i should not like it." he glanced rather anxiously at baboo bajorum, but baboo was looking at him with quite a nice expression. barty thought it must be a gorilla smile, and as he of course wished to be polite he got up and made a low bow. then baboo bajorum got up and made a low bow also, and all the pirates made bows and the good wolf made a bow and saturday made one and blue crest bobbled her head up and down most gracefully. "he likes you," the good wolf said to barty in a whisper; "he sees you are polite by nature. i saw it myself that first morning when we met at the edge of the deep forest." barty's forehead wrinkled itself up in a puzzled way. "the morning we met on the edge of the deep forest," he said. "now you have made me begin to think of that thing i can't remember. what is it, what is it, what is it?" "never mind," said the good wolf; "you will find out in time. just now you must enjoy your adventures." "yes, i must," said barty. "they are such splendid adventures. just think, here i am on a pirate ship, having tea with pirates. what will come next?" what came next was very interesting, but it was the thing that came next but one which was thrilling. after tea was over baboo bajorum made a sign to the pirate captain and he got up and bowed more deeply than ever and began to tell his story. "this," he said, "is the story of how we were made into polite pirates. when first we were pirates we were a disgrace to the name. we chased ships and made them prisoners. we robbed them of their treasures and burned them and sank them in the sea. we made people walk the plank or chopped their heads off. nobody would associate with us and we were never invited anywhere. i think i might even say that we were disliked. one day we dropped anchor near a small island in the indian ocean. we were very hot and tired because the sun was blazing and the sea was like a burning-glass and we had been having a busy day. we had chased a merchant vessel loaded with a rich cargo of gold and splendid stuff and ivory, and when we had caught it we had behaved in our usual rude and inconsiderate way. we had sliced any number of heads off, and after we had carried the rich cargo to our own ship we had blown up the merchant ship without a word of apology. we were so hot and tired when we dropped anchor near the little island that we all lay down in our hammocks and fell into a deep sleep. "just before i went down to my cabin one of the other pirates asked me to come with him to the side of the ship and look at something he had been noticing on the island. "'do you see those big creatures dodging in and out among the trees?' he said. 'are they savages, or what are they?' "i took my spy-glass and looked and saw that there really were some big creatures moving about among the cocoanut palm trees. they seemed to be peeping at us but trying to keep out of our sight and i could not see them plainly at all. "'they look like savages dressed in skins of wild beasts,' i said; 'but they cannot do us any harm so long as we are on the sea and they are on the land. we will go to our cabins and sleep and leave one of the little cabin boys to watch.' "so we went downstairs and left a little pirate whose name was reginal cyrel adolphin seymour to watch. he was a little boy who had run away from school to be a pirate, and very often he had been heard to remark that now he really was a pirate he would rather learn the multiplication table. he was as hot and tired as any of us that day, and what _he_ did was to fall asleep the minute the rest of us had gone to lie down." the pirate captain stopped and cleared his throat and mopped his forehead with his red handkerchief. "what happened then?" asked barty. he saw baboo bajorum leaning forward with his big hairy hands on his knees and listening attentively. the pirate captain began again: "the sun got hotter and hotter and we slept and slept and slept. you know how heavily one sleeps on a hot day and how hard it is to get awake when you try. we did not try, but suddenly we all wakened at once. we were wakened by a great roaring which we thought was a sudden storm. but it was not a storm. it was a baboo bajorum sound, which you have never heard and which i hope you will never hear. it is louder than lions and fiercer than tigers and more piercing than panthers and leopards. baboo bajorums never make it unless they are very angry indeed, and when you hear it you had better look out." "are there more baboo bajorums than one?" barty asked. "i thought this gentleman was the only one in the world." the pirate captain opened his mouth very wide and drew a long breath. then he said in a solemn voice: "when we waked up there were forty-two baboo bajorums on our ship and one was sitting by each man's hammock and roaring the angry roar." "ah," said barty, "how frightening!" and he felt quite alarmed. "it was frightening," replied the pirate captain, "but we deserved it--for our unpoliteness. we had disturbed the captain of the merchant ship at his dinner when we cut his head off, and we had disturbed the whole crew when we blew the ship up. books about politeness always say that you must have quiet and unassuming manners. we deserved all that happened. we had been loud and assuming." "what _did_ happen?" inquired barty, and the good wolf leaned forward to listen, and saturday leaned forward and blue crest nearly tilted over with eagerness. "when they stopped roaring they took us all prisoners. they had swum over from the little island and climbed up the ship's side as soon as they were sure we were asleep. this gentleman," and he made a bow to baboo bajorum, "is the great baboo of all. he made me get out of my hammock and fastened a chain round my waist so that he could lead me about. the other baboos did the same with the other pirates. the first place he led me to was to a black corner down in the hold. i had taken captive a sick old gentleman on the merchant ship and i had loaded him with chains and put him down in the darkest corner of the bottom of the ship. i was going to try and make him sign a paper to give me the money he had left on land. baboo bajorum made me take the chains off him and take him on deck and wait on him and make bows to him until my back was almost broken." "he must have been very glad," said barty, quite relieved. "he was gladder than i was," said the pirate captain. "it was through him that we found out what the baboo bajorum really intended to teach us. we were so frightened that we could not understand their signs, and as they always knocked us down or threw us overboard when we did not obey at once, we should very soon have been black and blue all over. the sea was very full of sharks near the island and when you were thrown overboard you never knew whether you would get back or not." "that was dangerous enough to make any one polite," said barty. "but," said the captain, "we did not know it was politeness they wanted until we brought the old gentleman out of the hold. he was very polite himself and made the most beautiful bows to all the baboos. they had never seen bows before and they were very much pleased and began to practice bowing themselves. when the old gentleman was bowing a book fell out of his pocket. the great baboo kicked me until i picked it up. this is it. i never go anywhere without it." he took a book from his pocket and handed it to barty, who opened it. "'a guide to perfect politeness, with rules for entertaining royal families, the nobility and gentry.' that is the name of it," said barty. "are there any adventures in it?" "not exactly adventures," said the pirate captain. "it tells you how to converse brilliantly and how to fill up awkward pauses and how to begin a letter to a duke when you are writing to one, besides about never eating with your knife and always saying 'please' and 'i thank you' and 'pray excuse me' and 'i beg your pardon.'" "ah, i see!" said barty. "that's why you said all those things in the cave." "it was indeed," answered the pirate captain. "the moment the great baboo saw the book he went and sat by the old gentleman and made signs to him to read aloud. the old gentleman read to him. in half an hour from that time i was chained to the mast and all the other pirates were chained on the deck round me and i was reading to them out of the 'guide to perfect politeness.' the great baboo had thrown me into the sea in a very sharky place until i understood what he wanted. we all knew all the book by heart before breakfast next morning, and since then we have never broken a single rule. that was three years ago. the other baboo bajorums went back to their island in six months, but the great baboo has always sailed with us." [illustration: "it is another pirate vessel and it is going to attack us."] at that moment barty heard the sound of many feet running on the deck and the shouting of many voices, as if something new and alarming was happening. the pirate sailors were all running about. some came tumbling up the companion-way and some went screaming up the rigging and some went running to the side to look over the sea. the pirate captain stopped and clapped his spy-glass to his eye. "hello!" he said. "i beg your pardon, excuse me for disturbing you by mentioning it, but there is a large ship bearing down on us at full sail. it is another pirate vessel and is going to attack us." barty jumped up and threw his cap in the air. "hooray! hooray! hooray!" he said. "there's going to be a pirate battle and i'm certain we shall win." [illustration] chapter eight chapter eight the other pirate ship looked very big and grand. all its sails were filled with wind and it came cutting through the waves so fast that it looked as if it were alive. barty stood and watched it and saturday came and took hold of his hand. everybody on the polite pirates' ship was running about, dragging guns into place or pulling ropes or sharpening swords. there was a great clatter and noise and shouting of "i beg your pardon," or "pray excuse me," or "may i ask you to be so kind," when the pirates fell over each other, or got in each other's way, or wanted to be helped to lift or drag something. blue crest prudently went and hid in a coil of rope and good wolf walked up and down the deck and examined things. baboo bajorum walked up and down, too, with his big hands in his pockets. suddenly there came a white puff of smoke from the chasing ship and a big "boom," and barty and saturday both jumped at the same time because they knew the cannon had begun to fire. the pirate captain shouted and waved his sword and then a puff of white smoke and a big "boom" came from the side of his ship, and barty knew they had fired back. then everything became so exciting that you could scarcely stand it. as soon as the boom and puff of white smoke was sent from the polite pirates' ship, a boom and a puff of white smoke came from the impolite pirates' ship, and as soon as a boom came from the impolite pirates' ship, a boom answered back from the polite pirates' ship. it was like this: "boom!" from the impolite pirates. "boom----boom!" from the polite pirates. "boom!" from the impolite pirates. "boom, boom, boom!" from the polite pirates. "let us go and sit behind that big coil of rope and watch," said the good wolf. it was the coil of rope blue crest had hidden herself inside, and when barty and the good wolf and saturday sat on the floor of the deck behind it, she was so glad that she whistled barty's little song to let him know that she was quite near him. but barty could scarcely hear her because there was so much noise. pirates were shouting, gunners were ramming cannon balls into cannons, and the polite pirate captain was yelling polite orders to his men. barty was obliged to shout himself, just as he had been obliged to shout in the tropical storm. "do you think we shall win?" he called out, as loud as he could, to the good wolf. "we have the best guns," the good wolf called back. "the polite pirates have taken good care of their guns instead of quarreling about who should clean them. listen!" "boom! boom!" came from the impolite pirates' ship. "boom! boom! boom! bang! crash!" answered the polite pirates' ship. the crash was the splitting and tearing open of the side of the other ship. barty jumped up at the sound of it. "we've hit them! we've hit them!" he shouted. "we have the best gunners!" called out the good wolf. "boom!" said the impolite pirates' ship. "boom! bang! crash! bang! bang! boom!" said the polite pirates. barty could not help jumping up and down, and saturday simply stood on his head for joy and waved his little black legs in the air. then came another roar and crash and bang, and the polite pirates raised a great loud cheer of victory and threw their hats in the air. the impolite pirates' ship was rapidly filling with water, and toppling over on one side. "we've won! we've won!" cried barty, dancing. "look at the pirates running to launch their life-boats." the impolite pirates were indeed running and skurrying about like mad things. they had left their guns altogether. the sea was pouring in at the big holes in the side of their ship and the ship was tilting more and more every second. "if they don't get into the boats in a few minutes, their ship will turn over and they will be drowned," said the good wolf. "they are the quickest pirates i ever saw," said barty--"though, of course, i haven't seen many." [illustration: "we've won! we've won!" cried barty, dancing] they _were_ quick. they skurried and scuffled and darted. they undid knots and loosened ropes like lightning, and in two minutes their life boats swung out and they scrambled into them and were dropped down into the water. "if baboo bajorum was to fire a broadside into them now," said the good wolf, "he would blow them and their boats into smithereens." "oh, i should not like him to do that," said barty. "i'll go and ask him not to do it." he ran to the end of the ship where baboo bajorum was standing watching the other ship sinking, and he took off his hat and made his deepest and politest bow. "i beg your pardon," he said, "excuse me for interrupting. i know it is not polite but would you be so kind as to do me the great favor of _not_ blowing the impolite pirates into smithereens. if they hadn't come i should never have seen a pirate battle on the high seas and i always wanted to see one." and he made another bow which was really a most beautiful one. baboo bajorum listened to him with the greatest politeness. he made a bow each time barty made one. in fact barty thought he looked like a very nice gorilla indeed. he did something with his face that looked rather like smiling and then he put out his big hairy hand and patted barty's head. "thank you, mr. bajorum," barty said, feeling much relieved. "it's very kind of you, because, of course, they have given you a good deal of trouble." then he went back to the good wolf. he was rather hot and out of breath with excitement and he fanned himself with his hat. "even robinson crusoe never went to a pirate's battle," he said. "this is the biggest adventure of all. let's go and look over the side and see what the other pirates are doing." evidently baboo bajorum had given his gunners orders to stop firing, because they had left their cannons and with the rest of the crew had run to the side and were leaning over watching their conquered enemies just as barty wanted to do. the impolite pirates, all black with smoke and powder, were looking very much frightened. they had got into their boats and were rowing away from their sinking ship, but they plainly did not know which way to go, because they realized that if baboo bajorum began to fire his cannons at them he would blow them to smithereens. in fact, they could not understand why he did not blow them to smithereens immediately, and it made them feel very nervous. of course they had not the least idea that barty and the good wolf were on board, or perhaps they would have known that barty was the kind of little boy who would not like to see pieces of pirates flying about in the air, even though he had felt that a pirates' battle was a sort of accommodation to him. their ship tilted more and more and at last sank down and down into the water, until it was out of sight. the cannon balls had smashed such big holes in it that the sea filled it directly. and the impolite pirates bent over their oars and rowed and looked back over their shoulders at baboo bajorum's ship in a frightened manner. they were saying to each other, "what is he going to do next?" you see the trouble was, that however fast they rowed, they could not get away because baboo bajorum's ship was quietly sailing after them and they were so tired with fighting that they could scarcely row at all. "and where do they think they are going to row to?" said the polite pirate captain. "they have neither food nor water in their boats and of course they are afraid to row towards the desert island, because we can stop them. they will simply perish if they row out on the high seas." "perish," said barty. he had once read a story about shipwrecked sailors perishing on the high seas, and it had made him cry. "i don't believe i want them to perish. i should not like to perish myself and neither would you. now, would you?" "no," answered the captain, "i should not. nobody would. perishing is about as unpleasant a thing as could happen to any man." "i will go," said barty, determinedly, "and speak to mr. bajorum." so he ran to baboo bajorum, and after saluting in the usual manner he made three bows, one after the other. "i hope i am not intruding and that you will please to be so kind as to excuse me for troubling you, mr. bajorum," he said, "but might i ask you another very great favor. the impolite pirates are very frightened, and they were in such a hurry that they had not time to put any food or water in their boats, and if they try to row out to sea they will perish. do you think, sir, if you forgave them and let them come on board and you took a good deal of pains with them you might improve them into polite pirates, just as you did the others. you see, it would make your crew much bigger, and it might be much wiser for everybody when you were all intimate friends. do you think you could oblige me by doing it?--excuse the liberty i am taking." mr. baboo bajorum listened as attentively as he had done before, and almost as soon as he began to speak barty saw him do that thing with his face which made him look as if he were smiling, and even before barty had finished he put out his big hairy hand and patted him again on the head. "thank you very kindly, mr. bajorum," said barty. "i am extremely obliged and grateful and--and 'preciative. could you call them back now? they are very tired, but they are rowing as fast as they can." he forgot that baboo bajorum did not speak in the ordinary way and so could not call out "come back, i won't hurt you." perhaps baboo bajorum forgot, too. he leaned over the side and waved his long, huge, hairy arm and gave a kind of awful roar. the pirates did not understand him at all and were so frightened that several of them tumbled backwards off their seats, and one or two of them dropped their oars and tried to hide themselves in the bottom of their boats. "they are so frightened they can't understand," said barty. "would you mind lifting me up and letting me stand on the side and wave my handkerchief at them?--if it won't inconvenience you, please." baboo bajorum lifted him up in a minute. his long arms were so strong that he lifted him as easily as if he were a pin. barty stood on the rail and took out his pocket handkerchief and waved and waved it, and then he made a trumpet of his hands and shouted as loud as ever he could. "come back! come back! we won't hurt you. come back! come back!" a nice, fat, curly-headed little boy, standing on a ship's side, waving a white handkerchief and shouting in a loud and friendly manner, is a very different thing from a baboo bajorum shaking a long, black, hairy arm and roaring, so the impolite pirates stopped rowing and began to listen. the captain leaned over and put his hand behind his ear. then he gave orders to his sailors and they began to row cautiously towards the ship. "what did you say?" he shouted. "come back," barty shouted in answer. "mr. bajorum will not let anyone hurt you. this," waving his hand towards the baboo to introduce him, "is mr. bajorum." the impolite pirates were so astonished that their faces dropped and they sat with their mouths wide open. then they took off their hats and mopped their foreheads with their red bandanna handkerchiefs. then they took up their oars and began to row towards the ship. they were in five boats, and they all stopped in a line by the ship's side and looked up at the row of polite pirates who were looking down. they were so amazed that their mouths were still wide open, and when the impolite pirate captain spoke he stammered. "d-d-did you s-s-say we m-might c-c-come on b-b-b-board?" he said. and when all the polite pirates bowed at once and the captain answered him he was so overcome that he fainted quite away into the bottom of his boat. because this was what the captain said: "if you will do us the honor and the kindness and will be so good as to oblige us, we shall be more delighted than we have words to express." then they let down a rope ladder and a bottle of smelling salts and some eau de cologne to restore the impolite captain, and by the time he was restored and assisted up the rope ladder all the polite pirates were standing lined up on deck ready to receive him and his crew with low sweeping bows. barty and the good wolf came forward together and barty explained. "they are like this," he said, "because they are polite pirates, and in time they are going to teach you to be polite too. it is really very much nicer." just at first they almost gibbered because they did not know what to say, but when they were taken below and allowed to wash the smoke and powder off their faces and hands, and then were given cups of tea and muffins and raspberry jam, and then were shown all over the beautiful ship, they could not help but begin to be calm. but because they had never seen anything like baboo bajorum and his crew before, they could not help staring, and they could not all keep their mouths shut at the same time. the bows and politeness quite made them jump sometimes, but it was plain they began to admire them, because it was not long before they began to try to remember to make bows themselves. at last they were all sitting peacefully together on the deck, and the sun had gone down and the moon had risen. the ship had sailed back to the desert island again and was lying at anchor in the beautiful blue water, which was making a soft lap-lap-lapping sound against its side. barty looked out at the green slope which led up the cliff to the cave, and suddenly he remembered how he had slept on the bed of leaves last night and how comfortable it had been, and he remembered, too, that the polite pirates had only invited him to tea. so he got up from his chair and went to baboo bajorum and bowed--this time he did it more beautifully than ever, and he did it six times. "i am ever so much obliged to you, mr. bajorum," he said. "i enjoyed the battle so much and thank you for inviting me to the tea party. i have enjoyed myself so much that i am rather sleepy. would you be so kind as to oblige us by letting us get into the boat and go back to the cave to bed?" baboo bajorum patted him again and shook hands with him and was most polite. in fact, everybody was so polite and made so many bows--even the impolite pirates--that it took some time to get the boat launched. but at last it was on the water and everybody got safely down the ladder, and the polite pirates took their seats and began to row towards the shore and those who stayed on the ship raised a delightful cheer. barty sat close to the good wolf and laid his head against his furry neck. the sky looked dark blue and the water looked dark blue and the stars in the sky looked as if they were shining in the water, and barty was so happy and drowsy that he could scarcely tell which was sea and which was sky. when they reached the white beach the polite pirate captain picked barty up in his arms and carried him up the queer slope, and instead of crawling through the hole he carried him round the ledge and lifted him in through the window. the moon was shining in on the sparkling white sand of the cave floor and it shone in on the soft, heaped up bed of leaves which looked delightful. barty stood in the moonlight and rubbed his eyes. "thank you," he said to the polite pirate captain. "there never was anything like you in robinson crusoe." "who was robinson crusoe?" asked the captain, leaning on the window ledge. "he was in a book," answered barty. "it was a very nice book, but this is nicer," and he rubbed his eyes harder than ever. just then the good wolf came in through the passage. blue crest was on his back and man saturday came after. the polite pirate captain took his hat off with a grand flourish. "good-night," he said. "a thousand thanks for a most delightful and perfectly charming afternoon. good-night." and he turned round and ran round the ledge and down the green slope. "and just think how frightened we were," barty said drowsily, as he crept onto the softest part of his leaf bed. "i never thought pirates could be so nice." the good wolf made a jump and curled up beside him snugly. saturday curled up and was asleep in two minutes, and blue crest was asleep in one. and the moon shone in at the cave window and the sound of the waves on the beach was a soft murmur. "did i hear you say that this was nicer than robinson crusoe?" asked the good wolf, just as barty's eyes were closing. "it is--nicer," answered barty, drowsily. "but--i can't help thinking of that thing--i can't remember. what--is--it?" "in the morning i will tell you," said the good wolf. and that very minute barty's eyes shut and he could not see the white moonlight any longer because he was fast asleep. * * * * * in the morning he wakened as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. he sat up among the leaves and saw the good wolf looking at him. "what is it?" he said. "i am thinking of it again. i must find out what it is." "come along and get your bath in the pool," said the good wolf, cheerfully, "you shall know then." the morning was brighter and the sea and the sky even bluer than they had been the day before. the slope was like green velvet and the pool in the rocks as clear as green crystal. barty splashed and clashed and swam about almost like a fish. but he could not help saying to himself, "what is it? what is it? i wonder what it is?" when he had finished his bath and put on his clothes, he said it to the good wolf who was standing and looking at him as he had looked when he awoke. "what is it? what is it?" he said. "i feel as if i were just going to remember." the good wolf began to sniff the air gently. "is there any mignonette growing about here?" he said. barty gave a little sniff, too, and then a little jump. there was the scent of mignonette in the air and the last time he had smelt it had been when the good wolf had carried him away. "it's my mother--my mother i was thinking of!" he cried out. "why couldn't i remember. she'll be wondering where i am. i must go home this minute." "there," said the good wolf. "all right. we will go home. the reason you could not remember was because i made you forget on purpose. if i had not done that you would have been wondering all the time whether you were not too far away and if she was looking for you, and you would not have enjoyed the desert island at all. i made her forget, too, so that she has not even missed you. she thinks you have only been playing in the woods a few hours. has it been nicer than robinson crusoe?" "yes, yes!" cried barty. "get on my back and shut your eyes," said the good wolf. "i don't want to shut my eyes until i have looked round at the desert island again," said barty. "it is a lovely desert island. could saturday and blue crest come with us?" he said that because saturday had come running up and blue crest was perched on a rock. "they can if you like," said the good wolf, "but i think you had better leave them here. you will want them when you come back." "can i come back?" barty shouted joyfully. "yes--whenever you ask me to bring you. this desert island will always be here. jump upon my back quickly. your mother is just beginning to remember you." barty jumped up, waving his hand to saturday and blue crest. "i'm coming back, i'm coming back," he said. then he laid his cheek on the good wolf's fur and clasped his arms round his neck and shut his eyes, and then he was fast asleep again. * * * * * when he wakened up he was standing in his own cottage garden, and he went into the cottage and his mother looked up from watering her flowers and smiled at him. "i was just beginning to wonder where you were," she said. "what rosy cheeks you have. you do look as if you had been enjoying yourself." and that is the end of _this_ story. brown wolf [illustration] brown wolf and other jack london stories as chosen by franklin k. mathiews chief scout librarian, boy scouts of america table of contents brown wolf that spot trust all gold canyon the story of keesh nam-bok the unveracious yellow handkerchief make westing the heathen the hobo and the fairy "just meat" a nose for the king introduction boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are privileged to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the "seventh heaven" for them. such a "boys' man" was jack london, whose whole life was one of stirring action on land and sea. gifted as a story teller, he wrote books almost without end. some of them, "the call of the wild," "the sea wolf" and "white fang," have already been recognized as fine books for boys. others, volumes of short stories, contain many of like interest, possessing the same qualities that have made the other and longer stories so acceptable as juveniles. effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be another jack london book for boys, but also in order to add to our juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as bacon says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and attention." for my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such books. or perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few opportunities to read such books, because so often we fail to see how quick in their reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and how keen and competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion when situations are presented wherein men err so grievously. it is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as jack london saw and felt it--the best and the worst in human nature, with the infinite always near and from whom there is no escape--seeing and feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the spirit, have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add some line or color to their life's ideals. franklin k. mathiews, chief scout librarian, boy scouts of america. [illustration] brown wolf she had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. she sent a questing glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. "where's wolf?" she asked. "he was here a moment ago." walt irvine drew himself away with a jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed the landscape. "he was running a rabbit the last i saw of him." "wolf! wolf! here, wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the county road. irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent to her efforts a shrill whistling. she covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. "my! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make unlovely noises. my eardrums are pierced. you outwhistle----" "orpheus." "i was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. "poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't prevent _me_. mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the magazines." he assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: "i am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. and why? because i am practical. mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." "oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. "name one that wasn't." "those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was accounted the worst milker in the township." "she was beautiful----" he began. "but she didn't give milk," madge interrupted. "but she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. "and here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "and there's the wolf!" from the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. his braced forepaws dislodged a pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall of the pebble till it struck at their feet. then he transferred his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at them. "you wolf, you!" and "you blessed wolf!" the man and woman called out to him. the ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. they watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on their way. several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. he was not demonstrative. a pat and a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. in build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. there the dog unmistakably advertised itself. no wolf was ever colored like him. he was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. back and shoulders were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. the white of the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin topazes, golden and brown. the man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it had been such a task to win his love. it had been no easy matter when he first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain cottage. footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. when walt irvine went down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and madge likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. a most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs and bristling hair. nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at a safe distance and retreated. his wretched physical condition explained why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' sojourn, he disappeared. and this would have been the end of him, so far as irvine and his wife were concerned, had not irvine at that particular time been called away into the northern part of the state. biding along on the train, near to the line between california and oregon, he chanced to look out of the window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred miles of travel. now irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. he got off the train at the next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the vagrant on the outskirts of the town. the return trip was made in the baggage car, and so wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. but it was very circumspect love-making. remote and alien as a traveller from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. he never barked. in all the time they had him he was never known to bark. to win him became a problem. irvine liked problems. he had a metal plate made, on which was stamped: "return to walt irvine, glen ellen, sonoma county, california." this was riveted to a collar and strapped about the dog's neck. then he was turned loose, and promptly he disappeared. a day later came a telegram from mendocino county. in twenty hours he had made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when captured. he came back by wells fargo express, was tied up three days, and was loosed on the fourth and lost. this time he gained southern oregon before he was caught and returned. always, as soon as he received his liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. he was possessed of an obsession that drove him north. the homing instinct, irvine called it, after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the animal back from northern oregon. another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length of california, all of oregon, and most of washington, before he was picked up and returned "collect." a remarkable thing was the speed with which he traveled. fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. on the first day's run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. he always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one could understand. but at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the rabbit and slept by the spring. even after that, a long time elapsed before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. it was a great victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. he was fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to him. a low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl--a snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog snarling, but had never seen wolf snarling before. he was without antecedents. his history began with walt and madge. he had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner from whom he had evidently fled. mrs. johnson, their nearest neighbor and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a klondike dog. her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. but they did not dispute her. there were the tips of wolf's ears, obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite heal again. besides, he looked like the photographs of the alaskan dogs they saw published in magazines and newspapers. they often speculated over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and heard) what his northland life had been. that the northland still drew him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. yet he never barked. no provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog he was. each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression of affection made by him. but the man had the better of it at first, chiefly because he was a man. it was patent that wolf had had no experience with women. he did not understand women. madge's skirts were something he never quite accepted. the swish of them was enough to set him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach him at all. on the other hand, it was madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was permitted to come within that sacred precinct. it was because of these things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. then it was that walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, losing much time from his work. walt won in the end, and his victory was most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though madge averred that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had walt properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left wolf alone to exercise a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. "it's about time i heard from those triolets," walt said, after a silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the trail. "there'll be a check at the post office, i know, and we'll transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, and a new pair of overshoes for you." "and into beautiful milk from mrs. johnson's beautiful cow," madge added. "to-morrow's the first of the month, you know." walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his hand to his breast pocket. "never mind. i have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in california." "when did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. then, reproachfully, "and you never showed it to me." "i saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his hand, a dry log on which to sit. a tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. from the valley arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. up from below came another sound that broke in upon walt reading softly from his manuscript. it was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. as walt finished and looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of the trail. he was bareheaded and sweaty. with a handkerchief in one hand he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. he was a well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. "warm day," walt greeted him. walt believed in country democracy, and never missed an opportunity to practice it. the man paused and nodded. "i guess i ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half apologetically. "i'm more accustomed to zero weather." "you don't find any of that in this country," walt laughed. "should say not," the man answered. "an' i ain't here a-lookin' for it neither. i'm tryin' to find my sister. mebbe you know where she lives. her name's johnson, mrs. william johnson." "you're not her klondike brother!" madge cried, her eyes bright with interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" "yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "my name's miller, skiff miller. i just thought i'd s'prise her." "you are on the right track then. only you've come by the footpath." madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a mile. "you see that blasted redwood! take the little trail turning off to the right. it's the short cut to her house. you can't miss it." "yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. he made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. he was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of embarrassment in which he floundered. "we'd like to hear you tell about the klondike," madge said. "mayn't we come over some day while you are at your sister's! or, better yet, won't you come over and have dinner with us?" "yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. then he caught himself up and added: "i ain't stoppin' long. i got to be pullin' north again. i go out on to-night's train. you see, i've got a mail contract with the government." when madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to go. but he could not take his eyes from her face. he forgot his embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel uncomfortable. it was at this juncture, when walt had just decided it was time for him to be saying something to relieve the strain, that wolf, who had been away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. skiff miller's abstraction disappeared. the pretty woman before him passed out of his field of vision. he had eyes only for the dog, and a great wonder came into his face. "well, i'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. he sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving madge standing. at the sound of his voice, wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened in a laugh. he trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue. skiff miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, "well, i'll be hanged!" "excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "i was just s'prised some, that was all." "we're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "we never saw wolf make up to a stranger before." "is that what you call him--wolf?" the man asked. madge nodded. "but i can't understand his friendliness toward you--unless it's because you're from the klondike. he's a klondike dog, you know." "yes'm," miller said absently. he lifted one of wolf's forelegs and examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. "kind of soft," he remarked. "he ain't been on trail for a long time." "i say," walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him." skiff miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of madge, and in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "how long have you had him?" but just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's legs, opened his mouth and barked. it was an explosive bark, brief and joyous, but a bark. "that's a new one on me," skiff miller remarked. walt and madge stared at each other. the miracle had happened. wolf had barked. "it's the first time he ever barked," madge said. "first time i ever heard him, too," miller volunteered. madge smiled at him. the man was evidently a humorist. "of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." skiff miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her words had led him to suspect. "i thought you understood," he said slowly. "i thought you'd tumbled to it from his makin' up to me. he's my dog. his name ain't wolf. it's brown." "oh, walt!" was madge's instinctive cry to her husband. walt was on the defensive at once. "how do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. "because he is," was the reply. "mere assertion," walt said sharply. in his slow and pondering way, skiff miller looked at him, then asked, with a nod of his head toward madge: "how d'you know she's your wife? you just say, 'because she is,' and i'll say it's mere assertion. the dog's mine. i bred 'm an' raised 'm, an' i guess i ought to know. look here. i'll prove it to you." skiff miller turned to the dog. "brown!" his voice rang out sharply, and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "gee!" the dog made a swinging turn to the right. "now mush-on!" and the dog ceased his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at command. "i can do it with whistles," skiff miller said proudly. "he was my lead dog." "but you are not going to take him away with you?" madge asked tremulously. the man nodded. "back into that awful klondike world of suffering?" he nodded and added: "oh, it ain't so bad as all that. look at me. pretty healthy specimen, ain't i!" "but the dogs! the terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the starvation, the frost! oh, i've read about it and i know." "i nearly ate him once, over on little fish river," miller volunteered grimly. "if i hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." "i'd have died first!" madge cried. "things is different down here," miller explained. "you don't have to eat dogs. you think different just about the time you're all in. you've never been all in, so you don't know anything about it." "that's the very point," she argued warmly. "dogs are not eaten in california. why not leave him here? he is happy. he'll never want for food--you know that. he'll never suffer from cold and hardship. here all is softness and gentleness. neither the human nor nature is savage. he will never know a whip-lash again. and as for the weather--why, it never snows here." "but it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," skiff miller laughed. "but you do not answer," madge continued passionately. "what have you to offer him in that northland life?" "grub, when i've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. "and the rest of the time?" "no grub." "and the work?" "yes, plenty of work," miller blurted out impatiently. "work without end, an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries--that's what he'll get when he comes with me. but he likes it. he is used to it. he knows that life. he was born to it an' brought up to it. an' you don't know anything about it. you don't know what you're talking about. that's where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." "the dog doesn't go," walt announced in a determined voice. "so there is no need of further discussion." "what's that?" skiff miller demanded, big brows lowering and an obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. "i said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. i don't believe he's your dog. you may have seen him sometime. you may even sometime have driven him for his owner. but his obeying the ordinary driving commands of the alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. any dog in alaska would obey you as he obeyed. besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs go in alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possession of him. anyway, you've got to prove property." skiff miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the strength of his slenderness. the klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said finally: "i reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog right here an' now." walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. his wife fluttered apprehensively into the breach. "maybe mr. miller is right," she said. "i am afraid that he is. wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'brown.' he made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he never did with anybody before. besides, look at the way he barked. he was just bursting with joy. joy over what? without doubt at finding mr. miller." walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with hopelessness. "i guess you're right, madge," he said. "wolf isn't wolf, but brown, and he must belong to mr. miller." "perhaps mr. miller will sell him," she suggested. "we can buy him." skiff miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to be generous in response to generousness. "i had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper his refusal. "he was the leader. they was the crack team of alaska. nothin' could touch 'em. in i refused five thousand dollars for the bunch. dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy price. it was the team itself. brown was the best in the team. that winter i refused twelve hundred for 'm. i didn't sell 'm then, an' i ain't a-sellin' 'm now. besides, i think a mighty lot of that dog. i've been lookin' for 'm for three years. it made me fair sick when i found he'd been stole--not the value of him, but the--well, i liked 'm so, that's all. i couldn't believe my eyes when i seen 'm just now. i thought i was dreamin'. it was too good to be true. why, i was his nurse. i put 'm to bed, snug every night. his mother died, and i brought 'm up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when i couldn't afford it in my own coffee. he never knew any mother but me. he used to suck my finger regular, the darn little pup--that finger right there!" and skiff miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for them to see. "that very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. he was still gazing at his extended finger when madge began to speak. "but the dog," she said. "you haven't considered the dog." skiff miller looked puzzled. "have you thought about him?" she asked. "don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. "maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," madge went on. "maybe he has his likes and desires. you have not considered him. you give him no choice. it has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer california to alaska. you consider only what you like. you do with him as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." this was a new way of looking at it, and miller was visibly impressed as he debated it in his mind. madge took advantage of his indecision. "if you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your happiness also," she urged. skiff miller continued to debate with himself, and madge stole a glance of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. "what do you think?" the klondiker suddenly demanded. it was her turn to be puzzled. "what do you mean?" she asked. "d'ye think he'd sooner stay in california!" she nodded her head with positiveness. "i am sure of it." skiff miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. "he was a good worker. he's done a heap of work for me. he never loafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. he's got a head on him. he can do everything but talk. he knows what you say to him. look at 'm now. he knows we're talkin' about him." the dog was lying at skiff miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other. "an' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. he's good for years to come. an' i do like him." once or twice after that skiff miller opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. finally he said: "i'll tell you what i'll do. your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in them. the dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has got a right to choose. anyway, we'll leave it up to him. whatever he says, goes. you people stay right here settin' down. i'll say good-by and walk off casual-like. if he wants to stay, he can stay. if he wants to come with me, let 'm come. i won't call 'm to come an' don't you call 'm to come back." he looked with sudden suspicion at madge, and added, "only you must play fair. no persuadin' after my back is turned." "we'll play fair," madge began, but skiff miller broke in on her assurances. "i know the ways of women," he announced. "their hearts is soft. when their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the bottom of the deck, an' lie--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. i'm only discoursin' about women in general." "i don't know how to thank you," madge quavered. "i don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "brown ain't decided yet. now you won't mind if i go away slow! it's no more'n fair, seein' i'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." madge agreed, and added, "and i promise you faithfully that we won't do anything to influence him." "well, then, i might as well he gettin' along," skiff miller said in the ordinary tones of one departing. at this change in his voice, wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. he sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the same time licking skiff miller's hand. when the latter shook hands with walt, wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on walt and licking both men's hands. "it ain't no picnic, i can tell you that," were the klondiker's last words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. for the distance of twenty feet wolf watched him go, himself all eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and retrace his steps. then, with a quick low whine, wolf sprang after him, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. failing in this, wolf raced back to where walt irvine sat, catching his coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the retreating man. wolf's perturbation began to wax. he desired ubiquity. he wanted to be in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and steadily the distance between them was increasing. he sprang about excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and beginning to pant. he sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening wider. these jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the preceding one. and in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. all this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling. but just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked long and steadily at the retreating man. suddenly wolf turned his head, and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded walt. the appeal was unanswered. not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and no clew as to what his conduct should be. a glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the trail excited him again. he sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, struck by a new idea, turned his attention to madge. hitherto he had ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. he went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his nose--an old trick of his when begging for favors. he backed away from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, struggling with all his body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance. this, too, he soon abandoned. he was depressed by the coldness of these humans who had never been cold before. no response could he draw from them, no help could he get. they did not consider him. they were as dead. he turned and silently gazed after the old master. skiff miller was rounding the curve. in a moment he would be gone from view. yet he never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. and in this fashion he went out of view. wolf waited for him to reappear. he waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. he barked once, and waited. then he turned and trotted back to walt irvine. he sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. the tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to increase the volume of its gurgling noise. save for the meadow larks, there was no other sound. the great yellow butterflies drifted silently through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. madge gazed triumphantly at her husband. a few minutes later wolf got upon his feet. decision and deliberation marked his movements. he did not glance at the man and woman. his eyes were fixed up the trail. he had made up his mind. they knew it. and they knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. he broke into a trot, and madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. but the caressing sound was not made. she was impelled to look at her husband, and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. the pursed lips relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. wolf's trot broke into a run. wider and wider were the leaps he made. not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight behind him. he cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. [illustration] that spot i don't think much of stephen mackaye any more, though i used to swear by him. i know that in those days i loved him more than my own brother. if ever i meet stephen mackaye again, i shall not be responsible for my actions. it passes beyond me that a man with whom i shared food and blanket, and with whom i mushed over the chilcoot trail, should turn out the way he did. i always sized steve up as a square man, a kindly comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his nature. i shall never trust my judgment in men again. why, i nursed that man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the stewart; and he saved my life on the little salmon. and now, after the years we were together, all i can say of stephen mackaye is that he is the meanest man i ever knew. we started for the klondike in the fall rush of , and we started too late to get over chilcoot pass before the freeze-up. we packed our outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. that was how we came to get that spot. dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and ten dollars for him. he looked worth it. i say _looked_, because he was one of the finest appearing dogs i ever saw. he weighed sixty pounds, and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. we never could make out his breed. he wasn't husky, nor malemute, nor hudson bay; he looked like all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. that was why we called him spot. he was a good looker all right. when he was in condition his muscles stood out in bunches all over him. and he was the strongest looking brute i ever saw in alaska, also the most intelligent looking. to run your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own weight. maybe he could, but i never saw it. his intelligence didn't run that way. he could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct that was positively grewsome for divining when work was to be done and for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying lost he was nothing short of inspired. but when it came to work, the way that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed. there are times when i think it wasn't stupidity. maybe, like some men i know, he was too wise to work. i shouldn't wonder if he put it all over us with that intelligence of his. maybe he figured it all out and decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better than work all the time and no licking. he was intelligent enough for such a computation. i tell you, i've sat and looked into that dog's eyes till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like yeast, what of the intelligence i saw shining out. i can't express myself about that intelligence. it is beyond mere words. i saw it, that's all. at times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into his eyes; and what i saw there frightened me and started all sorts of ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. i tell you i sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there, but i wasn't big enough myself to catch it. whatever it was (i know i'm making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. i can't give an inkling of what i saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes themselves weren't moving. and i guess i didn't see it move, either; i only sensed that it moved. it was an expression,--that's what it was,--and i got an impression of it. no; it was different from a mere expression; it was more than that. i don't know what it was, but it gave me a feeling of kinship just the same. oh, no, not sentimental kinship. it was, rather, a kinship of equality. those eyes never pleaded like a deer's eyes. they challenged. no, it wasn't defiance. it was just a calm assumption of equality. and i don't think it was deliberate. my belief is that it was unconscious on his part. it was there because it was there, and it couldn't help shining out. no, i don't mean shine. it didn't shine; it _moved_. i know i'm talking rot, but if you'd looked into that animal's eyes the way i have, you'd understand. steve was affected the same way i was. why, i tried to kill that spot once--he was no good for anything; and i fell down on it. i led him out into the brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. he knew what was going on. i stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big colt's. and that dog sat down and looked at me. i tell you he didn't plead. he just looked. and i saw all kinds of incomprehensible things moving, yes, _moving,_ in those eyes of his. i didn't really see them move; i thought i saw them, for, as i said before, i guess i only sensed them. and i want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. it was like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your gun as much as to say, "who's afraid?" then, too, the message seemed so near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, i stopped to see if i could catch the message. there it was, right before me, glimmering all around in those eyes of his. and then it was too late. i got scared. i was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation that made me seasick. i just sat down and looked at that dog, and he looked at me, till i thought i was going crazy. do you want to know what i did? i threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of god in my heart. steve laughed at me. but i notice that steve led spot into the woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that steve came back alone, and a little later spot drifted back, too. at any rate, spot wouldn't work. we paid a hundred and ten dollars for him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. he wouldn't even tighten the traces. steve spoke to him the first time we put him in harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. not an ounce on the traces. he just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. steve touched him with the whip. he yelped, but not an ounce. steve touched him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. then steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and i came on the run from the tent. i told steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some words--the first we'd ever had. he threw the whip down in the snow, and walked away mad. i picked it up and went to it. that spot trembled and wobbled and cowered before ever i swung the lash, and with the first bite of it he howled like a lost soul. next he lay down in the snow. i started the rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along while i threw the whip into him. he rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four legs waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a sausage machine. steve came back and laughed at me, and i apologized for what i'd said. there was no getting any work out of that spot; and to make up for it, he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog i ever saw. on top of that, he was the cleverest thief. there was no circumventing him. many a breakfast we went without our bacon because spot had been there first. and it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the stewart. he figured out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. but he was impartial. he stole from every body. he was a restless dog always very busy snooping around or going somewhere. and there was never a camp within five miles that he didn't raid. the worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the chilcoot, when we were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. he could fight, too, that spot. he could do anything but work. he never pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. the way he made those dogs stand around was an education. he bullied them, and there was always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. but he was more than a bully. he wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and i've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team, without any provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole outfit. did i say he could eat? i caught him eating the whip once. that's straight. he started in at the lash, and when i caught him he was down to the handle, and still going. but he was a good looker. at the end of the first week we sold him for seventy-five dollars to the mounted police. they had experienced dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred miles to dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. i say we _knew_, for we were just getting acquainted with that spot. a little later we were not brash enough to know anything where he was concerned. a week later we woke up in the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. it was that spot came back and knocking the team into shape. we ate a pretty depressing breakfast, i can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to dawson with government despatches. that spot was only three days in coming back, and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house. we spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. also, we made money out of spot. if we sold him once, we sold him twenty times. he always came back, and no one asked for their money. we didn't want the money. we'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off our hands for keeps. we had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him away, for that would have been suspicious. but he was such a fine looker that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "unbroke," we'd say, and they'd pay any old price for him. we sold him as low as twenty-five dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. that particular party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the way he abused us was something awful. he said it was cheap at the price to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that we never talked back. but to this day i've never quite regained all the old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me. when the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a lake bennett boat and started for dawson. we had a good team of dogs, and of course we piled them on top the outfit. that spot was along--there was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he knocked one or another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting with them. it was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. "what that dog needs is space," steve said the second day. "let's maroon him." we did, running the boat in at caribou crossing for him to jump ashore. two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole days trying to find them. we never saw those two dogs again; but the quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. for the first time in months steve and i laughed and whistled and sang. we were as happy as clams. the dark days were over. the nightmare had been lifted. that spot was gone. three weeks later, one morning, steve and i were standing on the river-bank at dawson. a small boat was just arriving from lake bennett. i saw steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice and that was not under his breath. then i looked; and there, in the bow of the boat, with ears pricked up, sat spot. steve and i sneaked immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from justice. it was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he saw us sneaking. he surmised that there was law-officers in the boat who were after us. he didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, and in the m. & m. saloon got us in a corner. we had a merry time explaining, for we refused to go back to the boat and meet spot; and finally he held us under guard of another policeman while he went to the boat. after we got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we arrived, there was that spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. now how did he know we lived there? there were forty thousand people in dawson that summer, and how did he _savve_ our cabin out of all the cabins? how did he know we were in dawson, anyway? i leave it to you. but don't forget what i have said about his intelligence and that immortal something i have seen glimmering in his eyes. there was no getting rid of him any more. there were too many people in dawson who had bought him up on chilcoot, and the story got around. half a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the yukon; but he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. we couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both steve and i had tried), and nobody else was able to kill him. he bore a charmed life. i've seen him go down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be lying dead. i saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from major dinwiddie's cache so heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of mrs. dinwiddie's squaw cook, who was after him with an axe. as he went up the hill, after the squaw gave up, major dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his winchester into the landscape. he emptied his magazine twice, and never touched that spot. then a policeman came along and arrested him for discharging firearms inside the city limits. major dinwiddie paid his fine, and steve and i paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a dollar a pound, bones and all. that was what he paid for it. meat was high that year. i am only telling what i saw with my own eyes. and now i'll tell you something also. i saw that spot fall through a water-hole. the ice was three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a straw. three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the hospital. spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the bank, and whipped a big newfoundland belonging to the gold commissioner. in the fall of , steve and i poled up the yukon on the last water, bound for stewart river. we took the dogs along, all except spot. we figured we'd been feeding him long enough. he'd cost us more time and trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the chilcoot--especially grub. so steve and i tied him down in the cabin and pulled our freight. we camped that night at the mouth of indian river, and steve and i were pretty facetious over having shaken him. steve was a funny fellow, and i was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing when a tornado hit camp. the way that spot walked into those dogs and gave them what-for was hair-raising. now how did he get loose? it's up to you. i haven't any theory. and how did he get across the klondike river? that's another facer. and anyway, how did he know we had gone up the yukon? you see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. steve and i began to get superstitious about that dog. he got on our nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. the freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of henderson creek, and we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up white river after copper. now that whole outfit was lost. never trace nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. they dropped clean out of sight. it became one of the mysteries of the country. steve and i plugged away up the stewart, and six weeks afterward that spot crawled into camp. he was a perambulating skeleton, and could just drag along; but he got there. and what i want to know is who told him we were up the stewart? we could have gone a thousand other places. how did he know? you tell me, and i'll tell you. no losing him. at the mayo he started a row with an indian dog. the buck who owned the dog took a swing at spot with an axe, missed him, and killed his own dog. talk about magic and turning bullets aside--i, for one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big buck at the other end of it. and i saw him do it with my own eyes. that buck didn't want to kill his own dog. you've got to show me. i told you about spot breaking into our meat-cache. it was nearly the death of us. there wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we had to live on. the moose had gone back several hundred miles and the indians with them. there we were. spring was on and we had to wait for the river to break. we got pretty thin before we decided to eat the dogs, and we decided to eat spot first. do you know what that dog did? he sneaked. now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? we sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the other dogs. we ate the whole team. and now for the sequel. you know what it is when a big river breaks up and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. just in the thick of it, when the stewart went out, rumbling and roaring, we sighted spot out in the middle. he'd got caught as he was trying to cross up above somewhere. steve and i yelled and shouted and ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. sometimes we'd stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw spot's finish. he didn't have a chance in a million. he didn't have any chance at all. after the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the yukon, and down the yukon to dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at the cabins at the mouth of henderson creek. and as we came in to the bank at dawson, there sat that spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to us. now how did he get out of that ice? how did he know we were coming to dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank waiting for us? the more i think of that spot, the more i am convinced that there are things in this world that go beyond science. on no scientific grounds can that spot be explained. it's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or something of that sort, i guess, with a lot of theosophy thrown in. the klondike is a good country. i might have been there yet, and become a millionaire, if it hadn't been for spot. he got on my nerves. i stood him for two years all together, and then i guess my stamina broke. it was the summer of when i pulled out. i didn't say anything to steve. i just sneaked. but i fixed it up all right. i wrote steve a note, and enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do with it. i was worn down to skin and bone by that spot, and i was that nervous that i'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within hailing distance. but it was astonishing the way i recuperated when i got quit of him. i got back twenty pounds before i arrived in san francisco, and by the time i'd crossed the ferry to oakland i was my old self again, so that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me. steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. he took it kind of hard because i'd left him with spot. also, he said he'd used the "rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. a year went by. i was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even getting a bit fat. and then steve arrived. he didn't look me up. i read his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. but i didn't wonder long. i got up one morning and found that spot chained to the gatepost and holding up the milkman. steve went north to seattle, i learned, that very morning. i didn't put on any more weight. my wife made me buy him a collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing her pet persian cat. there is no getting rid of that spot. he will be with me until i die, for he'll never die. my appetite is not so good since he arrived, and my wife says i am looking peaked. last night that spot got into mr. harvey's hen-house (harvey is my next door neighbor) and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. i shall have to pay for them. my neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then moved out. spot was the cause of it. and that is why i am disappointed in stephen mackaye. i had no idea he was so mean a man. [illustration] trust all lines had been cast off, and the _seattle no. _ was pulling slowly out from the shore. her decks were piled high with freight and baggage, and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of indians, dogs, and dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. a goodly portion of dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. as the gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor of farewell became deafening. also, in that eleventh moment, everybody began to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and forth across the widening stretch of water. louis bondell, curling his yellow mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his friends on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. "oh, fred!" he bawled. "oh, fred!" the "fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch louis bondell's message. the latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. still the water widened between steamboat and shore. "hey you, captain scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "stop the boat!" the gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. all hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to exchange final, new, and imperative farewells. more futile than ever was louis bondell's effort to make himself heard. the _seattle no. _ lost way and drifted down-stream, and captain scott had to go ahead and reverse a second time. his head disappeared inside the pilot-house, coming into view a moment later behind a big megaphone. now captain scott had a remarkable voice, and the "shut up!" he launched at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the top of moosehide mountain and as far as klondike city. this official remonstrance from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the tumult. "now, what do you want to say?" captain scott demanded. "tell fred churchill--he's on the bank there--tell him to go to macdonald. it's in his safe--a small gripsack of mine. tell him to get it and bring it out when he comes." in the silence captain scott bellowed the message ashore through the megaphone:-- "you, fred churchill, go to macdonald--in his safe--small gripsack--belongs to louis bondell--important! bring it out when you come! got it?" churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. in truth, had macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. the tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the _seattle no. _ went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and headed down the yukon, bondell and churchill waving farewell and mutual affection to the last. that was in midsummer. in the fall of the year, the _w.h. willis_ started up the yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. among them was churchill. in his stateroom, in the middle of a clothes-bag, was louis bondell's grip. it was a small, stout leather affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made churchill nervous when he wandered too far from it. the man in the adjoining stateroom had a treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair of them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. while one went down to eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. when churchill wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, and when the other man wanted to relax his soul, churchill read four-months'-old newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. there were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get out before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and tramp out over the ice. there were irritating delays. twice the engines broke down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow flurries to warn them of the imminence of winter. nine times the _w.h. willis_ essayed to ascend the five-finger rapids with her impaired machinery, and when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very liberal schedule. the question that then arose was whether or not the steamboat _flora_ would wait for her above the box cañon. the stretch of water between the head of the box cañon and the foot of the white horse rapids was unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped at that point, walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the other. there were no telephones in the country, hence no way of informing the waiting _flora_ that the _willis_ was four days late, but coming. when the _w.h. willis_ pulled into white horse, it was learned that the _flora_ had waited three days over the limit, and had departed only a few hours before. also, it was learned that she would tie up at tagish post till nine o'clock, sunday morning. it was then four o'clock saturday afternoon. the pilgrims called a meeting. on board was a large peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of lake bennett. they agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. next, they called for volunteers. two men were needed to make a race for the _flora_. a score of men volunteered on the instant. among them was churchill, such being his nature that he volunteered before he thought of bondell's gripsack. when this thought came to him, he began to hope that he would not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain of a college football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a dog-musher and a stampeder in the yukon, and, moreover, who possessed such shoulders as he, had no right to avoid the honor. it was thrust upon him and upon a gigantic german, nick antonsen. while a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on a trot over the portage, churchill ran to his stateroom. he turned the contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the intention of intrusting it to the man next door. then the thought smote him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of his own possession. so he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really did not weigh more than forty pounds. it was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. the current of the thirty mile river was so strong that rarely could they use the paddles. it was out on one bank with a tow-line over the shoulders stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the underbrush, slipping at times and falling into the water, wading often up to the knees and waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing dash across the current to the other bank, in paddles, over the side, and out tow-line again. it was exhausting work. antonsen toiled like the giant he was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the powerful body and indomitable brain of churchill. they never paused for rest. it was go, go, and keep on going. a crisp wind blew down the river, freezing their hands and making it imperative, from time to time, to beat the blood back into the numb fingers. as night came on, they were compelled to trust to luck. they fell repeatedly on the untraveled banks and tore their clothing to shreds in the underbrush they could not see. both men were badly scratched and bleeding. a dozen times, in their wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized. the first time this happened, churchill dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack. he lost half an hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe. as long as the canoe floated it was safe. antonsen jeered at the grip, and toward morning began to abuse it; but churchill vouchsafed no explanations. their delays and mischances were endless. on one swift bend, around which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score of attempts and capsizing twice. at this point, on both banks, were precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against the current. at each attempt they strained to the utmost with the paddles, and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, they were played out and swept back. they succeeded finally by an accident. in the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the current sheered the canoe out of churchill's control and flung it against the bluff. churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and landed in a crevice. holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the other till antonsen dragged himself out of the water. then they pulled the canoe out and rested. a fresh start at this crucial point took them by. they landed on the bank above and plunged immediately ashore and into the brush with the tow-line. daylight found them far below tagish post. at nine o 'clock sunday morning they could hear the _flora_ whistling her departure. and when, at ten o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the post, they could just barely see the _flora's_ smoke far to the southward. it was a pair of worn-out tatterdemalions that captain jones of the mounted police welcomed and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of the most tremendous appetites he had ever observed. they lay down and slept in their wet rags by the stove. at the end of two hours churchill got up, carried bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to the canoe, kicked antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the _flora_. "there's no telling what might happen--machinery break down or something," was his reply to captain jones's expostulations. "i'm going to catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." tagish lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. big, swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and leaving one man to paddle. headway could not be made. they ran along the shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the other shoving on the canoe. they fought the gale up to their waists in the icy water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and buried by the big, crested waves. there was no rest, never a moment's pause from the cheerless, heart-breaking battle. that night, at the head of tagish lake, in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled the _flora._ antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. churchill looked like a wild man. his clothes barely clung to him. his face was iced up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four hours, while his hands were so swollen that he could not close the fingers. as for his feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. the captain of the _flora_ was loath to go back to white horse. churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. he pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because the only ocean steamer at dyea, the _athenian_, was to sail on tuesday morning, and that he could not make the back trip to white horse and bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. "what time does the _athenian_ sail?" churchill demanded. "seven o'clock, tuesday morning." "all right," churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the ribs of the snoring antonsen. "you go back to white horse. we'll go ahead and hold the _athenian_." antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he was drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard churchill snarling at him through the darkness:-- "paddle, can't you! do you want to be swamped?" daylight found them at caribou crossing, the wind dying down, and antonsen too far gone to dip a paddle. churchill grounded the canoe on a quiet beach, where they slept. he took the precaution of twisting his arm under the weight of his head. every few minutes the pain of the pent circulation aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist the other arm under his head. at the end of two hours he fought with antonsen to rouse him. then they started. lake bennett, thirty miles in length, was like a mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south smote them and turned the water white. hour after hour they repeated the struggle on tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up to their waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; toward the last the good-natured giant played completely out. churchill drove him mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to drown in three feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. after that, churchill fought on alone, arriving at the police post at the head of bennett in the early afternoon. he tried to help antonsen out of the canoe, but failed. he listened to the exhausted man's heavy breathing, and envied him when he thought of what he himself had yet to undergo. antonsen could lie there and sleep; but he, behind time, must go on over mighty chilcoot and down to the sea. the real struggle lay before him, and he almost regretted the strength that resided in his frame because of the torment it could inflict upon that frame. churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized bondell's grip, and started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. "there's a canoe down there, consigned to you from dawson," he hurled at the officer who answered his knock. "and there's a man in it pretty near dead. nothing serious; only played out. take care of him. i've got to rush. good-by. want to catch the _athenian_." a mile portage connected lake bennett and lake linderman, and his last words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. it was a very painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the gripsack. it was a severe handicap. he swung it from one hand to the other, and back again. he tucked it under his arm. he threw one hand over the opposite shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back as he ran along. he could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen fingers, and several times he dropped it. once, in changing from one hand to the other, it escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, tripped him up, and threw him violently to the ground. at the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a dollar, and in them he swung the grip. also, he chartered a launch to run him the six miles to the upper end of lake linderman, where he arrived at four in the afternoon. the _athenian_ was to sail from dyea next morning at seven. dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between towered chilcoot. he sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long climb, and woke up. he had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had not slept thirty seconds. he was afraid his next doze might be longer, so he finished fixing his foot-gear standing up. even then he was overpowered for a fleeting moment. he experienced the flash of unconsciousness; becoming aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body was sinking to the ground and as he caught himself together, he stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic wrench, and escaped the fall. the sudden jerk back to consciousness left him sick and trembling. he beat his head with the heel of his hand, knocking wakefulness into the numb brain. jack burns's pack-train was starting back light for crater lake, and churchill was invited to a mule. burns wanted to put the gripsack on another animal, but churchill held on to it, carrying it on his saddle-pommel. but he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening start. then, in the early darkness, churchill's mule brushed him against a projecting branch that laid his cheek open. to cap it, the mule blundered off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon the rocks. after that, churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the apology for a trail, leading the mule. stray and awful odors, drifting from each side the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush for gold. but he did not mind. he was too sleepy. by the time long lake was reached, however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at deep lake he resigned the gripsack to burns. but thereafter, by the light of the dim stars, he kept his eyes on burns. there were not going to be any accidents with that bag. at crater lake the pack-train went into camp, and churchill, slinging the grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. for the first time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. he crept and crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. a distinct and painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a foot. an hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a deep-sea diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach down and feel the lead. as for bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable that forty pounds could weigh so much. it pressed him down like a mountain, and he looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he had climbed that same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, if those loads had weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then bondell's grip weighed five hundred. the first rise of the divide from crater lake was across a small glacier. here was a well-defined trail. but above the glacier, which was also above timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and enormous boulders. there was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, and he blundered on, paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he accomplished. he won the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving snow, providentially stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which he crawled. there he found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and half a dozen raw eggs. when the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost impossible descent. there was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls and steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. part way down, the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he slipped and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and bleeding on the bottom of a large shallow hole. from all about him arose the stench of dead horses. the hole was handy to the trail, and the packers had made a practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying animals. the stench overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in a nightmare he scrambled out. halfway up, he recollected bondell's gripsack. it had fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had evidently broken, and he had forgotten it. back he went into the pestilential charnel-pit, where he crawled around on hands and knees and groped for half an hour. altogether he encountered and counted seventeen dead horses (and one horse still alive that he shot with his revolver) before he found bondell's grip. looking back upon a life that had not been without valor and achievement, he unhesitatingly declared to himself that this return after the grip was the most heroic act he had ever performed. so heroic was it that he was twice on the verge of fainting before he crawled out of the hole. by the time he had descended to the scales, the steep pitch of chilcoot was past, and the way became easier. not that it was an easy way, however, in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, along which he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if he had had light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been for bondell's gripsack. to him, in his exhausted condition, it was the last straw. having barely strength to carry himself along, the additional weight of the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every time he tripped or stumbled. and when he escaped tripping, branches reached out in the darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and held him back. his mind was made up that if he missed the _athenian_ it would be the fault of the gripsack. in fact, only two things remained in his consciousness--bondell's grip and the steamer. he knew only those two things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission upon which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. he walked and struggled on as in a dream. a part of the dream was his arrival at sheep camp. he stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, and started to deposit the grip at his feet. but it slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by two men who were just leaving. churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told the barkeeper to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the grip, his head on his knees. so badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it required another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his joints and limber up the muscles. "hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and started him through the darkness toward canyon city. some little husk of inner consciousness told churchill that the direction was right, and, still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. he did not know what warned him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he sensed danger and drew his revolver. still in the dream, he saw two men step out and heard them halt him. his revolver went off four times, and he saw the flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. also, he was aware that he had been hit in the thigh. he saw one man go down, and, as the other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the heavy revolver full in the face. then he turned and ran. he came from the dream shortly afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at a limping lope. his first thought was for the gripsack. it was still on his back. he was convinced that what had happened was a dream till he felt for his revolver and found it gone. next he became aware of a sharp stinging of his thigh, and after investigating, he found his hand warm with blood. it was a superficial wound, but it was incontestable. he became wider awake, and kept up the lumbering run to canyon city. he found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed and harnessed up for twenty dollars. churchill crawled in on the wagon-bed and slept, the gripsack still on his back. it was a rough ride, over water-washed boulders down the dyea valley; but he roused only when the wagon hit the highest places. any altitude of his body above the wagon-bed of less than a foot did not faze him. the last mile was smooth going, and he slept soundly. he came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling into his ear that the _athenian_ was gone. churchill looked blankly at the deserted harbor. "there's a smoke over at skaguay," the man said. churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "it's she. get me a boat." the driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten dollars, payment in advance. churchill paid, and was helped into the skiff. it was beyond him to get in by himself. it was six miles to skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. but the man did not know how to row, and churchill took the oars and toiled for a few more centuries. he never knew six longer and more excruciating miles. a snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. he had a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from faintness and numbness. at his command, the man took the bailer and threw salt water into his face. the _athenian's_ anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. "stop her! stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "important message! stop her!" then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "when half a dozen men started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, and clung to it like a drowning man. on deck he became a center of horror and curiosity. the clothing in which he had left white horse was represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. he had traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. he had slept six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when he started. face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he could scarcely see. he tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on the deck, hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. "now, put me to bed," he finished; "i'll eat when i wake up." they did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and depositing him and bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the biggest and most luxurious stateroom in the ship. twice he slept the clock around, and he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning over the rail smoking a cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from white horse came alongside. by the time the _athenian_ arrived in seattle, churchill had fully recuperated, and he went ashore with bondell's grip in his hand. he felt proud of that grip. to him it stood for achievement and integrity and trust. "i've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these various high terms to himself. it was early in the evening, and he went straight to bondell's home. louis bondell was glad to see him, shaking hands with both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. "oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," bondell said when he received the gripsack. he tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and churchill noted with an appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. bondell was volleying him with questions. "how did you make out? how're the boys! what became of bill smithers? is del bishop still with pierce? did he sell my dogs? how did sulphur bottom show up? you're looking fine. what steamer did you come out on?" to all of which churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and the first lull in the conversation had arrived. "hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at the gripsack. "oh, it's all right," bondell answered. "did mitchell's dump turn out as much as he expected?" "i think you'd better look at it," churchill insisted. "when i deliver a thing, i want to be satisfied that it's all right. there's always the chance that somebody might have got into it when i was asleep, or something." "it's nothing important, old man," bondell answered, with a laugh. "nothing important," churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. then he spoke with decision: "louis, what's in that bag? i want to know." louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a bunch of keys. he inserted his hand and drew out a heavy . colt's revolver. next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and several boxes of winchester cartridges. churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. then he turned it upside down and shook it gently. "the gun's all rusted," bondell said. "must have been out in the rain." "yes," churchill answered. "too bad it got wet. i guess i was a bit careless." he got up and went outside. ten minutes later louis bondell went out and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. [illustration] all gold canyon it was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness and softness. here all things rested. even the narrow stream ceased its turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. knee-deep in the water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, many-antlered buck. on one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the frowning wall. beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to meet the opposing wall. fine grass covered the slope--grass that was spangled with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and purple and golden. below, the canyon was shut in. there was no view. the walls leaned together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of rocks, moss-covered and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers and boughs of trees. up the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big foothills, pine-covered and remote. and far beyond, like clouds upon the border of the sky, towered minarets of white, where the sierra's eternal snows flashed austerely the blazes of the sun. there was no dust in the canyon. the leaves and flowers were clean and virginal. the grass was young velvet. over the pool three cottonwoods sent their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. on the slope the blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. in the open spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. here and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, breathed its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. creamy white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with the sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. there was not a sigh of wind. the air was drowsy with its weight of perfume. it was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air been heavy and humid. but the air was sharp and thin. it was as starlight transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by sunshine, and flower-drenched with sweetness. an occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light and shade. and from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain bees--feasting sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the board, nor found time for rough discourtesy. so quietly did the little stream drip and ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in faint and occasional gurgles. the voice of the stream was as a drowsy whisper, ever interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in the awakenings. the motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. the hum of the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. and the drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. it was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing life, of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, of repose that was quick with existence without being violent with struggle and travail. the spirit of the place was the spirit of the peace of the living, somnolent with the easement and content of prosperity, and undisturbed by rumors of far wars. the red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the spirit of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. there seemed no flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. sometimes his ears moved when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, with foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at discovery that it had slept. but there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift eagerness for sound. his head was turned down the canyon. his sensitive, quivering nostrils scented the air. his eyes could not pierce the green screen through which the stream rippled away, but to his ears came the voice of a man. it was a steady, monotonous, singsong voice. once the buck heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. at the sound he snorted with a sudden start that jerked him through the air from water to meadow, and his feet sank into the young velvet, while he pricked his ears and again scented the air. then he stole across the tiny meadow, pausing once and again to listen, and faded away out of the canyon like a wraith, soft-footed and without sound. the clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and the man's voice grew louder. it was raised in a sort of chant and became distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: "tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face untoe them sweet hills of grace (d' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). look about an' look aroun' fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' (yo' will meet wid d' lord in d' mornin'!)." 'a sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. the green screen was burst asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the sloping side-hill. he was a deliberate sort of man. he took in the scene with one embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify the general impression. then, and not until then, did he open his mouth in vivid and solemn approval: "smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! will you just look at that! wood an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! a pocket-hunter's delight an' a cayuse's paradise! cool green for tired eyes! pink pills for pale people ain't in it. a secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for tired burros. it's just booful!" he was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed the salient characteristics. it was a mobile face, quick-changing to inward mood and thought. thinking was in him a visible process. ideas chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. his hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless as his complexion. it would seem that all the color of his frame had gone into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. also, they were laughing and merry eyes, within them much of the naiveté and wonder of the child; and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm self-reliance and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and experience of the world. from out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a miner's pick and shovel and gold-pan. then he crawled out himself into the open. he was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with hobnailed brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness and stains advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and camp-smoke. he stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene and sensuously inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden through nostrils that dilated and quivered with delight. his eyes narrowed to laughing slits of blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and his mouth curled in a smile as he cried aloud: "jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! talk about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! they ain't in it!" he had the habit of soliloquy. his quick-changing facial expressions might tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard after, repeating, like a second boswell. the man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its water. "tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. the side-hill attracted his attention. still lying on his stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. it was a practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall and back and down again to the edge of the pool. he scrambled to his feet and favored the side-hill with a second survey. "looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and gold-pan. he crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to stone. where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of dirt and put it into the gold-pan. he squatted down, holding the pan in his two hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. then he imparted to the pan a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and out through the dirt and gravel. the larger and the lighter particles worked to the surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the pan, he spilled out and over the edge. occasionally, to expedite matters, he rested the pan and with his fingers raked out the large pebbles and pieces of rock. the contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the smallest bits of gravel remained. at this stage he began to work very deliberately and carefully. it was fine washing, and he washed fine and finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. at last the pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick semi-circular flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into the stream, he disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. so thin was this layer that it was like a streak of paint. he examined it closely. in the midst of it was a tiny golden speck. he dribbled a little water in over the depressed edge of the pan. with a quick flirt he sent the water sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of black sand over and over. a second tiny golden speck rewarded his effort. the washing had now become very fine--fine beyond all need of ordinary placer-mining. he worked the black sand, a small portion at a time, up the shallow rim of the pan. each small portion he examined sharply, so that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to slide over the edge and away. jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand slip away. a golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the rim, and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the pan. and in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. great was his care of them. like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden specks so that not one should be lost. at last, of the pan of dirt nothing remained but his golden herd. he counted it, and then, after all his labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. but his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. "seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "seven," he repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his memory. he stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. in his eyes was a curiosity, new-aroused and burning. there was an exultance about his bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh scent of game. he moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden specks, and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the stream. "five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." he could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan farther down the stream. his golden herds diminished. "four, three, two, two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. when but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire of dry twigs. into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was blue-black. he held up the pan and examined it critically. then he nodded approbation. against such a color-background he could defy the tiniest yellow speck to elude him. still moving down the stream, he panned again. a single speck was his reward. a third pan contained no gold at all. not satisfied with this, he panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of one another. each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. his elation increased with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: "if it ain't the real thing, may god knock off my head with sour apples!" returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the stream. at first his golden herds increased--increased prodigiously. "fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory tabulations. just above the pool he struck his richest pan--thirty-five colors. "almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water to sweep them away. the sun climbed to the top of the sky. the man worked on. pan by pan, he went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. "it's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful of dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. and when no specks at all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored the hillside with a confident glance. "ah, ha! mr. pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "ah, ha! mr. pocket! i'm a-comin', i'm a-comin', an' i'm shorely gwine to get yer! you heah me, mr. pocket? i'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't cauliflowers!" he turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in the azure of the cloudless sky. then he went down the canyon, following the line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. he crossed the stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. there was little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its quietude and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still dominated the canyon with possession. after a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he returned. the green screen was tremendously agitated. it surged back and forth in the throes of a struggle. there was a loud grating and clanging of metal. the man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with imperativeness. a large body plunged and panted. there was a snapping and ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse burst through the screen. on its back was a pack, and from this trailed broken vines and torn creepers. the animal gazed with astonished eyes at the scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to the grass and began contentedly to graze. a second horse scrambled into view, slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when its hoofs sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. it was riderless, though on its back was a high-horned mexican saddle, scarred and discolored by long usage. the man brought up the rear. he threw off pack and saddle, with an eye to camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. he unpacked his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. he gathered an armful of dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. "my!" he said, "but i've got an appetite. i could scoff iron-filings an' horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." he straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of his overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. his fingers had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the hand came out empty. the man wavered perceptibly. he looked at his preparations for cooking and he looked at the hill. "guess i'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross the stream. "they ain't no sense in it, i know," he mumbled apologetically. "but keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, i reckon." a few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second line. the sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but the man worked on. he began a third line of test-pans. he was cross-cutting the hillside, line by line, as he ascended. the center of each line produced the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors showed in the pan. and as he ascended the hillside the lines grew perceptibly shorter. the regularity with which their length diminished served to indicate that somewhere up the slope the last line would be so short as to have scarcely length at all, and that beyond could come only a point. the design was growing into an inverted "v." the converging sides of this "v" marked the boundaries of the gold-bearing dirt. the apex of the "v" was evidently the man's goal. often he ran his eye along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the apex, the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. here resided "mr. pocket"--for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point above him on the slope, crying out: "come down out o' that, mr. pocket! be right smart an' agreeable, an' come down!" "all right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. "all right, mr. pocket. it's plain to me i got to come right up an' snatch you out bald-headed. an' i'll do it! i'll do it!" he would threaten still later. each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an empty baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. so engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight of oncoming night. it was not until he tried vainly to see the gold colors in the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. he straightened up abruptly. an expression of whimsical wonderment and awe overspread his face as he drawled: "gosh darn my buttons! if i didn't plumb forget dinner!" he stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his long-delayed fire. flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted his supper. then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. after that he unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the blankets up to his chin. his face showed white in the moonlight, like the face of a corpse. but it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, for the man rose suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. "good night, mr. pocket," he called sleepily. "goodnight." he slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked about him until he had established the continuity of his existence and identified his present self with the days previously lived. to dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. he glanced at his fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation and started the fire. "keep yer shirt on, bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. "what's the good of rushin'? no use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. mr. pocket'll wait for you. he ain't a-runnin' away before you can get your breakfast. now, what you want, bill, is something fresh in yer bill o' fare. so it's up to you to go an' get it." he cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets a bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. "mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his first cast into the pool. and a moment later he was gleefully crying: "what'd i tell you, eh? what'd i tell you?" he had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. three more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. when he came to the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a sudden thought, and paused. "i'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "there's no tellin' who may be snoopin' around." but he crossed over on the stones, and with a "i really oughter take that hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he fell to work. at nightfall he straightened up. the small of his back was stiff from stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the protesting muscles, he said: "now what d'ye think of that? i clean forgot my dinner again! if i don't watch out, i'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." "pockets is the hangedest things i ever see for makin' a man absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "good night, mr. pocket! good night!" rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at work. a fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing richness of the test-pans allay this fever. there was a flush in his cheek other than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious to fatigue and the passage of time. when he filled a pan with dirt, he ran down the hill to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill again, panting and stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. he was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "v" was assuming definite proportions. the width of the pay-dirt steadily decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "v" to their meeting place far up the hill. this was his goal, the apex of the "v," and he panned many times to locate it. "just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the right," he finally concluded. then the temptation seized him. "as plain as the nose on your face," he said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the indicated apex. he filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. it contained no trace of gold. he dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling and washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden speck. he was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated himself blasphemously and pridelessly. then he went down the hill and took up the cross-cutting. "slow an' certain, bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "short-cuts to fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. get wise, bill; get wise. slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to it, an' keep to it, too." as the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "v" were converging, the depth of the "v" increased. the gold-trace was dipping into the hill. it was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he could get colors in his pan. the dirt he found at twenty-five inches from the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. at the base of the "v," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at the grass roots. the higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold dipped. to dig a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a task of no mean magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened an untold number of such holes to be dug. "an' there's no tellin' how much deeper it'll pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his fingers soothed his aching back. feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up the hill. before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and made sweet with their breath. behind him was devastation. it looked like some terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. his slow progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous trail. though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. twenty cents, thirty cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in the pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a dollar's worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. "i'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the blankets up to his chin. suddenly he sat upright. "bill!" he called sharply. "now, listen to me, bill; d'ye hear! it's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' see what you can see. understand? to-morrow morning, an' don't you forget it!" he yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "good night, mr. pocket," he called. in the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished breakfast when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall of the canyon where it crumbled away and gave footing. from the outlook at the top he found himself in the midst of loneliness. as far as he could see, chain after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his vision. to the east his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range and between many ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked sierras--the main crest, where the backbone of the western world reared itself against the sky. to the north and south he could see more distinctly the cross-systems that broke through the main trend of the sea of mountains. to the west the ranges fell away, one behind the other, diminishing and fading into the gentle foothills that, in turn, descended into the great valley which he could not see. and in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the handiwork of man--save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his feet. the man looked long and carefully. once, far down his own canyon, he thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. he looked again and decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a convolution of the canyon wall at its back. "hey, you, mr. pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "stand out from under! i'm a-comin', mr. pocket! i'm a-comin'!" the heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but he swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain goat. a rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did not disconcert him. he seemed to know the precise time required for the turn to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on into safety. where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. his foot pressed the impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave him the bound that carried him onward. again, where even the fraction of a second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body past by a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a precariously rooted shrub. at last, with a wild leap and yell, he exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the descent in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. his first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. it was from the centre of the "v." to either side the diminution in the values of the pans was swift. his lines of cross-cutting holes were growing very short. the converging sides of the inverted "v" were only a few yards apart. their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. but the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. by early afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could show the gold-trace. for that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; it was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after he had found the pocket and work over the ground. but the increasing richness of the pans began to worry him. by late afternoon the worth of the pans had grown to three and four dollars. the man scratched his head perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that marked approximately the apex of the "v." he nodded his head and said oracularly: "it's one o' two things, bill: one o' two things. either mr. pocket's spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else mr. pocket's so rich you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. and that'd be an awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" he chuckled at contemplation of so pleasant a dilemma. nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with the gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. "wisht i had an electric light to go on working," he said. he found sleep difficult that night. many times he composed himself and closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured wearily, "wisht it was sun-up." sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first paling of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast finished and climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret abiding-place of mr. pocket. the first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, so narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the fountainhead of the golden stream he had been following for four days. "be ca'm, bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for the final hole where the sides of the "v" had at last come together in a point. "i've got the almighty cinch on you, mr. pocket, an' you can't lose me," he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. the digging grew harder. his pick grated on broken rock. he examined the rock. "rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he cleared the bottom of the hole of loose dirt. he attacked the crumbling quartz with the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with every stroke. he thrust his shovel into the loose mass. his eye caught a gleam of yellow. he dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. as a farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. "sufferin' sardanopolis!" he cried. "lumps an' chunks of it! lumps an' chunks of it!" it was only half rock he held in his hand. the other half was virgin gold. he dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. little yellow was to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the rotten quartz away till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. he rubbed the dirt away from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the gold-pan. it was a treasure-hole. so much had the quartz rotted away that there was less of it than there was of gold. now and again he found a piece to which no rock clung--a piece that was all gold. a chunk, where the pick had laid open the heart of the gold, glittered like a handful of yellow jewels, and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned it around and over to observe the rich play of the light upon it. "talk about yer too much gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. "why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. this diggin' is all gold. an' right here an' now i name this yere canyon 'all gold canyon,' b' gosh!" still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and tossing them into the pan. suddenly there came to him a premonition of danger. it seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. but there was no shadow. his heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold against his flesh. he did not spring up nor look around. he did not move. he was considering the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to locate the source of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving to sense the imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened him. there is an aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too refined for the senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how he felt it. his was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. it seemed that between him and life had passed something dark and smothering and menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and made for death--his death. every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the unseen danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained squatting on his heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. he did not dare to look around, but he knew by now that there was something behind him and above him. he made believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. he examined it critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt from it. and all the time he knew that something behind him was looking at the gold over his shoulder. still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. his eyes searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. there was his pick, a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. the man realized his predicament. he was in a narrow hole that was seven feet deep. his head did not come to the surface of the ground. he was in a trap. he remained squatting on his heels. he was quite cool and collected; but his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. he continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the gold into the pan. there was nothing else for him to do. yet he knew that he would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that breathed at his back. the minutes passed, and with the passage of each minute he knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand up, or else--and his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the thought--or else he might receive death as he stooped there over his treasure. still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in just what manner he should rise up. he might rise up with a rush and claw his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even footing above ground. or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and feign casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. his instinct and every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing rush to the surface. his intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the slow and cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could not see. and while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. at the same instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the back, and from the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his flesh. he sprang up in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. his body crumpled in like a leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, his chest across his pan of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his legs tangled and twisted because of the restricted space at the bottom of the hole. his legs twitched convulsively several times. his body was shaken as with a mighty ague. there was a slow expansion of the lungs, accompanied by a deep sigh. then the air was slowly, very slowly, exhaled, and his body as slowly flattened itself down into inertness. above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the hole. he peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath him. after a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that he could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. reaching his hand into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. into this he dropped a few crumbs of tobacco. the combination became a cigarette, brown and squat, with the ends turned in. not once did he take his eyes from the body at the bottom of the hole. he lighted the cigarette and drew its smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. he smoked slowly. once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. and all the while he studied the body beneath him. in the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. he moved to the edge of the hole. spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down into the hole. while his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he released his hands and dropped down. at the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. in the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. swiftly as the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the revolver down. he was still in the air, his fall in process of completion, when he pulled the trigger. the explosion was deafening in the confined space. the smoke filled the hole so that he could see nothing. he struck the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the pocket-miner's body was on top of him. even as the miner's body passed on top, the stranger crooked in his right arm to fire; and even in that instant the miner, with a quick thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. the muzzle was thrown up and the bullet thudded into the dirt of the side of the hole. the next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. the struggle was now for the revolver. each man strove to turn it against the other's body. the smoke in the hole was clearing. the stranger, lying on his back, was beginning to see dimly. but suddenly he was blinded by a handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his antagonist. in that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. in the next moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, and in the midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. but the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was empty. then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on the dead man's legs. the miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "measly skunk!" he panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then shootin' me in the back!" he was half crying from anger and exhaustion. he peered at the face of the dead man. it was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was difficult to distinguish the features. "never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "just a common an' ordinary thief, hang him! an' he shot me in the back! he shot me in the back!" he opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. "went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "i'll bet he aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled the trigger--the cur! but i fixed 'm! oh, i fixed 'm!" his fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade of regret passed over his face. "it's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he said. "an' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." he crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. half an hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. his open shirt disclosed the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. he was slow and awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent his using the arm. the bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to heave the body out of the hole. then he set to work gathering up his gold. he worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his stiffening shoulder and to exclaim: "he shot me in the back, the measly skunk! he shot me in the back!" when his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a number of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. "four hundred pounds, or i'm a hottentot," he concluded. "say two hundred in quartz an' dirt--that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. bill! wake up! two hundred pounds of gold! forty thousand dollars! an' it's yourn--all yourn!" he scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an unfamiliar groove. they quested along it for several inches. it was a crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. he walked angrily over to the dead man. "you would, would you!" he bullied. "you would, eh? well, i fixed you good an' plenty, an' i'll give you decent burial, too. that's more'n you'd have done for me." he dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. it struck the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the light. the miner peered down at it. "an' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. with pick and shovel he filled the hole. then he loaded the gold on his horse. it was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained his camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. even so, he was compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit--pick and shovel and gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. the sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen of vines and creepers. to climb the huge boulders the animals were compelled to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of vegetation. once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the pack to get the animal on its feet. after it started on its way again the man thrust his head out from among the leaves and peered up at the hillside. "the measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. there was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. the trees surged back and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of them. there was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and again a sharp cry of command. then the voice of the man was raised in song:-- "tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face untoe them sweet hills of grace (d' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). look about an' look aroun' fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' (yo'-will meet wid d' lord in d' mornin'!)." the song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the spirit of the place. the stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum of the mountain bees rose sleepily. down through the perfume-weighted air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. the butterflies drifted in and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet sunshine. only remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn hillside to mark the boisterous trail of the life that had broken the peace of the place and passed on. [illustration] the story of keesh keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with his name on the lips of men. so long ago did he live that only the old men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their children and their children's children down to the end of time. and the winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how keesh, from the poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all. he was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. for each winter the sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. the father of keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking the life of a great polar bear. in his eagerness he came to close grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had much meat on him and the people were saved. keesh was his only son, and after that keesh lived alone with his mother. but the people are prone to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. it was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of klosh-kwan, the chief, that keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood that stiffened his back. with the dignity of an elder, he rose to his feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. "it is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "but it is ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual quantity of bones." the hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. the like had never been known before. a child, that talked like a grown man, and said harsh things to their very faces! but steadily and with seriousness, keesh went on. "for that i know my father, bok, was a great hunter, i speak these words. it is said that bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes he saw to it that the least old woman and the least old man received fair share." "na! na!" the men cried. "put the child out!" "send him off to bed!" "he is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" he waited calmly till the uproar died down. "thou hast a wife, ugh-gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. and thou, too, massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. my mother has no one, save me; wherefore i speak. as i say, though bok be dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that i, who am his son, and that ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. i, keesh, the son of bok, have spoken." he sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and indignation his words had created. "that a boy should speak in council!" old ugh-gluk was mumbling. "shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" massuk demanded in a loud voice. "am i a man that i should be made a mock by every child that cries for meat?" the anger boiled a white heat. they ordered him to bed, threatened that he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his presumption. keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly under his skin. in the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. "hear me, ye men!" he cried. "never shall i speak in the council again, never again till the men come to me and say, 'it is well, keesh, that thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' take this now, ye men, for my last word. bok, my father, was a great hunter. i too, his son, shall go and hunt the meat that i eat. and be it known, now, that the division of that which i kill shall be fair. and no widow nor weak one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. and in the days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten overmuch. i, keesh, have said it!" jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. the next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the land met together. those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder was his father's big hunting-spear. and there was laughter, and much talk, at the event. it was an unprecedented occurrence. never did boys of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. also were there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. "he will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. "let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "and he will come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to follow." but a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and there was no keesh. ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body when the storm abated. early next morning, however, keesh strode into the village. but he came not shamefacedly. across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed meat. and there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. "go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better part of a day's travel," he said. "there is much meat on the ice--a she-bear and two half-grown cubs." ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in manlike fashion, saying: "come, ikeega, let us eat. and after that i shall sleep, for i am weary." and he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that slept for twenty running hours. there was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. the killing of a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. the men could not bring themselves to believe that the boy keesh, single-handed, had accomplished so great a marvel. but the women spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument against their unbelief. so they finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the carcasses. now in the north it is very necessary that this should be done as soon as a kill is made. if not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough ice. but arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which they had doubted, but that keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, and removed the entrails. thus began the mystery of keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened with the passing of the days. his very next trip he killed a young bear, nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his mate. he was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people marveled. "how does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "never does he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." "why dost thou hunt only bear?" klosh-kwan once ventured to ask. and keesh made fitting answer. "it is well known that there is more meat on the bear," he said. but there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "he hunts with evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is rewarded. how else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" "mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "it is known that his father was a mighty hunter. may not his father hunt with him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? who knows?" none the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were often kept busy hauling in his meat. and in the division of it he was just. as his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for himself than his needs required. and because of this, and of his merit as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there was talk of making him chief after old klosh-kwan. because of the things he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he never came, and they were ashamed to ask. "i am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to klosh-kwan and a number of the hunters. "it shall be a large _igloo_, wherein ikeega and i can dwell in comfort." "ay," they nodded gravely. "but i have no time. my business is hunting, and it takes all my time. so it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat should build me my _igloo_." and the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which exceeded even the dwelling of klosh-kwan. keesh and his mother moved into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death of bok. nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked upon as the first woman in all the village; and the women were given to visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among themselves or with the men. but it was the mystery of keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief place in all their minds. and one day ugh-gluk taxed him with witchcraft to his face. "it is charged," ugh-gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." "is not the meat good?" keesh made answer. "has one in the village yet to fall sick from the eating of it! how dost thou know that witchcraft be concerned? or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the envy that consumes thee?" and ugh-gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he walked away. but in the council one night, after long deliberation, it was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so that his methods might be learned. so, on his next trip, bim and bawn, two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking care not to be seen. after five days they returned, their eyes bulging and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. the council was hastily called in klosh-kwan's dwelling, and bim took up the tale. "brothers! as commanded, we journeyed on the trail of keesh, and cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. and midway of the first day he picked up with a great he-bear. it was a very great bear." "none greater," bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "yet was the bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over the ice. this we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came toward us, and after him came keesh, very much unafraid. and he shouted harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much noise. then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and growl. but keesh walked right up to the bear." "ay," bim continued the story. "right up to the bear keesh walked. and the bear took after him, and keesh ran away. but as he ran he dropped a little round ball on the ice. and the bear stopped and smelled of it, and then swallowed it up. and keesh continued to run away and drop little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and ugh-gluk expressed open unbelief. "with our own eyes we saw it," bim affirmed. and bawn--"ay, with our own eyes. and this continued until the bear stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his forepaws madly about. and keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe distance. but the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." "ay, within him," bim interrupted. "for he did claw at himself, and leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. never did i see such a sight!" "nay, never was such a sight seen," bawn took up the strain. "and furthermore, it was such a large bear." "witchcraft," ugh-gluk suggested. "i know not," bawn replied. "i tell only of what my eyes beheld. and after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and again to squeal and cry. and keesh followed after the bear, and we followed after keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed. the bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." "it was a charm!" ugh-gluk exclaimed. "surely it was a charm!" "it may well be." and bim relieved bawn. "the bear wandered, now this way and now that, doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the end he was near where keesh had first come upon him. by this time he was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so keesh came up close and speared him to death." "and then?" klosh-kwan demanded. "then we left keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of the killing might be told." and in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear while the men sat in council assembled. when keesh arrived a messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. but he sent reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was large and comfortable and could hold many men. and curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, klosh-kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of keesh. he was eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to their rank. ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but keesh was quite composed. klosh-kwan recited the information brought by bim and bawn, and at its close said in a stern voice: "so explanation is wanted, o keesh, of thy manner of hunting. is there witchcraft in it?" keesh looked up and smiled. "nay, o klosh-kwan. it is not for a boy to know aught of witches, and of witches i know nothing. i have but devised a means whereby i may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. it be headcraft, not witchcraft." "and may any man?" "any man." there was a long silence. the men looked in one another's faces, and keesh went on eating. "and ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, o keesh?" klosh-kwan finally asked in a tremulous voice. "yea, i will tell thee." keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose to his feet. "it is quite simple. behold!" he picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. the ends were sharp as needle-points. the strip he coiled carefully, till it disappeared in his hand. then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight again. he picked up a piece of blubber. "so," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes it hollow. then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. after that it is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. the bear swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. it is quite simple." and ugh-gluk said "oh!" and klosh-kwan said "ah!" and each said something after his own manner, and all understood. and this is the story of keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea. because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no meat. [illustration] nam-bok the unveracious "a bidarka, is it not so! look! a bidarka, and one man who drives clumsily with a paddle!" old bask-wah-wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and eagerness, and gazed out over the sea. "nam-bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled water. "nam-bok was ever clumsy. i remember...." but the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle mockery in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved without sound. koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the path of her eyes. except when wide yawns took it off its course, a bidarka was heading in for the beach. its occupant was paddling with more strength than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag line of most resistance. koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on the ivory tusk between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish the like of which never swam in the sea. "it is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come to consult with me about the marking of things on bone. and the man is a clumsy man. he will never know how." "it is nam-bok," old bask-wah-wan repeated. "should i not know my son!" she demanded shrilly. "i say, and i say again, it is nam-bok." "and so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided softly. "ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and watched through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'this is nam-bok.' nam-bok is dead, o bask-wah-wan, and the dead do not come back. it cannot be that the dead come back." "nam-bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole village was startled and looked at her. she struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. she stumbled over a baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled harsh words after the old woman, who took no notice. the children ran down the beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew closer, nearly capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women followed. koogah dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily upon his staff, and after him loitered the men in twos and threes. the bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on the sand. the man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of villagers. a rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung loosely to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was knotted in sailor fashion about his throat. a fisherman's tam-o'-shanter on his close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans completed his outfit. but he was none the less a striking personage to these simple fisherfolk of the great yukon delta, who, all their lives, had stared out on bering sea and in that time seen but two white men,--the census enumerator and a lost jesuit priest. they were a poor people, with neither gold in the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had passed them afar. also, the yukon, through the thousands of years, had shoaled that portion of the sea with the detritus of alaska till vessels grounded out of sight of land. so the sodden coast, with its long inside reaches and huge mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of men, and the fisherfolk knew not that such things were. koogah, the bone-scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping over his staff and falling to the ground. "nam-bok!" he cried, as he scrambled wildly for footing. "nam-bok, who was blown off to sea, come back!" the men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between their legs. only opee-kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the village. he strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. "it is nam-bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice the women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. the lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat writhed and wrestled with unspoken words. "la, la, it is nam-bok," bask-wah-wan croaked, peering up into his face. "ever did i say nam-bok would come back." "ay, it is nam-bok come back." this time it was nam-bok himself who spoke, putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one foot afloat and one ashore. again his throat writhed and wrestled as he grappled after forgotten words. and when the words came forth they were strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the gutturals. "greetings, o brothers," he said, "brothers of old time before i went away with the off-shore wind." he stepped out with both feet on the sand, and opee-kwan waved him back. "thou art dead, nam-bok," he said. nam-bok laughed. "i am fat." "dead men are not fat," opee-kwan confessed. "thou hast fared well, but it is strange. no man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on the heels of the years." "i have come back," nam-bok answered simply. "mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the nam-bok that was. shadows come back." "i am hungry. shadows do not eat." but opee-kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore puzzlement. nam-bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down the line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. the men and women whispered together. the children stole timidly back among their elders, and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. "i bore thee, nam-bok, and i gave thee suck when thou wast little," bask-wah-wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or no shadow, i will give thee to eat now." nam-bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him back. he said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "no shadow am i, but a man." "who may know concerning the things of mystery?" opee-kwan demanded, half of himself and half of his tribespeople. "we are, and in a breath we are not. if the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? nam-bok was, but is not. this we know, but we do not know if this be nam-bok or the shadow of nam-bok." nam-bok cleared his throat and made answer. "in the old time long ago, thy father's father, opee-kwan, went away and came back on the heels of the years. nor was a place by the fire denied him. it is said ..." he paused significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "it is said," he repeated, driving his point home with deliberation, "that sipsip, his _klooch_, bore him two sons after he came back." "but he had no doings with the off-shore wind," opee-kwan retorted. "he went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things that a man may go on and on into the land." "and likewise the sea. but that is neither here nor there. it is said ... that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." "ay, strange tales he told." "i, too, have strange tales to tell," nam-bok stated insidiously. and, as they wavered, "and presents likewise." he pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and flung it about his mother's shoulders. the women voiced a collective sigh of admiration, and old bask-wah-wan ruffled the gay material and patted it and crooned in childish joy. "he has tales to tell," koogah muttered. "and presents," a woman seconded. and opee-kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "the fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. so come, nam-bok, let us feast." two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up to the fire. nam-bok walked by the side of opee-kwan, and the villagers followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay caressing fingers on the shawl. there was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious were the glances stolen at the son of bask-wah-wan. this embarrassed him--not because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact that the stench of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that he keenly desired to conceal his feelings on the subject. "eat; thou art hungry," opee-kwan commanded, and nam-bok shut both his eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. "la la, be not ashamed. the seal were many this year, and strong men are ever hungry." and bask-wah-wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. in despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was not so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. the people fed on noisily and watched. few of them could boast of intimate acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small quantities and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the eskimos to the northward. koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he was not averse to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil thick on his lips, sucked away at the amber stem. and thereupon nam-bok held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him from the first. and the people licked their fingers and approved of his liberality. opee-kwan rose to his feet. "and now, o nam-bok, the feast is ended, and we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." the fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them their work, prepared to listen. the men were busy fashioning spears and carving on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the hair seal and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. nam-bok's eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about it that his recollection had warranted him to expect. during the years of his wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that it had come he was disappointed. it was a bare and meagre life, he deemed, and not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. still, he would open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the thought. "brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, with much such weather as this promises to be, when i went away. you all remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from the land, and i could not hold my bidarka against it. i tied the covering of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all of the night i fought with the storm. and in the morning there was no land,--only the sea,--and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms and bore me along. three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no land, and the off-shore wind would not let me go. "and when the fourth day came, i was as a madman. i could not dip my paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the thirst that was upon me. but the sea was no longer angry, and the soft south wind was blowing, and as i looked about me i saw a sight that made me think i was indeed mad." nam-bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. "it was a canoe, a big canoe. if all the canoes i have ever seen were made into one canoe, it would not be so large." there were exclamations of doubt, and koogah, whose years were many, shook his head. "if each bidarka were as a grain of sand," nam-bok defiantly continued, "and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this i saw on the morning of the fourth day. it was a very big canoe, and it was called a _schooner_. i saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming after me, and on it i saw men----" "hold, o nam-bok!" opee-kwan broke in. "what manner of men were they?--big men?" "nay, mere men like you and me." "did the big canoe come fast?" "ay." "the sides were tall, the men short." opee-kwan stated the premises with conviction. "and did these men dip with long paddles?" nam-bok grinned. "there were no paddles," he said. mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. ope-kwan borrowed koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. one of the younger women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. "there were no paddles?" opee-kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. "the south wind was behind," nam-bok explained. "but the wind drift is slow." "the schooner had wings--thus." he sketched a diagram of masts and sails in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. the wind was blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners of his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. bask wah-wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a score of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. the men uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but koogah suddenly tossed back his hoary head. "ho! ho!" he laughed. "a foolish thing, this big canoe! a most foolish thing! the plaything of the wind! wheresoever the wind goes, it goes too. no man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always he goes with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows where." "it is so," opee-kwan supplemented gravely. "with the wind the going is easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." "small need to strive," nam-bok cried angrily. "the schooner went likewise against the wind." "and what said you made the sch--sch--schooner go?" koogah asked, tripping craftily over the strange word. "the wind," was the impatient response. "then the wind made the sch--sch--schooner go against the wind." old koogah dropped an open leer to opee-kwan, and, the laughter growing around him, continued: "the wind blows from the south and blows the schooner south. the wind blows against the wind. the wind blows one way and the other at the same time. it is very simple. we understand, nam-bok. we clearly understand." "thou art a fool!" "truth falls from thy lips," koogah answered meekly. "i was over-long in understanding, and the thing was simple." but nam-bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had never heard before. bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but he shut his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. "this sch--sch--schooner," koogah imperturbably asked; "it was made of a big tree?" "it was made of many trees," nam-bok snapped shortly. "it was very big." he lapsed into sullen silence again, and opee-kwan nudged koogah, who shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "it is very strange." nam-bok took the bait. "that is nothing," he said airily; "you should see the _steamer._ as the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the bidarka is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. further, the steamer is made of iron. it is all iron." "nay, nay, nam-bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? always iron goes to the bottom. for behold, i received an iron knife in trade from the head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped from my fingers and went down, down, into the sea. to all things there be law. never was there one thing outside the law. this we know. and, moreover, we know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all iron has the one law. so unsay thy words, nam-bok, that we may yet honor thee." "it is so," nam-bok persisted. "the steamer is all iron and does not sink." "nay, nay; this cannot be." "with my own eyes i saw it." "it is not in the nature of things." "but tell me, nam-bok," koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go no farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across the sea when there is no land by which to steer." "the sun points out the path." "but how?" "at midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the sky to the edge of the earth." "now this be evil medicine!" cried opee-kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. the men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "this be evil medicine. it is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives away the night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." "what if it be evil medicine?" nam-bok demanded truculently. "i, too, have looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out of the sky." those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon it. "but on the morning of the fourth day, o nam-bok," koogah suggested; "on the morning of the fourth day when the sch--sch--schooner came after thee?" "i had little strength left in me and could not run away. so i was taken on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. these men were all white and as many as have i fingers and toes. and when i saw they were full of kindness, i took heart, and i resolved to bring away with me report of all that i saw. and they taught me the work they did, and gave me good food and a place to sleep. "and day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. and when the waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and i marvelled much, for always did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." opee-kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make denunciation of such waste when koogah kicked him to be still. "after a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost come into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. south and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in sight, and we were near to the village from which hailed the men----" "how did they know they were near?" opee-kwan, unable to contain himself longer, demanded. "there was no land to see." nam-bok glowered on him wrathfully. "did i not say the head man brought the sun down out of the sky?" koogah interposed, and nam-bok went on. "as i say, when we were near to that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless and knew not where we were----" "thou hast just said the head man knew----" "oh, peace, opee-kwan. thou art a fool and cannot understand. as i say, we were helpless in the night, when i heard, above the roar of the storm, the sound of the sea on the beach. and next we struck with a mighty crash and i was in the water, swimming. it was a rock-bound coast, with one patch of beach in many miles, and the law was that i should dig my hands into the sand and draw myself clear of the surf. the other men must have pounded against the rocks, for none of them came ashore but the head man, and him i knew only by the ring on his finger. "when day came, there being nothing of the schooner, i turned my face to the land and journeyed into it that i might get food and look upon the faces of the people. and when i came to a house i was taken in and given to eat, for i had learned their speech, and the white men are ever kindly. and it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and our fathers before us." "it was a mighty house," koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. "and many trees went into the making of such a house," opee-kwan added, taking the cue. "that is nothing." nam-bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. "as our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses i was yet to see." "and they are not big men?" "nay; mere men like you and me," nam-bok answered. "i had cut a stick that i might walk in comfort, and remembering that i was to bring report to you, my brothers, i cut a notch in the stick for each person who lived in that house. and i stayed there many days, and worked, for which they gave me _money_--a thing of which you know nothing, but which is very good. "and one day i departed from that place to go farther into the land. and as i walked i met many people, and i cut smaller notches in the stick, that there might be room for all. then i came upon a strange thing. on the ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, and a long step away was another bar of iron----" "then wert thou a rich man," opee-kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more than anything else in the world. it would have made many knives." "nay, it was not mine." "it was a find, and a find be lawful." "not so; the white men had placed it there. and further, these bars were so long that no man could carry them away--so long that as far as i could see there was no end to them." "nam-bok, that is very much iron," opee-kwan cautioned. "ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but i could not gainsay my eyes. and as i looked i heard ..." he turned abruptly upon the head man. "opee-kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his anger. make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves to the sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one sea-lion, and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing i heard." the fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and opee-kwan's jaw lowered and remained lowered. "and in the distance i saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. it was one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. i was afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. but it came with speed of the wind, this monster, and i leaped the iron bars with its breath hot on my face ..." opee-kwan gained control of his jaw again. "and--and then, o nam-bok?" "then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could hold me up again it was gone from sight. and it is a very common thing in that country. even the women and children are not afraid. men make them to do work, these monsters." "as we make our dogs do work?" koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his eye. "ay, as we make our dogs do work." "and how do they breed these--these things?" opee-kwan questioned. "they breed not at all. men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed them with stone, and give them water to drink. the stone becomes fire, and the water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of their nostrils, and--" "there, there, o nam-bok," opee-kwan interrupted. "tell us of other wonders. we grow tired of this which we may not understand." "you do not understand?" nam-bok asked despairingly. "nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "we cannot understand." nam-bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which came the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. "dare i say i rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked bitterly. opee-kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "say on; say anything. we listen." "then did i ride the iron monster, for which i gave money--" "thou saidst it was fed with stone." "and likewise, thou fool, i said money was a thing of which you know nothing. as i say, i rode the monster through the land, and through many villages, until i came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. and the houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the clouds drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. and the roar of that village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were so many that i flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches upon it." "hadst thou made small notches," koogah reproved, "thou mightst have brought report." nam-bok whirled upon him in anger. "had i made small notches! listen, koogah, thou scratcher of bone! if i had made small notches neither the stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them--nay, not all the driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. and if all of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, and if you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, still the notches could not be cut for the people i saw, so many were they and so fast did they come and go." "there cannot be so many people in all the world," opee-kwan objected, for he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of numbers. "what dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" nam-bok demanded. "but there cannot be so many people in one place." "who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" "it stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. their canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. and they could empty the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." "so it would seem," nam-bok made final answer; "yet it was so. with my own eyes i saw, and flung my stick away." he yawned heavily and rose to his feet. "i have paddled far. the day has been long, and i am tired. now i will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the things i have seen." bask-wah-wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by her wonderful son, led him to her _igloo_ and stowed him away among the greasy, ill-smelling furs. but the men lingered by the fire, and a council was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced discussion. an hour passed, and a second, and nam-bok slept, and the talk went on. the evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was nearly due north. then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher separated themselves from the council and aroused nam-bok. he blinked up into their faces and turned on his side to sleep again. opee-kwan gripped him by the arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into him. "come, nam-bok, arise!" he commanded. "it be time." "another feast!" nam-bok cried. "nay, i am not hungry. go on with the eating and let me sleep." "time to be gone!" koogah thundered. but opee-kwan spoke more softly. "thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we were boys," he said. "together we first chased the seal and drew the salmon from the traps. and thou didst drag me back to life, nam-bok, when the sea closed over me and i was sucked down to the black rocks. together we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we crawled beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. and because of these things, and the kindness in which i stood to thee, it grieves me sore that thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. we cannot understand, and our heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. it is not good, and there has been much talk in the council. wherefore we send thee away, that our heads may remain clear and strong and be not troubled by the unaccountable things." "these things thou speakest of be shadows," koogah took up the strain. "from the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world thou must return them. thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. they may not sleep until thou art gone." nam-bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. "if thou art nam-bok," opee-kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and most wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of nam-bok, then thou speakest of shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men have knowledge. this great village thou hast spoken of we deem the village of shadows. therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead be many and the living few. the dead do not come back. never have the dead come back--save thou with thy wonder-tales. it is not meet that the dead come back, and should we permit it, great trouble may be our portion." nam-bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council was supreme. so he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. a stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply and hollowly on the sand. a dim twilight brooded over land and water, and in the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped about with blood-red mists. the gulls were flying low. the off-shore wind blew keen and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave promise of bitter weather. "out of the sea thou earnest," opee-kwan chanted oracularly, "and back into the sea thou goest. thus is balance achieved and all things brought to law." bask-wah-wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "i bless thee, nam-bok, for that thou remembered me." but koogah, shoving nam-bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. "it is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to nip old bones." "the thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows cannot keep thee warm." nam-bok stood up that his voice might carry. "o bask-wah-wan, mother that bore me!" he called. "listen to the words of nam-bok, thy son. there be room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest with him. for his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. there the frost comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do the work of men. wilt thou come, o bask-wah-wan?" she debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then raised her voice to a quavering treble. "i am old, nam-bok, and soon i shall pass down among the shadows. but i have no wish to go before my time. i am old, nam-bok, and i am afraid." a shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man in a splendor of red and gold. then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and only was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls flying low in the air. [illustration] yellow handkerchief "i'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," charley said, "but i'm very much against your making a last raid. you've gone safely through rough times with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen to you at the very end." "but how can i get out of making a last raid?" i demanded, with the cocksureness of youth. "there always has to be a last, you know, to anything." charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "very true. but why not call the capture of demetrios contos the last? you're back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, and--and----" his voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "and i could never forgive myself if anything happened to you now." i laughed at charley's fears while i gave in to the claims of his affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. we had been together for two years, and now i was leaving the fish patrol in order to go back and finish my education. i had earned and saved money to put me through three years at the high school, and though the beginning of the term was several months away, i intended doing a lot of studying for the entrance examinations. my belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and i was all ready to buy my ticket and ride down on the train to oakland, when neil partington arrived in benicia. the _reindeer_ was needed immediately for work far down on the lower bay, and neil said he intended to run straight for oakland. as that was his home and as i was to live with his family while going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why i should not put my chest aboard and come along. so the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted the _reindeer's_ big mainsail and cast off. it was tantalizing fall weather. the sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the time of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. we started on the first of the ebb, and as we slipped down the carquinez straits, i looked my last for some time upon benicia and the bight at turner's shipyard, where we had besieged the _lancashire queen,_ and had captured big alec, the king of the greeks. and at the mouth of the straits i looked with not a little interest upon the spot where a few days before i should have drowned but for the good that was in the nature of demetrios contos. a great wall of fog advanced across san pablo bay to meet us, and in a few minutes the _reindeer_ was running blindly through the damp obscurity. charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for that kind of work. how he did it, he himself confessed that he did not know; but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, drift, and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. "it looks as though it were lifting," neil partington said, a couple of hours after we had entered the fog. "where do you say we are, charley?" charley looked at his watch. "six o'clock, and three hours more of ebb," he remarked casually. "but where do you say we are!" neil insisted. charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "the tide has edged us over a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is going to lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off mcnear's landing." "you might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," neil grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. "all right, then," charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter of a mile, nor more than a half." the wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned perceptibly. "mcnear's is right off there," charley said, pointing directly into the fog on our weather beam. the three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the _reindeer_ struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. we ran forward, and found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a short, chunky mast. she had collided, head on, with a chinese junk lying at anchor. at the moment we arrived forward, five chinese, like so many bees, came swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their eyes. leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. it was yellow handkerchief, the chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk the _reindeer_, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of navigation. "what d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway without a horn a-going?" charley cried hotly. "mean?" neil calmly answered. "just take a look--that's what he means." our eyes followed the direction indicated by neil's finger, and we saw the open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. mingled with the shrimps were myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. yellow handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying by, waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. "well," neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive experience as a fish patrolman, i must say this is the easiest capture i ever made. what'll we do with them, charley?" "tow the junk into san rafael, of course," came the answer. charley turned to me. "you stand by the junk, lad, and i'll pass you a towing line. if the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide gets too low, sleep at san rafael, and arrive in oakland to-morrow by midday." so saying, charley and neil returned to the _reindeer_ and got under way, the junk towing astern. i went aft and took charge of the prize, steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. by now the last of the fog had vanished, and charley's estimate of our position was confirmed by the sight of mcnear's landing a short half-mile away, following: along the west shore, we rounded point pedro in plain view of the chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was raised when they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish patrol sloop. the wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. san rafael creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our prisoners to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and was difficult to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was impossible to navigate at all. so, with the tide already half-ebbed, it was necessary for us to make time. this the heavy junk prevented, lumbering along behind and holding the _reindeer_ back by just so much dead weight. "tell those coolies to get up that sail," charley finally called to me. "we don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." i repeated the order to yellow handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to his men. he was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. this made him more evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at me i remembered with a shiver the close shave i had had with him at the time of his previous arrest. his crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. we were sailing on the wind, and when yellow handkerchief flattened down the sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. fast as the _reindeer_ could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her down i hauled a little closer on the wind. but the junk likewise outpointed, and in a couple of minutes i was abreast of the _reindeer_ and to windward. the tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the two boats, and the predicament was laughable. "cast off!" i shouted. charley hesitated. "it's all right," i added. "nothing can happen. we'll make the creek on this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to san rafael." at this charley cast off, and yellow handkerchief sent one of his men forward to haul in the line. in the gathering darkness i could just make out the mouth of san rafael creek, and by the time we entered it i could barely see its banks. the _reindeer_ was fully five minutes astern, and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, winding channel. with charley behind us, it seemed i had little to fear from my five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp eye on them, so i transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the side pocket of my coat, where i could more quickly put my hand on it. yellow handkerchief was the one i feared, and that he knew it and made use of it, subsequent events will show. he was sitting a few feet away from me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. i could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but i soon became convinced that he was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. i watched him carefully. steering with my left hand, i slipped my right into my pocket and got hold of the revolver. i saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and i was just about to order him back--the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue--when i was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through the air upon me from the lee side. it was one of the crew. he pinioned my right arm so that i could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at the same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. of course, i could have struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear so that i might cry an alarm, but in a trice yellow handkerchief was on top of me. i struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my legs and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what i afterward found to be a cotton shirt. then i was left lying in the bottom. yellow handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from our position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which i could dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, i knew the junk was being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at that point into san rafael creek. in a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail was silently lowered. the chinese kept very quiet. yellow handkerchief sat down in the bottom alongside of me, and i could feel him straining to repress his raspy, hacking cough. possibly seven or eight minutes later i heard charley's voice as the _reindeer_ went past the mouth of the slough. "i can't tell you how relieved i am," i could plainly hear him saying to neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." here neil said something which i could not catch, and then charley's voice went on: "the youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes high school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, i see no reason why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship afloat." it was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by my own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the _reindeer_ slipped on through the darkness toward san rafael, i must say i was not in quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. with the _reindeer_ went my last hope. what was to happen next i could not imagine, for the chinese were a different race from mine and from what i knew i was confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. after waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, and yellow handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of san rafael creek. the tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the mud-banks. i was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making the bay without accident. as we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which i knew related to me. yellow handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as vehemently opposed him. it was very evident that he advocated doing away with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. i was familiar enough with the chinese character to know that fear alone restrained them. but what plan they offered in place of yellow handkerchief's murderous one, i could not make out. my feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. the discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which yellow handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. but his four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took place for possession of the tiller. in the end yellow handkerchief was overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly berated him for his rashness. not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward by means of the sweeps. i felt it ground gently on the soft mud. three of the chinese--they all wore long sea-boots--got over the side, and the other two passed me across the rail. with yellow handkerchief at my legs and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along through the mud. after some time their feet struck firmer footing, and i knew they were carrying me up some beach. the location of this beach was not doubtful in my mind. it could be none other than one of the marin islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the marin county shore. when they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, i was dropped, and none too gently. yellow handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the ribs, and then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. a moment later i heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. then silence fell, and i was left to my own devices for getting free. i remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with which they were bound, but though i writhed and squirmed like a good fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable slack. in the course of my squirming, however, i rolled over upon a heap of clam-shells--the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's clam-bake. this gave me an idea. my hands were tied behind my back; and, clutching a shell in them, i rolled over and over, up the beach, till i came to the rocks i knew to be there. rolling around and searching, i finally discovered a narrow crevice, into which i shoved the shell. the edge of it was sharp, and across the sharp edge i proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. the edge of the shell was also brittle, and i broke it by bearing too heavily upon it. then i rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as i could carry in both hands. i broke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my exertions. while i was suffering from the cramps, and resting, i heard a familiar halloo drift across the water. it was charley, searching for me. the gag in my mouth prevented me from replying, and i could only lie there, helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly lost itself in the distance. i returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour succeeded in severing the rope. the rest was easy. my hands once free, it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of my mouth. i ran around the island to make sure it _was_ an island and not by any chance a portion of the mainland. an island it certainly was, one of the marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a cold, raw night for california, with just enough wind to pierce the skin and cause one to shiver. to keep up the circulation, i ran around the island a dozen times or so, and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more--all of which was of greater service to me, as i afterward discovered, than merely to warm me up. in the midst of this exercise i wondered if i had lost anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. a search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. the first yellow handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. i was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. at first, of course, i thought of charley; but on second thought i knew charley would be calling out as he rowed along. a sudden premonition of danger seized me. the marin islands are lonely places; chance visitors in the dead of night are hardly to be expected. what if it were yellow handkerchief? the sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. i crouched in the sand and listened intently. the boat, which i judged a small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud about fifty yards up the beach. i heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my heart stood still. it was yellow handkerchief. not to be robbed of his revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the village and come back alone. i did some swift thinking. i was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, and a yellow barbarian, whom i had reason to fear, was coming after me. any place was safer than the island, and i turned instinctively to the water, or rather to the mud. as he began to flounder ashore through the mud, i started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which the chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. yellow handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised no care, but came ashore noisily. this helped me, for, under the shield of his noise and making no more myself than necessary, i managed to cover fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. here i lay down in the mud. it was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but i did not care to stand up and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. he walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and i had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise when he did not find me. but it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth were chattering with the cold. what his movements were after that i had largely to deduce from the facts of the situation, for i could scarcely see him in the dim starlight. but i was sure that the first thing he did was to make the circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by other boats. this he would have known at once by the tracks through the mud. convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started to find out what had become of me. beginning at the pile of clam-shells, he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. at such times i could see his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the clammy mud in which i was lying, i confess i shivered harder than ever. the multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. then the idea that i might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim surface long and carefully. he could not have been more than fifteen feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would surely have discovered me. he returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, again hunting for me with lighted matches. the closeness of the shave impelled me to further flight. not daring to wade upright, on account of the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, i remained lying down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of my hands. still keeping the trail made by the chinese in going from and to the junk, i held on until i reached the water. into this i waded to a depth of three feet, and then i turned off to the side on a line parallel with the beach. the thought came to me of going toward yellow handkerchief's skiff and escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, as though fearing the very thing i had in mind, he slushed out through the mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. this turned me in the opposite direction. half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of water and avoiding splashing, i succeeded in putting about a hundred feet between myself and the spot where the chinese had begun to wade ashore from the junk. i drew myself out on the mud and remained lying flat. again yellow handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of the island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. i knew what was running in his mind as well as he did himself. no one could leave or land without making tracks in the mud. the only tracks to be seen were those leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. i was not on the island. i must have left it by one or the other of those two tracks. he had just been over the one to his skiff, and was certain i had not left that way. therefore i could have left the island only by going over the tracks of the junk landing. this he proceeded to verify by wading out over them himself, lighting matches as he came along. when he arrived at the point where i had first lain, i knew, by the matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks left by my body. these he followed straight to the water and into it, but in three feet of water he could no longer see them. on the other hand, as the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the impression made by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the impression of any other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. but there was no such mark; and i knew that he was absolutely convinced that i was hiding somewhere in the mud. but to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. instead he went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. i was hoping he would give me up and go, for by this time i was suffering severely from the cold. at last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. what if this departure of yellow handkerchief's were a sham? what if he had done it merely to entice me ashore? the more i thought of it the more certain i became that he had made a little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. so i remained, lying in the mud and shivering. i shivered till the muscles of the small of my back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and i had need of all my self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. it was well that i did, however, for, possibly an hour later, i thought i could make out something moving on the beach. i watched intently, but my ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough i knew only too well. yellow handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the island, and crept around to surprise me if i had returned. after that, though hours passed without sign of him, i was afraid to return to the island at all. on the other hand, i was almost equally afraid that i should die of the exposure i was undergoing. i had never dreamed one could suffer so. i grew so cold and numb, finally, that i ceased to shiver. but my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that was agony. the tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it drove me in toward the beach. high water came at three o'clock, and at three o'clock i drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and too helpless to have offered any resistance had yellow handkerchief swooped down upon me. but no yellow handkerchief appeared. he had given me up and gone back to point pedro. nevertheless, i was in a deplorable, not to say a dangerous, condition. i could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. my clammy, muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. i thought i should never get them off. so numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so weak was i that it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. i had not the strength to break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. i repeatedly beat my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into them. sometimes i felt sure i was going to die. but in the end,--after several centuries, it seemed to me,--i got off the last of my clothes. the water was now close at hand, and i crawled painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. still, i could not get on my feet and walk and i was afraid to lie still. nothing remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant pain, up and down the sand. i kept this up as long as possible, but as the east paled with the coming of dawn i began to succumb. the sky grew rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, found me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. as in a dream, i saw the familiar mainsail of the _reindeer_ as she slipped out of san rafael creek on a light puff of morning air. this dream was very much broken. there are intervals i can never recollect on looking back over it. three things, however, i distinctly remember: the first sight of the _reindeer's_ mainsail; her lying at anchor a few hundred feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove roaring red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the chest and shoulders, which charley was pounding and mauling unmercifully, and my mouth and throat burning with the coffee which neil partington was pouring down a trifle too hot. but burn or no burn, i tell you it felt good. by the time we arrived in oakland i was as limber and strong as ever,--though charley and neil partington were afraid i was going to have pneumonia, and mrs. partington, for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon me to discover the first symptoms of consumption. time flies. it seems but yesterday that i was a lad of sixteen on the fish patrol. yet i know that i arrived this very morning from china, with a quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine _harvester_. and i know that to-morrow morning i shall run over to oakland to see neil partington and his wife and family, and later on up to benicia to see charley le grant and talk over old times. no; i shall not go to benicia, now that i think about it. i expect to be a highly interested party to a wedding, shortly to take place. her name is alice partington, and, since charley has promised to be best man, he will have to come down to oakland instead. [illustration] make westing _whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ --sailing directions for cape horn. for seven weeks the _mary rogers_ had been between ° south in the atlantic and ° south in the pacific, which meant that for seven weeks she had been struggling to round cape horn. for seven weeks she had been either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon six days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter of the redoubtable terra del fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore during a heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. for seven weeks she had wrestled with the cape horn gray-beards, and in return been buffeted and smashed by them. she was a wooden ship, and her ceaseless straining had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch took its turn at the pumps. the _mary rogers_ was strained, the crew was strained, and big dan cullen, master, was likewise strained. perhaps he was strained most of all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. he slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. he haunted the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the sunburn of thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. he, in turn, was haunted by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the horn: _whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ it was an obsession. he thought of nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme god for sending such bitter weather. _make westing!_ he hugged the horn, and a dozen times lay hove to with the iron cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of miles away. and each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he made easting. he fought gale after gale, south to °, inside the antarctic drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the powers of darkness for a bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. and he made easting. in despair, he had tried to make the passage through the straits of le maire. halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard of northwest, the glass dropped to . , and he turned and ran before a gale of cyclonic fury, missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the _mary rogers_ on the black-toothed rocks. twice he had made west to the diego ramirez rocks, one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by sighting the gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. blow! captain dan cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove that never had it blown so before. the _mary rogers_ was hove to at the time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the _mary rogers_ was hove down to the hatches. her new main-topsail and brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from the yards. and before morning the _mary rogers_ was hove down twice again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from the weight of ocean that pressed her down. on an average of once a week captain dan cullen caught glimpses of the sun. once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, and all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. for a fortnight, once, captain dan cullen was without a meridian or a chronometer sight. rarely did he know his position within half a degree, except when in sight of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind the sky, and it was so gloomy that even at the best the horizons were poor for accurate observations. a gray gloom shrouded the world. the clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded the world. the clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; even the occasional albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were not white, but gray, under the sombre pall of the heavens. life on board the _mary rogers_ was gray,--gray and gloomy. the faces of the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. they were shadows of men. for seven weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it was to be dry. they had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and all watches it was, "all hands on deck!" they caught snatches of agonized sleep, and they slept in their oilskins ready for the everlasting call. so weak and worn were they that it took both watches to do the work of one. that was why both watches were on deck so much of the time. and no shadow of a man could shirk duty. nothing less than a broken leg could enable a man to knock off work; and there were two such, who had been mauled and pulped by the seas that broke aboard. one other man who was the shadow of a man was george dorety. he was the only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to make the voyage for his health. but seven weeks of cape horn had not bettered his health. he gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, heaving nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he resembled a peripatetic old-clothes shop. at midday, eating at the cabin table in a gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he looked as blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. nor did gazing across the table at captain dan cullen have any cheering effect upon him. captain cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. the scowls were for god, and with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his existence, which was _make westing._ he was a big, hairy brute, and the sight of him was not stimulating to the other's appetite. he looked upon george dorety as a jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely transferring the scowl from god to the passenger and back again. nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. joshua higgins by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by capacity, he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and selfish and cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of dan cullen, and a bully over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was captain cullen, the lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the incarnation of a dozen bucko mates. in that wild weather at the southern end of the earth, joshua higgins ceased washing. his grimy face usually robbed george dorety of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. ordinarily this lavatorial dereliction would have caught captain cullen's eye and vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with making westing, to the exclusion of all other things not contributory thereto. whether the mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon westing. later on, when ° south in the pacific had been reached, joshua higgins would wash his face very abruptly. in the meantime, at the cabin table, where gray twilight alternated with lamplight while the lamps were being filled, george dorety sat between the two men, one a tiger and the other a hyena, and wondered why god had made them. the second mate, matthew turner, was a true sailor and a man, but george dorety did not have the solace of his company, for he ate by himself, solitary, when they had finished. on saturday morning, july , george dorety awoke to a feeling of life and headlong movement. on deck he found the _mary rogers_ running off before a howling southeaster. nothing was set but the lower topsails and the foresail. it was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen knots, as mr. turner shouted in dorety's ear when he came on deck. and it was all westing. she was going around the horn at last ... if the wind held. mr. turner looked happy. the end of the struggle was in sight. but captain cullen did not look happy. he scowled at dorety in passing. captain cullen did not want god to know that he was pleased with that wind. he had a conception of a malicious god, and believed in his secret soul that if god knew it was a desirable wind, god would promptly efface it and send a snorter from the west. so he walked softly before god, smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, and, so, fooling god, for god was the only thing in the universe of which dan cullen was afraid. all saturday and saturday night the _mary rogers_ raced her westing. persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by sunday morning she had covered three hundred and fifty miles. if the wind held, she would make around. if it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere between southwest and north, back the _mary rogers_ would be hurled and be no better off than she had been seven weeks before. and on sunday morning the wind _was_ failing. the big sea was going down and running smooth. both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the ship could stand it. and now captain cullen went around brazenly before god, smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind delighted him, while down underneath he was raging against god for taking the life out of the blessed wind. _make westing_! so he would, if god would only leave him alone. secretly, he pledged himself anew to the powers of darkness, if they would let him make westing. he pledged himself so easily because he did not believe in the powers of darkness. he really believed only in god, though he did not know it. and in his inverted theology god was really the prince of darkness. captain cullen was a devil-worshipper, but he called the devil by another name, that was all. at midday, after calling eight bells, captain cullen ordered the royals on. the men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. not alone were they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining down and limbering their stiff bodies. george dorety stood aft, near captain cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the grateful warmth as he watched the scene. swiftly and abruptly the incident occurred. there was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "man overboard!" somebody threw a life buoy over the side, and at the same instant the second mate's voice came aft, ringing and peremptory:-- "hard down your helm!" the man at the wheel never moved a spoke. he knew better, for captain dan cullen was standing alongside of him. he wanted to move a spoke, to move all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade drowning in the sea. he glanced at captain dan cullen, and captain dan cullen gave no sign. "down! hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. but he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw dan cullen by the wheel. and big dan cullen puffed at his cigar and said nothing. astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. he had caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. nobody spoke. nobody moved. the men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken faces. and the _mary rogers_ raced on, making her westing. a long, silent minute passed. "who was it!" captain cullen demanded. "mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. it was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. a small boat could live easily in such a sea, and in such a sea the _mary rogers_ could easily come to. but she could not come to and make westing at the same time. for the first time in all his years, george dorety was seeing a real drama of life and death--a sordid little drama in which the scales balanced an unknown sailor named mops against a few miles of longitude. at first he had watched the man astern, but now he watched big dan cullen, hairy and black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a cigar. captain dan cullen smoked another long, silent minute. then he removed the cigar from his mouth. he glanced aloft at the spars of the _mary rogers_, and overside at the sea. "sheet home the royals!" he cried. fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served before them. on one side of george dorety sat dan cullen, the tiger, on the other side, joshua higgins, the hyena. nobody spoke. on deck the men were sheeting home the skysails. george dorety could hear their cries, while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called mops, alive and well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. he glanced at captain cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. "captain cullen," dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it is not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. but i wish to say one thing. there is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." captain cullen did not even scowl. in his voice was regret as he said:--"it was blowing a living gale. it was impossible to save the man." "he fell from the royal-yard," dorety cried hotly. "you were setting the royals at the time. fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the skysails." "it was a living gale, wasn't it, mr. higgins?" captain cullen said, turning to the mate. "if you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was the mate's answer. "you did the proper thing, captain cullen. the man hadn't a ghost of a show." george dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. after that, dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. captain cullen scowled at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, while the _mary rogers_ sped north toward warmer latitudes. at the end of the week, dan cullen cornered dorety on deck. "what are you going to do when we get to frisco?" he demanded bluntly. "i am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," dorety answered quietly. "i am going to charge you with murder, and i am going to see you hanged for it." "you're almighty sure of yourself," captain cullen sneered, turning on his heel. a second week passed, and one morning found george dorety standing in the coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking his first gaze around the deck. the _mary rogers_ was reaching full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. every sail was set and drawing, including the staysails. captain cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. he strolled carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of his eye. dorety was looking the other way, standing with head and shoulders outside the companionway, and only the back of his head was to be seen. captain cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block and the head and estimated the distance. he glanced about him. nobody was looking. aft, joshua higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned his back and was going the other way. captain cullen bent over suddenly and cast the staysail-sheet off from its pin. the heavy block hurtled through the air, smashing dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling on and back and forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. joshua higgins turned around to see what had carried away, and met the full blast of the vilest portion of captain cullen's profanity. "i made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, "with an extra turn to make sure. i remember it distinctly." "made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as it struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "you couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. if you made that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? that's what i want to know. why didn't it stay fast?" the mate whined inarticulately. "oh, shut up!" was the final word of captain cullen. half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of george dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. in the afternoon, alone in his room, he doctored up the log. "_ordinary seaman, karl brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. was running at the time, and for the safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. nor could a boat have lived in the sea that was running_." on another page, he wrote:-- "_had often warned mr. dorety about the danger he ran because of his carelessness on deck. i told him, once, that some day he would get his head knocked off by a block. a carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet was the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because mr. dorety was a favorite with all of us_." captain dan cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, blotted the page, and closed the log. he lighted a cigar and stared before him. he felt the _mary rogers_ lift, and heel, and surge along, and knew that she was making nine knots. a smile of satisfaction slowly dawned on his black and hairy face. well, anyway, he had made his westing and fooled god. [illustration] the heathen i met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone to pieces under us that i first laid eyes on him. without doubt i had seen him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but i had not consciously been aware of his existence, for the _petite jeanne_ was rather overcrowded. in addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her white captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she sailed from rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck passengers--paumotans and tahitians, men, women, and children each with a trade box, to say nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and clothes-bundles. the pearling season in the paumotus was over, and all hands were returning to tahiti. the six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. two were americans, one was ah choon (the whitest chinese i have ever known), one was a german, one was a polish jew, and i completed the half dozen. it had been a prosperous season. not one of us had cause for complaint, nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. all had done well, and all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in papeete. of course, the _petite jeanne_ was overloaded. she was only seventy tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and copra. even the trade room was packed full of shell. it was a miracle that the sailors could work her. there was no moving about the decks. they simply climbed back and forth along the rails. in the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, i'll swear, two deep. oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings of drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. on both sides, between the fore and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty bunches of bananas were suspended. it promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had been blowing fresh. but they weren't blowing fresh. after the first five hours the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. the calm continued all that night and the next day--one of those glaring, glassy calms, when the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is sufficient to cause a headache. the second day a man died--an easter islander, one of the best divers that season in the lagoon. smallpox--that is what it was; though how smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore when we left rangiroa, is beyond me. there it was, though--smallpox, a man dead, and three others down on their backs. there was nothing to be done. we could not segregate the sick, nor could we care for them. we were packed like sardines. there was nothing to do but rot or die--that is, there was nothing to do after the night that followed the first death. on that night, the mate, the supercargo, the polish jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. they were never heard of again. in the morning the captain promptly scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. that day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped to eight. it was curious to see how we took it. the natives, for instance, fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. the captain--oudouse, his name was, a frenchman--became very nervous and voluble. he actually got the twitches. he was a large, fleshy man, weighing at least two hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful representation of a quivering jelly-mountain of fat. the german, the two americans, and myself bought up all the scotch whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. the theory was beautiful--namely, if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came into contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. and the theory worked, though i must confess that neither captain oudouse nor ah choon were attacked by the disease either. the frenchman did not drink at all, while ah choon restricted himself to one drink daily. it was a pretty time. the sun, going into northern declination, was straight overhead. there was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by deluging us with rain. after each squall, the awful sun would come out, drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. the steam was not nice. it was the vapor of death, freighted with millions and millions of germs. we always took another drink when we saw it going up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three more drinks, mixing them exceptionally stiff. also, we made it a rule to take an additional several each time they hove the dead over to the sharks that swarmed about us. we had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. it is just as well, or i shouldn't be alive now. it took a sober man to pull through what followed, as you will see when i mention the little fact that only two men did pull through. the other man was the heathen--at least, that was what i heard captain oudouse call him at the moment i first became aware of the heathen's existence. but to come back. it was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the pearl-buyers sober, that i happened to glance at the barometer that hung in the cabin companionway. its normal register in the paumotus was . , and it was quite customary to see it vacillate between . and . , or even . ; but to see it as i saw it, down to . , was sufficient to sober the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated smallpox microbes in scotch whiskey. i called captain oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he had watched it going down for several hours. there was little to do, but that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. he took off the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread life-lines, and waited for the wind. his mistake lay in what he did after the wind came. he hove to on the port tack, which was the right thing to do south of the equator, if--and there was the rub--_if_ one were _not_ in the direct path of the hurricane. we were in the direct path. i could see that by the steady increase of the wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. i wanted him to turn and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer ceased falling, and then to heave to. we argued till he was reduced to hysteria, but budge he would not. the worst of it was that i could not get the rest of the pearl-buyers to back me up. who was i, anyway, to know more about the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? was what was in their minds, i knew. of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and i shall never forget the first three seas the _petite jeanne_ shipped. she had fallen off, as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean breach. the life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little good were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas and cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were swept along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. the second sea filled the _petite jeanne's_ decks flush with the rails; and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. it was a human torrent. they came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and over, twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. now and again one caught a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies behind tore such grips loose. one man i noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the starboard-bitt. his head cracked like an egg. i saw what was coming, sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. ah choon and one of the americans tried to follow me, but i was one jump ahead of them. the american was swept away and over the stern like a piece of chaff. ah choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in behind it. but a strapping raratonga vahine (woman)--she must have weighed two hundred and fifty--brought up against him, and got an arm around his neck. he clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; and just at that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. the rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. away they went--vahine, ah choon, and steersman: and i swear i saw ah choon grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went under. the third sea--the biggest of the three--did not do so much damage. by the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. on deck perhaps a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were rolling about or attempting to crawl into safety. they went by the board, as did the wreckage of the two remaining boats. the other pearl-buyers and myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children into the cabin, and battened down. little good it did the poor creatures in the end. wind? out of all my experience i could not have believed it possible for the wind to blow as it did. there is no describing it. how can one describe a nightmare? it was the same way with that wind. it tore the clothes off our bodies. i say _tore them off_, and i mean it. i am not asking you to believe it. i am merely telling something that i saw and felt. there are times when i do not believe it myself. i went through it, and that is enough. one could not face that wind and live. it was a monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it increased and continued to increase. imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. imagine this sand tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any other number of miles per hour. imagine, further, this sand to be invisible, impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. do all this, and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. perhaps sand is not the right comparison. consider it mud, invisible, impalpable, but heavy as mud. nay, it goes beyond that. consider every molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. then try to imagine the multitudinous impact of mud-banks. no; it is beyond me. language may be adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. it would have been better had i stuck by my original intention of not attempting a description. i will say this much: the sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down by that wind. more: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up in the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of space which previously had been occupied by the air. of course, our canvas had gone long before. but captain oudouse had on the _petite jeanne_ something i had never before seen on a south sea schooner--a sea-anchor. it was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of which was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. the sea-anchor was bridled something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites into the air, but with a difference. the sea-anchor remained just under the surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. a long line, in turn, connected it with the schooner. as a result, the _petite jeanne_ rode bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. the situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the path of the storm. true, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the gaskets, jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, but still we would have come through nicely had we not been square in front of the advancing storm-centre. that was what fixed us. i was in a state of stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact of the wind, and i think i was just about ready to give up and die when the centre smote us. the blow we received was an absolute lull. there was not a breath of air. the effect on one was sickening. remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. and then, suddenly, the pressure was removed. i know that i felt as though i was about to expand, to fly apart in all directions. it seemed as if every atom composing my body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of rushing off irresistibly into space. but that lasted only for a moment. destruction was upon us. in the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. it jumped, it leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. remember, from every point of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre of calm. the result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the compass. there was no wind to check them. they popped up like corks released from the bottom of a pail of water. there was no system to them, no stability. they were hollow, maniacal seas. they were eighty feet high at the least. they were not seas at all. they resembled no sea a man had ever seen. they were splashes, monstrous splashes--that is all. splashes that were eighty feet high. eighty! they were more than eighty. they went over our mastheads. they were spouts, explosions. they were drunken. they fell anywhere, anyhow. they jostled one another; they collided. they rushed together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand waterfalls all at once. it was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, that hurricane centre. it was confusion thrice confounded. it was anarchy. it was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. the _petite jeanne_? i don't know. the heathen told me afterward that he did not know. she was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. when i came to i was in the water, swimming automatically, though i was about two-thirds drowned. how i got there i had no recollection. i remembered seeing the _petite jeanne_ fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my own consciousness was buffetted out of me. but there i was, with nothing to do but make the best of it, and in that best there was little promise. the wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more regular, and i knew that i had passed through the centre. fortunately, there were no sharks about. the hurricane had dissipated the ravenous horde that had surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. it was about midday when the _petite jeanne_ went to pieces, and it must have been two hours afterward when i picked up with one of her hatch-covers. thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. a short length of line was trailing from the rope handle; and i knew that i was good for a day, at least, if the sharks did not return. three hours later, possibly a little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water to drown me, it seemed to me that i heard voices. the rain had ceased, and wind and sea were easing marvellously. not twenty feet away from me on another hatch-cover, were captain oudouse and the heathen. they were fighting over the possession of the cover--at least, the frenchman was. "_paien noir_!" i heard him scream, and at the same time i saw him kick the kanaka. now, captain oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and they were heavy brogans. it was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen on the mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. i looked for him to retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly a safe ten feet away. whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a black heathen. "for two centimes i'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" i yelled. the only reason i did not go was that i felt too tired. the very thought of the effort to swim over was nauseating. so i called to the kanaka to come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. otoo, he told me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was a native of bora bora, the most westerly of the society group. as i learned afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some time, encountering captain oudouse, had offered to share it with him, and had been kicked off for his pains. and that was how otoo and i first came together. he was no fighter. he was all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood nearly six feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. he was no fighter, but he was also no coward. he had the heart of a lion; and in the years that followed i have seen him run risks that i would never dream of taking. what i mean is that while he was no fighter, and while he always avoided precipitating a row, he never ran away from trouble when it started. and it was "'ware shoal!" when once otoo went into action. i shall never forget what he did to bill king. it occurred in german samoa. bill king was hailed the champion heavyweight of the american navy. he was a big brute of a man, a veritable gorilla, one of those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and clever with his fists as well. he picked the quarrel, and he kicked otoo twice and struck him once before otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. i don't think it lasted four minutes, at the end of which time bill king was the unhappy possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a dislocated shoulder-blade. otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. he was merely a manhandler; and bill king was something like three months in recovering from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on apia beach. but i am running ahead of my yarn. we shared the hatch-cover between us. we took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. for two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, we drifted over the ocean. toward the last i was delirious most of the time; and there were times, too, when i heard otoo babbling and raving in his native tongue. our continuous immersion prevented us from dying of thirst, though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest imaginable combination of salt pickle and sunburn. in the end, otoo saved my life; for i came to lying on the beach twenty feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut leaves. no one but otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the leaves for shade. he was lying beside me. i went off again; and the next time i came round, it was cool and starry night, and otoo was pressing a drinking cocoanut to my lips. we were the sole survivors of the _petite jeanne._ captain oudouse must have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover drifted ashore without him. otoo and i lived with the natives of the atoll for a week, when we were rescued by a french cruiser and taken to tahiti. in the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of exchanging names. in the south seas such a ceremony binds two men closer together than blood-brothership. the initiative had been mine; and otoo was rapturously delighted when i suggested it. "it is well," he said, in tahitian. "for we have been mates together for two days on the lips of death." "but death stuttered." i smiled. "it was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and death was not vile enough to speak." "why do you 'master' me?" i demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "we have exchanged names. to you i am otoo. to me you are charley. and between you and me, forever and forever, you shall be charley, and i shall be otoo. it is the way of the custom. and when we die, if it does happen that we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still shall you be charley to me, and i otoo to you." "yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. "there you go!" i cried indignantly. "what does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "they are only my lips. but i shall think otoo always. whenever i think of myself, i shall think of you. whenever men call me by name, i shall think of you. and beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be otoo to me. is it well, master?" i hid my smile, and answered that it was well. we parted at papeete. i remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on in a cutter to his own island, bora bora. six weeks later he was back. i was surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was returning to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. "where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. i shrugged my shoulders. it was a hard question. "all the world," was my answer--"all the world, all the sea, and all the islands that are in the sea." "i will go with you," he said simply. "my wife is dead." i never had a brother; but from what i have seen of other men's brothers, i doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what otoo was to me. he was brother and father and mother as well. and this i know: i lived a straighter and better man because of otoo. i cared little for other men, but i had to live straight in otoo's eyes. because of him i dared not tarnish myself. he made me his ideal, compounding me, i fear, chiefly out of his own love and worship; and there were times when i stood close to the steep pitch of hades, and would have taken the plunge had not the thought of otoo restrained me. his pride in me entered into me, until it became one of the major rules in my personal code to do nothing that would diminish that pride of his. naturally, i did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. he never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place i held in his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly i grew to comprehend the hurt i could inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. for seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my shoulder, watching while i slept, nursing me through fever and wounds--ay, and receiving wounds in fighting for me. he signed on the same ships with me; and together we ranged the pacific from hawaii to sydney head, and from torres straits to the galapagos. we blackbirded from the new hebrides and the line islands over to the westward clear through the louisades, new britain, new ireland, and new hanover. we were wrecked three times--in the gilberts, in the santa cruz group, and in the fijis. and we traded and salved wherever a dollar promised in the way of pearl and pearl-shell, copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. it began in papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was going with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. there was a club in those days in papeete, where the pearlers, traders, captains, and riffraff of south sea adventurers foregathered. the play ran high, and the drink ran high; and i am very much afraid that i kept later hours than were becoming or proper. no matter what the hour was when i left the club, there was otoo waiting to see me safely home. at first i smiled; next i chided him. then i told him flatly that i stood in need of no wet-nursing. after that i did not see him when i came out of the club. quite by accident, a week or so later, i discovered that he still saw me home, lurking across the street among the shadows of the mango-trees. what could i do? i know what i did do. insensibly i began to keep better hours. on wet and stormy nights, in the thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming to me of otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. truly, he had made a better man of me. yet he was not strait-laced. and he knew nothing of common christian morality. all the people on bora bora were christians; but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the island, a gross materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. he believed merely in fair play and square dealing. petty meanness, in his code, was almost as serious as wanton homicide; and i do believe that he respected a murderer more than a man given to small practices. otoo had my welfare always at heart. he thought ahead for me, weighed my plans, and took a greater interest in them than i did myself. at first, when i was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to divine my intentions, as, for instance, at papeete, when i contemplated going partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. i did not know he was a knave. nor did any white man in papeete. neither did otoo know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for me, and without my asking him. native sailors from the ends of the seas knock about on the beach in tahiti; and otoo, suspicious merely, went among them till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his suspicions. oh, it was a nice history, that of randolph waters. i couldn't believe it when otoo first narrated it; but when i sheeted it home to waters he gave in without a murmur, and got away on the first steamer to aukland. at first, i am free to confess, i couldn't help resenting otoo's poking his nose into my business. but i knew that he was wholly unselfish; and soon i had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. he had his eyes open always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and far-sighted. in time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my business than i did myself. he really had my interest at heart more than i did. mine was the magnificent carelessness of youth, for i preferred romance to dollars, and adventure to a comfortable billet with all night in. so it was well that i had some one to look out for me. i know that if it had not been for otoo, i should not be here to-day. of numerous instances, let me give one. i had had some experience in blackbirding before i went pearling in the paumotus. otoo and i were in samoa--we really were on the beach and hard aground--when my chance came to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. otoo signed on before the mast; and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked about the wildest portions of melanesia. otoo saw to it that he always pulled stroke-oar in my boat. our custom in recruiting labor was to land the recruiter on the beach. the covering boat always lay on its oars several hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on its oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. when i landed with my trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, otoo left his stroke position and came into the stern-sheets, where a winchester lay ready to hand under a flap of canvas. the boat's crew was also armed, the sniders concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. while i was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come and labor on the queensland plantations otoo kept watch. and often and often his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending treachery. sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a savage over, that was the first warning i received. and in my rush to the boat his hand was always there to jerk me flying aboard. once, i remember, on _santa anna_, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. the covering boat was dashing to our assistance, but the several score of savages would have wiped us out before it arrived. otoo took a flying leap ashore, dug both hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, beads, tomahawks, knives, and calicoes in all directions. this was too much for the woolly-heads. while they scrambled for the treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet away. and i got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four hours. the particular instance i have in mind was on malaita, the most savage island in the easterly solomons. the natives had been remarkably friendly; and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking up a collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? the beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white man's head. the fellow who captured the head would receive the whole collection. as i say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day i was fully a hundred yards down the beach from the boat. otoo had cautioned me; and, as usual when i did not heed him, i came to grief. the first i knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at me. at least a dozen were sticking into me. i started to run, but tripped over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. the woolly-heads made a run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail tomahawk with which to hack off my head. they were so eager for the prize that they got in one another's way. in the confusion, i avoided several hacks by throwing myself right and left on the sand. then otoo arrived--otoo the manhandler. in some way he had got hold of a heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient weapon than a rifle. he was right in the thick of them, so that they could not spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. he was fighting for me, and he was in a true berserker rage. the way he handled that club was amazing. their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. it was not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and started to run, that he received his first wounds. he arrived in the boat with four spear thrusts, got his winchester, and with it got a man for every shot. then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. seventeen years we were together. he made me. i should to-day be a supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. "you spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. "it is easy to get money now. but when you get old, your money will be spent, and you will not be able to go out and get more. i know, master. i have studied the way of white men. on the beaches are many old men who were young once, and who could get money just like you. now they are old, and they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like you to come ashore and buy drinks for them. "the black boy is a slave on the plantations. he gets twenty dollars a year. he works hard. the overseer does not work hard. he rides a horse and watches the black boy work. he gets twelve hundred dollars a year. i am a sailor on the schooner. i get fifteen dollars a month. that is because i am a good sailor. i work hard. the captain has a double awning, and drinks beer out of long bottles. i have never seen him haul a rope or pull an oar. he gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. i am a sailor. he is a navigator. master, i think it would be very good for you to know navigation." otoo spurred me on to it. he sailed with me as second mate on my first schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than i was myself. later on it was: "the captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and he is never free from the burden. it is the owner who is better paid--the owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money over." "true, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars--an old schooner at that," i objected. "i should be an old man before i saved five thousand dollars." "there be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. we were in the solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts along the east coast of guadalcanar. "between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "the flat land runs far back. it is worth nothing now. next year--who knows?--or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. the anchorage is good. big steamers can lie close up. you can buy the land four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, ten bottles of square-face, and a snider, which will cost you, maybe, one hundred dollars. then you place the deed with the commissioner; and the next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a ship." i followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, instead of two. next came the grasslands deal on guadalcanar--twenty thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' lease at a nominal sum. i owned the lease for precisely ninety days, when i sold it to a company for half a fortune. always it was otoo who looked ahead and saw the opportunity. he was responsible for the salving of the _doncaster_--bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. he led me into the savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on upolu. we did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. i was too well off. i married, and my standard of living rose; but otoo remained the same old-time otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, his wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. i could not get him to spend money. there was no way of repaying him except with love, and god knows he got that in full measure from all of us. the children worshipped him; and if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his undoing. the children! he really was the one who showed them the way of their feet in the world practical. he began by teaching them to walk. he sat up with them when they were sick. one by one, when they were scarcely toddlers, he took them down to the lagoon, and made them into amphibians. he taught them more than i ever knew of the habits of fish and the ways of catching them. in the bush it was the same thing. at seven, tom knew more woodcraft than i ever dreamed existed. at six, mary went over the sliding rock without a quiver, and i have seen strong men balk at that feat. and when frank had just turned six he could bring up shillings from the bottom in three fathoms. "my people in bora bora do not like heathen--they are all christians; and i do not like bora bora christians," he said one day, when i, with the idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully his, had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island in one of our schooners--a special voyage which i had hoped to make a record breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. i say one of _our_ schooners, though legally at the time they belonged to me. i struggled long with him to enter into partnership. "we have been partners from the day the _petite jeanne_ went down," he said at last. "but if your heart so wishes, then shall we become partners by the law. i have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. i drink and eat and smoke in plenty--it costs much, i know. i do not pay for the playing of billiards, for i play on your table; but still the money goes. fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. it is shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. yes; it is necessary that we be partners by the law. i need the money. i shall get it from the head clerk in the office." so the papers were made out and recorded. a year later i was compelled to complain. "charley," said i, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a miserable land-crab. behold, your share for the year in all our partnership has been thousands of dollars. the head clerk has given me this paper. it says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven dollars and twenty cents." "is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. "i tell you thousands and thousands," i answered. his face brightened, as with an immense relief. "it is well," he said. "see that the head clerk keeps good account of it. when i want it, i shall want it, and there must not be a cent missing. "if there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of the clerk's wages." and all the time, as i afterward learned, his will, drawn up by carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the american consul's safe. but the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. it occurred in the solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the wild young days, and where we were once more--principally on a holiday, incidentally to look after our holdings on florida island and to look over the pearling possibilities of the mboli pass. we were lying at savo, having run in to trade for curios. now, savo is alive with sharks. the custom of the woolly-heads of burying their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from making the adjacent waters a hang-out. it was my luck to be coming aboard in a tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. there were four woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to it. the schooner was a hundred yards away. i was just hailing for a boat when one of the woolly-heads began to scream. holding on to the end of the canoe, both he and that portion of the canoe were dragged under several times. then he loosed his clutch and disappeared. a shark had got him. the three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the bottom of the canoe. i yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, but it was no use. they were in a blind funk. the canoe could barely have supported one of them. under the three it upended and rolled sidewise, throwing them back into the water. i abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting to be picked up by the boat before i got there. one of the savages elected to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now and again putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. the screams of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was taken. i was peering into the water when i saw a big shark pass directly beneath me. he was fully sixteen feet in length. i saw the whole thing. he got the woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, head, shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a heartrending way. he was carried along in this fashion for several hundred feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. i swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. but there was another. whether it was the one that had attacked the natives earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, i do not know. at any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. i could not swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to keeping track of him. i was watching him when he made his first attack. by good luck i got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum nearly shoved me under, i managed to keep him off. he veered clear, and began circling about again. a second time i escaped him by the same maneuver. the third rush was a miss on both sides. he sheered at the moment my hands should have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide (i had on a sleeveless undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from elbow to shoulder. by this time i was played out, and gave up hope. the schooner was still two hundred feet away. my face was in the water, and i was watching him maneuver for another attempt, when i saw a brown body pass between us. it was otoo. "swim for the schooner, master!" he said. and he spoke gayly, as though the affair was a mere lark. "i know sharks. the shark is my brother." i obeyed, swimming slowly on, while otoo swam about me, keeping always between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. "the davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another attack. by the time the schooner was thirty feet away i was about done for. i could scarcely move. they were heaving lines at us from on board, but they continually fell short. the shark, finding that it was receiving no hurt, had become bolder. several times it nearly got me, but each time otoo was there just the moment before it was too late. of course, otoo could have saved himself any time. but he stuck by me. "good-bye, charley! i'm finished!" i just managed to gasp. i knew that the end had come, and that the next moment i should throw up my hands and go down. but otoo laughed in my face, saying: "i will show you a new trick. i will make that shark feel sick!" he dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. "a little more to the left!" he next called out. "there is a line there on the water. to the left, master--to the left!" i changed my course and struck out blindly. i was by that time barely conscious. as my hand closed on the line i heard an exclamation from on board. i turned and looked. there was no sign of otoo. the next instant he broke surface. both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting blood. "otoo!" he called softly. and i could see in his gaze the love that thrilled in his voice. then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by that name. "good-by, otoo!" he called. then he was dragged under, and i was hauled aboard, where i fainted in the captain's arms. and so passed otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in the end. we met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of which i dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the other white. if jehovah be from his high place watching every sparrow fall, not least in his kingdom shall be otoo, the one heathen of bora bora. [illustration] the hobo and the fairy he lay on his back. so heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not rouse him. wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge on the way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was like the explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the afternoon. but the man was undisturbed. his head had slipped from the folded newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. he was not a pretty sight. his mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several teeth at some time had been knocked out. he breathed stertorously, at times grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. also, he was very restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive movements, and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. this restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, and partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies that buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and eyelids. there was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the face was covered with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly dirt-stained and weather-discolored. the cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch that was evidently being slept off. this, too, accounted for the persistence with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by the alcohol-laden exhalations. he was a powerfully built man, thick-necked, broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted hands. yet the distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the callouses other than ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm upturned. from time to time this hand clenched tightly and spasmodically into a fist, large, heavy-boned and wicked-looking. the man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the tree-fringed bank of the stream. on either side of the glade was a fence, of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be seen, so thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby oaks and young madrono trees. in the rear, a gate through a low paling fence led to a snug, squat bungalow, built in the california spanish style and seeming to have been compounded directly from the landscape of which it was so justly a part. neat and trim and modestly sweet was the bungalow, redolent of comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude of some one that knew, and that had sought and found. through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as ever stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty little maidens may be. eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a trifle more, or less. her little waist and little black-stockinged calves showed how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of mould only. there was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy complexion nor in the quick, tripping step. she was a little, delicious blond, with hair spun of gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but slightly veiled by the long lashes. her expression was of sweetness and happiness; it belonged by right to any face that sheltered in the bungalow. she carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies along the edge of the fence. they were late poppies, a third generation, which had been unable to resist the call of the warm october sun. having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite fence. midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. her startle was merely a startle. there was no fear in it. she stood and looked long and curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when the sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. she noted the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew solicitous, and for a moment she debated with herself. then she tiptoed to his side, interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and brushed away the flies. after a time, for greater ease, she sat down beside him. an hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from one tired hand to the other. at first the sleeper had been restless, but, shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler and his movements ceased. several times, however, he really frightened her. the first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. "christ! how deep! how deep!" the man murmured from some profound of dream. the parasol was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself and continued her self-appointed ministrations. another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. so terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they must crush into fragments. a little later he suddenly stiffened out. the hands clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. the eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to open, but did not. instead, the lips muttered: "no; no! and once more no. i won't peach." the lips paused, then went on. "you might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. that's all you can get outa me--blood. that's all any of you-uns has ever got outa me in this hole." after this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the frowsy, unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of life that she knew. to her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of hoofs on the bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. it was a breathless california indian summer day. light fleeces of cloud drifted in the azure sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened with rain. a bee droned lazily by. from farther thickets came the calls of quail, and from the fields the songs of meadow larks. and oblivious to it all slept ross shanklin--ross shanklin, the tramp and outcast, ex-convict , the bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all keepers and survived all brutalities. texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, he had been unfortunate. at seventeen years of age he had been apprehended for horse stealing. also, he had been convicted of stealing seven horses which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to fourteen years' imprisonment. this was severe under any circumstances, but with him it had been especially severe, because there had been no prior convictions against him. the sentiment of the people who believed him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. which goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of ross shanklin's life at less than a few dollars. young ross shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more than once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and various jails. he had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been revived and lashed again. he had been in the dungeon ninety days at a time. he had experienced the torment of the straightjacket. he knew what the humming bird was. he had been farmed out as a chattel by the state to the contractors. he had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. twice he had been shot. for six years on end he had cut a cord and a half of wood each day in a convict lumber camp. sick or well, he had cut that cord and a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and pickled. and ross shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. he had sneered, and raved, and defied. he had seen convicts, after the guards had manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind to the end of their days. he had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling god. he had been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. he had been through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns trained upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick handles wielded by brawny guards. he had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had never been broken. he had resented and fought to the last, until, embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. five dollars were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the flower of his manhood. and he had worked little in the years that followed. work he hated and despised. he tramped, begged and stole, lied or threatened as the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness whenever he got the chance. the little girl was looking at him when he awoke. like a wild animal, all of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. the first he saw was the parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. he did not start nor move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. his eyes followed down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, and along the arm to the child's face. straight and unblinking he looked into her eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened by his glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no hint in them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and feel in human eyes. they were the true prison eyes--the eyes of a man who had learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. "hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "what game are you up to!" his voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it had softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. "how do you do?" she said. "i'm not playing. the sun was on your face, and mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." the sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. he sat up slowly and stared at her. he felt that he ought to say something, but speech with him was a reluctant thing. "i hope you slept well," she said gravely. "i sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the fairness and delicacy of her. "how long was you holdin' that contraption up over me?" "o-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. i thought you would never wake up." "and i thought you was a fairy when i first seen you." he felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. "no, not a fairy," she smiled. he thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her small even teeth. "i was just the good samaritan," she added. "i reckon i never heard of that party." he was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. never having been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he found it difficult. "what a funny man not to know about the good samaritan. don't you remember? a certain man went down to jericho----" "i reckon i've been there," he interrupted. "i knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "maybe you saw the exact spot." "what spot?" "why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. and then the good samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil and wine--was that olive oil, do you think?" he shook his head slowly. "i reckon you got me there. olive oil is something the dagoes cooks with. i never heard of it for busted heads." she considered his statement for a moment. "well," she announced, "we use olive oil in _our_ cooking, so we must be dagoes. i never knew what they were before. i thought it was slang." "and the samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered reminiscently. "seems to me i recollect a sky pilot sayin' something about that old gent. d'ye know, i've been looking for him off 'n on all my life, and never scared up hide nor hair of him. they ain't no more samaritans." "wasn't i one!" she asked quickly. he looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. her ear, by a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. it seemed he could almost see through it. he was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at the blue of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. and he was astounded by her fragility. it came to him that she was easily broken. his eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand in which it seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. he knew the power in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which men use their bodies to ill-treat men. in fact, he knew little else, and his mind for the time ran in its customary channel. it was his way of measuring the beautiful strangeness of her. he calculated a grip, and not a strong one, that could grind her little fingers to pulp. he thought of fist blows he had given to men's heads, and received on his own head, and felt that the least of them could shatter hers like an egg-shell. he scanned her little shoulders and slim waist, and knew in all certitude that with his two hands he could rend her to pieces. "wasn't i one?" she insisted again. he came back to himself with a shock--or away from himself, as the case happened. he was loath that the conversation should cease. "what?" he answered. "oh, yes; you bet you was a samaritan, even if you didn't have no olive oil." he remembered what his mind had been dwelling on, and asked, "but ain't you afraid?" "of ... of me?" he added lamely. she laughed merrily. "mamma says never to be afraid of anything. she says that if you're good, and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." "and you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he marveled. "but it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she confessed. "but there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. "mamma says no. she says there's good in everyone. "i bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he proclaimed triumphantly. "but she doesn't. mamma isn't afraid of anything. that's why she lets me play out here alone when i want. why, we had a robber once. mamma got right up and found him. and what do you think! he was only a poor hungry man. and she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she got him work to do." ross shanklin was stunned. the vista shown him of human nature was unthinkable. it had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. it had been his experience, slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. he had even seen grown women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. he was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: "i know what you are! you're an open air crank. that's why you were sleeping here in the grass." he felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. "and that's what tramps are--open air cranks," she continued. "i often wondered. mamma believes in the open air. i sleep on the porch at night. so does she. this is our land. you must have climbed the fence. mamma lets me when i put on my climbers--they're bloomers, you know. but you ought to be told something. a person doesn't know when they snore because they're asleep. but you do worse than that. you grit your teeth. that's bad. whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, 'i won't grit my teeth, i won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. "all bad things are habits. and so are all good things. and it depends on us what kind our habits are going to be. i used to pucker my eyebrows--wrinkle them all up, but mamma said i must overcome that habit. she said that when my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an advertisement that my brain was wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good to have wrinkles in the brain. and then she smoothed my eyebrows with her hand and said i must always think _smooth_--_smooth_ inside, and _smooth_ outside. and do you know, it was easy. i haven't wrinkled my brows for ever so long. i've heard about filling teeth by thinking. but i don't believe that. neither does mamma." she paused rather out of breath. nor did he speak. her flow of talk had been too much for him. also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had made him very thirsty. but, rather than lose one precious moment, he endured the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. he licked his dry lips and struggled for speech. "what is your name?" he managed at last. "joan." she looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice it. "mine is ross shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten years giving his real name. "i suppose you've traveled a lot." "i sure have, but not as much as i might have wanted to." "papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. he never could get much time. he went to europe once with mamma. that was before i was born. it takes money to travel." ross shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. "but it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought away from him. "is that why you tramp?" he nodded and licked his lips. "mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. but there's lots of work now in the country. all the farmers in the valley are trying to get men. have you been working?" he shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising work. but this was followed by another thought. this beautiful little creature was some man's child. she was one of the rewards of work. "i wish i had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a sudden consciousness of passion for paternity. "i'd work my hands off. i ... i'd do anything." she considered his case with fitting gravity. "then you aren't married?" "nobody would have me." "yes, they would, if ..." she did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a look of disapprobation he could not mistake. "go on," he half-shouted. "shoot it into me. if i was washed--if i wore good clothes--if i was respectable--if i had a job and worked regular--if i wasn't what i am." to each statement she nodded. "well, i ain't that kind," he rushed on. "i'm no good. i'm a tramp. i don't want to work, that's what. and i like dirt." her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "then you were only making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" this left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his new-found passion, that that was just what he did want. with ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the subject. "what do you think of god?" she asked. "i ain't never met him. what do you think about him?" his reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. "you are very strange," she said. "you get angry so easily. i never saw anybody before that got angry about god, or work, or being clean." "he never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. he cast back in quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and mines. "and work never done anything for me neither." an embarrassing silence fell. he looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, sorry for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. she was looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his eyes. he reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very edge of her little dress. it seemed to him that she was the most wonderful thing in the world. the quail still called from the coverts, and the harvest sounds seemed abruptly to become very loud. a great loneliness oppressed him. "i'm ... i'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. but, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. the silence was more embarrassing than ever. he felt that he could give the world just to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. but he was afraid of frightening her. he fought to find something to say, licking his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate something, anything. "this ain't sonoma valley," he declared finally. "this is fairy land, and you're a fairy. mebbe i'm asleep and dreaming. i don't know. you and me don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and don't know nothing but good things, and i'm a man from the bad, wicked world." having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded fish. "and you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, clapping her hands. "i'm just dying to know." he looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he had encountered on the sunken ways of life. she was no fairy. she was flesh and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they had been in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. and there was in her eagerness to know. "nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't going to tell you nothing of the kind. he's going to tell you of the good things in that world. he's going to tell you how he loved hosses when he was a shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the first hoss he owned. hosses ain't like men. they're better. they're clean--clean all the way through and back again. and, little fairy, i want to tell you one thing--there sure ain't nothing in the world like when you're settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you just speak, and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles along. hosses! they're my long suit. i sure dote on hosses. yep. i used to be a cowboy once." she clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: "a texas cowboy! i always wanted to see one! i heard papa say once that cowboys are bow-legged. are you?" "i sure was a texas cowboy," he answered. "but it was a long time ago. and i'm sure bow-legged. you see, you can't ride much when you're young and soft without getting the legs bent some. why, i was only a three-year-old when i begun. he was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. i led him up alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. he was a pinto, and a real devil at bucking, but i could do anything with him. i reckon he knowed i was only a little shaver. some hosses knows lots more 'n' you think." for half an hour ross shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through the touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. the sun dropped slowly into the cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon after empty wagon rumbled back across the bridge. then came a woman's voice. "joan! joan!" it called. "where are you, dear?" the little girl answered, and ross shanklin saw a woman, clad in a soft, clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. she was a slender, graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to float along than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. "what have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came up. "talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "i've had a very interesting time." ross shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. the little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a new thing to him. in his mind ran the thought: _the woman who ain't afraid_. not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to seeing in women's eyes. and he was quite aware, and never more so, of his bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. "how do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. "how do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the huskiness and rawness of his voice. "and did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. "yes, ma'am. i sure did. i was just telling your little girl about hosses." "he was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. the mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at the little girl. the thought that came into ross shanklin's mind was the awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful pair. this was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his strength and life, to defend them. "you'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "it's growing late." she looked at ross shanklin hesitantly. "would you care to have something to eat?" "no, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. i ... i ain't hungry." "then say good-bye, joan," she counselled. "good-bye." the little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted roguishly. "good-bye, mr. man from the bad, wicked world." to him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone of the whole adventure. "good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "i reckon i got to be pullin' along." but he did not pull along. he stood staring after his vision until it vanished through the gate. the day seemed suddenly empty. he looked about him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and slouched along the road. he was in a dream. he did not note his feet nor the way they led him. at times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. a mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. before him stood the saloon. he came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. he sank his hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "god!" he muttered. "god!" then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the road. he came to a big farm. he knew it must be big, because of the bigness of the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. on the porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was the farmer. "what's the chance for a job!" ross shanklin asked. the keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. "a dollar a day and grub," was the answer. ross shanklin swallowed and braced himself. "i'll pick grapes all right, or anything. but what's the chance for a steady job? you've got a big ranch here. i know hosses. i was born on one. i can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody ever done with hosses." the other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. "you don't look it," was the judgment. "i know i don't. give me a chance. that's all. i'll prove it." the farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into which the sun had sunk. "i'm short a teamster, and i'll give you the chance to make good. go and get supper with the hands." ross shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. "all right. i'll make good. where can i get a drink of water and wash up?" [illustration] "just meat" he strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting street, but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps at the successive crossings. then he strolled back the way he had come. he was a shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement through the semi darkness. also he was very alert, like a wild animal in the jungle, keenly perceptive and receptive. the movement of another in the darkness about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to have escaped him. in addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a _feel_, of the atmosphere around him. he knew that the house in front of which he paused for a moment, contained children. yet by no willed effort of perception did he have this knowledge. for that matter, he was not even aware that he knew, so occult was the impression. yet, did a moment arise in which action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he would have acted on the assumption that it contained children. he was not aware of all that he knew about the neighborhood. in the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in the footfalls that came up the cross street. before he saw the walker, he knew him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. the walker came into view at the crossing and disappeared on up the street. the man that watched, noted a light that flared up in the window of a house on the corner, and as it died down he knew it for an expiring match. this was conscious identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind flitted the thought, "wanted to know what time." in another house one room was lighted. the light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the feel that it was a sick room. he was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle of the block. to this house he paid most attention. no matter what way he looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always returned to it. except for an open window above the porch, there was nothing unusual about the house. nothing came in nor out. nothing happened. there were no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and disappeared in any of the windows. yet it was the central point of his consideration. he rallied to it each time after a divination of the state of the neighborhood. despite his feel of things, he was not confident. he was supremely conscious of the precariousness of his situation. though unperturbed by the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. he was aware of the possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the darkness--intelligences similar to his own in movement, perception, and divination. far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. and he knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. he whistled twice to the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the corner and around the corner. here he paused and looked about him carefully. reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the object that moved and that was coming nearer. he had divined aright. it was a policeman. the man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter of which he watched the corner he had just left. he saw the policeman pass by, going straight on up the street. he paralleled the policeman's course, and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he returned the way he had come. he whistled once to the house across the street, and after a time whistled once again. there was reassurance in the whistle, just as there had been warning in the previous double whistle. he saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly descend a pillar. then it came down the steps, passed through the small iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. he that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. he was quite small alongside the man he accosted. "how'd you make out, matt?" he asked. the other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. "i reckon i landed the goods," he said. jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. the blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. "well, how about them goods?" he asked. "what kind of a haul did you make, anyway?" "i was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. i can tell you that much, jim, it's fat. i don't dast to think how fat it is. wait till we get to the room." jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm peculiarly. "what's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. "the little cuss bit me. hope i don't get hydrophoby. folks gets hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" "gave you a fight, eh!" jim asked encouragingly. the other grunted. "you're certainly hard to get information from," jim burst out irritably. "tell us about it. you ain't goin' to lose money just a-tellin' a guy." "i guess i choked him some," came the answer. then, by way of explanation, "he woke up on me." "you did it neat. i never heard a sound." "jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. i fixed 'm. i had to. he woke up on me. you an' me's got to do some layin' low for a spell." jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. "did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. "sure. i was all done. i was just comin' out." "it was a bull. but he wasn't on a little bit. went right by an' kept a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. then i came back an' gave you the whistle. what made you take so long after that?" "i was waitin' to make sure," matt explained. "i was mighty glad when i heard you whistle again. it's hard work waitin'. i just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of things. it's remarkable what a fellow'll think about. and then there was a darn cat that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with its noises." "an' it's fat!" jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. "i'm sure tellin' you, jim, it's fat. i'm plum' anxious for another look at 'em." unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. yet they did not relax from their caution. twice they changed their course in order to avoid policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they scratch a match. while jim lighted a lamp, matt locked the door and threw the bolts into place. as he turned, he noticed that his partner was waiting expectantly. matt smiled to himself at the other's eagerness. "them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket electric lamp and examining it. "but we got to get a new battery. it's runnin' pretty weak. i thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. funny arrangements in that house. i near got lost. his room was on the left, an' that fooled me some." "i told you it was on the left," jim interrupted. "you told me it was on the right," matt went on. "i guess i know what you told me, an' there's the map you drew." fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. as he unfolded it, jim bent over and looked. "i did make a mistake," he confessed. "you sure did. it got me guessin' some for a while." "but it don't matter now," jim cried. "let's see what you got." "it does matter," matt retorted. "it matters a lot ... to me. i've got to run all the risk. i put my head in the trap while you stay on the street. you got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. all right, i'll show you." he dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of small diamonds. he spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy table. jim let out a great oath. "that's nothing," matt said with triumphant complacence. "i ain't begun yet." from one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. there were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than those in the first handful. from one pocket he brought out a handful of very small cut gems. "sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by themselves. jim examined them. "just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "is that all?" "ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. "sure it is," jim answered with unqualified approval. "better'n i expected. i wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." "ten thousan'," matt sneered. "they're worth twic't that, an' i don't know anything about joolery, either. look at that big boy!" he picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp with the air of an expert, weighing and judging. "worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was jim's quicker judgment. "a thousan' your grandmother," was matt's scornful rejoinder. "you couldn't buy it for three." "wake me up! i'm dreamin'!" the sparkle of the gems was in jim's eyes, and he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "we're rich men, matt--we'll be regular swells." "it'll take years to get rid of 'em," was matt's more practical thought. "but think how we'll live! nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on gettin' rid of 'em." matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his phlegmatic nature woke up. "i told you i didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low voice. "what a killin'! what a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic utterance. "i almost forgot," matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat pocket. a string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and chamois skin. jim scarcely glanced at them. "they're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. a silence fell on the two men. jim played with the gems, running them through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out flat and wide. he was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, high-strung, and anaemic--a typical child of the gutter, with unbeautiful twisted features, small eyes, with face and mouth perpetually and feverishly hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to the core with degeneracy. matt did not finger the diamonds. he sat with chin on hands and elbows on table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. he was in every way a contrast to the other. no city had bred him. he was heavy muscled and hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. for him there was no unseen world. his eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a certain bold brotherliness. they inspired confidence. but a closer inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, just a shade too wide apart. he exceeded, spilled over the limits of normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. "the bunch is worth fifty thousan'," jim remarked suddenly. "a hundred thousan'," matt said. the silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by jim. "what in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?--that's what i want to know. i'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the store." matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he did not start at the mention of him. "there's no tellin'," he answered. "he might a-been getting ready to chuck his pardner. he might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts unknown, if we hadn't happened along. i guess there's just as many thieves among honest men as there is among thieves. you read about such things in the papers, jim. pardners is always knifin' each other." a queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. matt did not betray that he noted it, though he said:-- "what was you thinkin' about, jim!" jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. "nothin'," he answered. "only i was thinkin' just how funny it was--all them jools at his house. what made you ask?" "nothin'. i was just wonderin', that was all." the silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle on the part of jim. he was overcome by the spread of gems. it was not that he felt their beauty. he was unaware that they were beautiful in themselves. but in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind and sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. he builded wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was appalled at what he builded. then it was that he giggled. it was all too impossible to be real. and yet there they blazed on the table before him, fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. "i guess we might as well count 'em," matt said suddenly, tearing himself away from his own visions. "you watch me an' see that it's square, because you an' me has got to be on the square, jim. understand?" jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while matt did not like what he saw in his partner's eyes. "understand!" matt repeated, almost menacingly. "ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what of the treachery already whispering in him. "it don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," matt retorted. "it's bein' square in prosperity that counts. when we ain't got nothin', we can't help bein' square. we're prosperous now, an' we've got to be business men--honest business men. understand?" "that's the talk for me," jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul of him,--and in spite of him,--wanton and lawless thoughts were stirring like chained beasts. matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking stove. he emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag emptied some red peppers. returning to the table with the bags, he put into them the two sizes of small diamonds. then he counted the large gems and wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. "hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty real big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of teeny ones an' dust." he looked at jim. "correct," was the response. he wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. "just for reference," he said. again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from a large paper bag. into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his pillow. then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. "an' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" jim asked, pausing and looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. "sure," was the answer. "i seen a dancer down in arizona once, with some big sparklers on her. they wasn't real. she said if they was she wouldn't be dancin'. said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' she didn't have a dozen of 'em all told." "who'd work for a livin'?" jim triumphantly demanded. "pick an' shovel work!" he sneered. "work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, an' i wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." "dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a month an' board. your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. let them that likes it, work. i rode range for thirty a month when i was young an' foolish. well, i'm older, an' i ain't ridin' range." he got into bed on one side. jim put out the light and followed him in on the other side. "how's your arm feel?" jim queried amiably. such concern was unusual, and matt noted it, and replied:-- "i guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. what made you ask?" jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: "nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. what are you goin' to do with your share, matt?" "buy a cattle ranch in arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride range for me. there's some several i'd like to see askin' a job from me, blast them! an' now you shut your face, jim. it'll be some time before i buy that ranch. just now i'm goin' to sleep." but jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. the diamonds still blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. matt, in spite of his heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; and jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was trembling on the verge of awakening. for that matter, jim did not know whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. once, quietly, betokening complete consciousness, matt said to him: "aw, go to sleep, jim. don't worry about them jools. they'll keep." and jim had thought that at that particular moment matt had been surely asleep. in the late morning matt was awake with jim's first movement, and thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up together and began dressing. "i'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," matt said. "you boil the coffee." as jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left matt's face and roved to the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana handkerchief. on the instant matt's face became like a wild beast's. "look here, jim," he snarled. "you've got to play square. if you do me dirt, i'll fix you. understand? i'd eat you, jim. you know that. i'd bite right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." his sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. jim shivered and involuntarily cowered. there was death in the man he looked at. only the night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, and it had not hurt his sleep. and in his own heart jim was aware of a sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was threatened. matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. then a hatred twisted his own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. he remembered the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the bandana bundle. he crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it still contained the diamonds. assured that matt had not carried them away, he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. then he hurriedly lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over the flame. the coffee was boiling when matt returned, and while the latter cut the bread and put a slice of butter on the table, jim poured out the coffee. it was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, that matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. "we was way off," he said. "i told you i didn't dast figger out how fat it was. look at that." he pointed to the head lines on the first page. "swift nemesis on bujannoff's track," they read. "murdered in his sleep after robbing his partner." "there you have it!" matt cried. "he robbed his partner--robbed him like a dirty thief." "half a million of jewels missin'," jim read aloud. he put the paper down and stared at matt. "that's what i told you," the latter said. "what in thunder do we know about jools? half a million!--an' the best i could figger it was a hundred thousan'. go on an' read the rest of it." they read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some salient printed fact. "i'd like to seen metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store this mornin'," jim gloated. "he hit the high places right away for bujannoff's house," matt explained. "go on an' read." "was to have sailed last night at ten on the _sajoda_ for the south seas--steamship delayed by extra freight----" "that's why we caught 'm in bed," matt interrupted. "it was just luck--like pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." "_sajoda_ sailed at six this mornin'----" "he didn't catch her," matt said. "i saw his alarm clock was set at five. that'd given 'm plenty of time ... only i come along an' put the _kibosh_ on his time. go on." "adolph metzner in despair--the famous haythorne pearl necklace--magnificently assorted pearls--valued by experts at from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." jim broke off to say solemnly, "those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" he licked his lips and added, "they was beauties an' no mistake." "big brazilian gem," he read on. "eighty thousan' dollars--many valuable gems of the first water--several thousan' small diamonds well worth forty thousan'." "what you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," matt smiled good humoredly. "theory of the sleuths," jim read. "thieves must have known--cleverly kept watch on bujannoff's actions--must have learned his plan and trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery--" "clever--" matt broke out. "that's the way reputations is made ... in the noos-papers. how'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" "anyway, we've got the goods," jim grinned. "let's look at 'em again." he assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while matt brought out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. "ain't they beauties, though!" jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and for a time he had eyes only for them. "accordin' to the experts, worth from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." "an' women like them things," matt commented. "an' they'll do everything to get 'em--sell themselves, commit murder, anything." "just like you an' me." "not on your life," matt retorted. "i'll commit murder for 'em, but not for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. that's the difference. women want the jools for themselves, an' i want the jools for the women an' such things they'll get me." "lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," jim remarked. "that's what makes commerce," matt agreed; "people wantin' different things." in the middle of the afternoon jim went out to buy food. while he was gone, matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and putting them under the pillow. then he lighted the kerosene stove and started to boil water for the coffee. a few minutes later, jim returned. "most surprising," he remarked. "streets, an' stores, an' people just like they always was. nothin' changed. an' me walkin' along through it all a millionnaire. nobody looked at me an' guessed it" matt grunted unsympathetically. he had little comprehension of the lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. "did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. "sure, an' an inch thick. it's a peach. look at it." he unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. then he made the coffee and set the table, while matt fried the steak. "don't put on too much of them red peppers," jim warned. "i ain't used to your mexican cookin'. you always season too hot." matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. jim poured out the coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. he had turned his back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around at him. matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the hot frying pan. he cut the steak in half, and served jim and himself. "eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set the example. "she's a dandy," was jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "but i tell you one thing straight. i'm never goin' to visit you on that arizona ranch, so you needn't ask me." "what's the matter now?" matt asked. "the mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. if i've got blue blazes a-comin' in the next life, i'm not goin' to torment my insides in this one!" he smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank some coffee, and went on eating the steak. "what do you think about the next life anyway, matt?" he asked a little later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his coffee. "ain't no next life," matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his first sip of coffee. "nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. you get all that's comin' right here in this life." "an' afterward?" jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew that he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "an' afterward?" he repeated. "did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. jim shook his head. "well, i have. he was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. it was once steer cavortin' over the landscape. but now it's just meat. that's all, just meat. an' that's what you an' me an' all people come to--meat." matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. "are you scared to die?" he asked. jim shook his head. "what's the use? i don't die anyway. i pass on an' live again--" "to go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" matt sneered. "maybe i'll improve," jim suggested hopefully. "maybe stealin' won't be necessary in the life to come." he ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened expression on his face. "what's the matter!" matt demanded. "nothin'. i was just wonderin'"--jim returned to himself with an effort--"about this dyin', that was all." but he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. it was as if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the intangible shadow of its presence. he was aware of a feeling of foreboding. something ominous was about to happen. calamity hovered in the air. he gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. he could not understand. was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? no, matt had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the nicked cup. it was all his own imagination, was his next thought. it had played him tricks before. fool! of course it was. of course something was about to happen, but it was about to happen to matt. had not matt drunk the whole cup of coffee? jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy when the meat was gone. "when i was a kid--" he began, but broke off abruptly. again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant with premonition of impending misfortune. he felt a disruptive influence at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming that they were about to begin to twitch. he sat back suddenly, and as suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. a tremor ran dimly through the muscles of his body. it was like the first rustling of leaves before the oncoming of wind. he clenched his teeth. it came again, a spasmodic tensing of his muscles. he knew panic at the revolt within his being. his muscles no longer recognized his mastery over them. again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he had willed that they should not tense. this was revolution within himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impotence rushed up in him as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running up and down his back and sweat starting on his brow. he glanced about the room, and all the details of it smote him with a strange sense of familiarity. it was as though he had just returned from a long journey. he looked across the table at his partner. matt was watching him and smiling. an expression of horror spread over jim's face. "matt!" he screamed. "you ain't doped me?" matt smiled and continued to watch him. in the paroxysm that followed, jim did not become unconscious. his muscles tensed and twitched and knotted, hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. and in the midst of it all, it came to him that matt was acting queerly. he was traveling the same road. the smile had gone from his face, and there was on it an intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale of himself and trying to divine the message. matt got up and walked across the room and back again, then sat down. "you did this, jim," he said quietly. "but i didn't think you'd try to fix _me_," jim answered reproachfully. "oh, i fixed you all right," matt said, with teeth close together and shivering body. "what did you give me?" "strychnine." "same as i gave you," matt volunteered. "it's some mess, ain't it!" "you're lyin', matt," jim pleaded. "you ain't doped me, have you?" "i sure did, jim; an' i didn't overdose you, neither. i cooked it in as neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.--hold on! where're you goin'?" jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. matt sprang in between and shoved him away. "drug store," jim panted. "drug store." "no you don't. you'll stay right here. there ain't goin' to be any runnin' out an' makin' a poison play on the street--not with all them jools reposin' under the pillow. savve? even if you didn't die, you'd be in the hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. emetics is the stuff for poison. i'm just as bad bit as you, an' i'm goin' to take a emetic. that's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." he thrust jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into place. as he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. it spattered audibly on the floor. jim watched agonizedly as matt got the mustard can and a cup and ran for the sink. he stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank it down. jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for the empty cup. again matt shoved him away. as he mixed a second cupful, he demanded: "d'you think one cup'll do for me? you can wait till i'm done." jim started to totter toward the door, but matt checked him. "if you monkey with that door, i'll twist your neck. savve? you can take yours when i'm done. an' if it saves you, i'll twist your neck, anyway. you ain't got no chance, nohow. i told you many times what you'd get if you did me dirt." "but you did me dirt, too," jim articulated with an effort. matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. the sweat had got into jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, where he got a cup for himself. but matt was mixing a third cupful, and, as before, thrust him away. "i told you to wait till i was done," matt growled. "get outa my way." and jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. it was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. his flesh strove to double him up and bring him to the floor. matt drank the third cupful, and with difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. his first paroxysm was passing. the spasms that afflicted him were dying away. this good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. he was safe, at any rate. he wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the interval of calm, found room for curiosity. he looked at his partner. a spasm had shaken the mustard can out of jim's hands, and the contents were spilled upon the floor. he stooped to scoop some of the mustard into the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. matt smiled. "stay with it," he encouraged. "it's the stuff all right. it's fixed me up." jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with suffering and pleading. spasm now followed spasm till he was in convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the mustard. matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. a tremor had run through his body. a new paroxysm was beginning. he arose and staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly strove to assist the action of the emetic. in the end, he clung to the sink as jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the floor. the other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. "what are you snifflin' about!" matt demanded out of his agony. "all you got to do is die. an' when you die you're dead." "i ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' ... my ... eyes," jim panted with desperate slowness. it was his last successful attempt at speech. thereafter he babbled incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion stretched him on the floor. matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. he came out of the convulsion cool and weak. he looked to see how it went with the other, and saw him lying motionless. he tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. the thought came to him that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug store. he looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. there he saved himself from falling by clutching the chair. another paroxysm had begun. and in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts of it flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he clung to the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. the last shreds of his will were leaving him when he gained the door. he turned the key and shot back one bolt. he fumbled for the second bolt, but failed. then he leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently to the floor. [illustration:] a nose for the king in the morning calm of korea, when its peace and tranquility truly merited its ancient name, "cho-sen," there lived a politician by name yi chin ho. he was a man of parts, and--who shall say?--perhaps in no wise worse than politicians the world over. but, unlike his brethren in other lands, yi chin ho was in jail. not that he had inadvertently diverted to himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and yi chin ho's excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in prison under sentence of death. there was one advantage to the situation--he had plenty of time in which to think. and he thought well. then called he the jailer to him. "most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "yet all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short hour this night. and all will be well with you, for i shall see to your advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the directorship of all the prisons of cho-sen." "how now?" demanded the jailer. "what foolishness is this? one short hour, and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! and i, with an aged and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife and several children of tender years! out upon you for the scoundrel that you are!" "from the sacred city to the ends of all the eight coasts there is no place for me to hide," yi chin ho made reply. "i am a man of wisdom, but of what worth my wisdom here in prison? were i free, well i know i could seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. i know of a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." "a nose!" cried the jailer. "a nose," said yi chin ho. "a remarkable nose, if i may say so, a most remarkable nose." the jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "ah, what a wag you are, what a wag," he laughed. "to think that that very admirable wit of yours must go the way of the chopping-block!" and so saying, he turned and went away. but in the end, being a man soft of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted yi chin ho to go. straight he went to the governor, catching him alone and arousing him from his sleep. "yi chin ho, or i'm no governor!" cried the governor. "what do you here who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" "i pray your excellency to listen to me," said yi chin ho, squatting on his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "a dead man is without value. it is true, i am as a dead man, without value to the government, to your excellency, or to myself. but if, so to say, your excellency were to give me my freedom--" "impossible!" cried the governor. "besides, you are condemned to death." "your excellency well knows that if i can repay the ten thousand strings of cash, the government will pardon me," yi chin ho went on. "so, as i say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being a man of understanding, i should then repay the government and be in position to be of service to your excellency. i should be in position to be of very great service to your excellency." "have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the governor. "i have," said yi chin ho. "then come with it to me to-morrow night; i would now sleep," said the governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. on the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the jailer, yi chin ho presented himself at the governor's bedside. "is it you, yi chin ho?" asked the governor. "and have you the plan?" "it is i, your excellency," answered yi chin ho, "and the plan is here." "speak," commanded the governor. "the plan is here," repeated yi chin ho, "here in my hand." the governor sat up and opened his eyes, yi chin ho proffered in his hand a sheet of paper. the governor held it to the light. "nothing but a nose," said he. "a bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said yi chin ho. "yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the governor. "withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one place, at the end," proceeded yi chin ho. "your excellency would seek far and wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." "an unusual nose," admitted the governor. "there is a wart upon it," said yi chin ho. "a most unusual nose," said the governor. "never have i seen the like. but what do you with this nose, yi chin ho!" "i seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said yi chin ho. "i seek it to be of service to your excellency, and i seek it to save my own worthless head. further, i seek your excellency's seal upon this picture of the nose." and the governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and yi chin ho departed. for a month and a day he traveled the king's road which leads to the shore of the eastern sea; and there, one night, at the gate of the largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. "none other than the master of the house will i see," said he fiercely to the frightened servants. "i travel upon the king's business." straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house was roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. "you are pak chung chang, head man of this city," said yi chin ho in tones that were all-accusing. "i am upon the king's business." pak chung chang trembled. well he knew the king's business was ever a terrible business. his knees smote together, and he near fell to the floor. "the hour is late," he quavered. "were it not well to----" "the king's business never waits!" thundered yi chin ho. "come apart with me, and swiftly. i have an affair of moment to discuss with you. "it is the king's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so that pak chung chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered on the floor. "know then," said yi chin ho, when they had gone apart, "that the king is troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. in that he failed to cure, the court physician has had nothing else than his head chopped off. from all the eight provinces have the physicians come to wait upon the king. wise consultation have they held, and they have decided that for a remedy for the king's affliction nothing else is required than a nose, a certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain kind of nose. "then by none other was i summoned than his excellency the prime minister himself. he put a paper into my hand. upon this paper was the very peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the eight provinces, with the seal of state upon it. "'go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'seek out this nose, for the king's affliction is sore. and wheresoever you find this nose upon the face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to the court, for the king must be cured. go, and come not back until your search is rewarded.' "and so i departed upon my quest," said yi chin ho. "i have sought out the remotest corners of the kingdom; i have traveled the eight highways, searched the eight provinces, and sailed the seas of the eight coasts. and here i am." with a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of pak chung chang. upon the paper was the picture of the nose. pak chung chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. "never have i beheld such a nose," he began. "there is a wart upon it," said yi chin ho. "never have i beheld----" pak chung chang began again. "bring your father before me," yi chin ho interrupted sternly. "my ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said pak chung chang. "why dissemble?" demanded yi chin ho. "you know it is your father's nose. bring him before me that i may strike it off and be gone. hurry, lest i make bad report of you." "mercy!" cried pak chung chang, falling on his knees. "it is impossible! it is impossible! you cannot strike off my father's nose. he cannot go down without his nose to the grave. he will become a laughter and a byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. o reflect! report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. you, too, have a father." pak chung chang clasped yi chin ho's knees and fell to weeping on his sandals. "my heart softens strangely at your tears," said yi chin ho. "i, too, know filial piety and regard. but--" he hesitated, then added, as though thinking aloud, "it is as much as my head is worth." "how much is your head worth?" asked pak chung chang in a thin, small voice. "a not remarkable head," said yi chin ho. "an absurdly unremarkable head! but, such is my great foolishness, i value it at nothing less than one hundred thousand strings of cash." "so be it," said pak chung chang, rising to his feet. "i shall need horses to carry the treasure," said yi chin ho, "and men to guard it well as i journey through the mountains. there are robbers abroad in the land." "there are robbers abroad in the land," said pak chung chang, sadly. "but it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed place." "say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said yi chin ho, "else will other and more loyal servants than i be sent to strike off your father's nose." and so yi chin ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his treasure-laden ponies. there is little more to tell. yi chin ho prospered through the years. by his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the prisons of cho-sen; the governor ultimately betook himself to the sacred city to be prime minister to the king, while yi chin ho became the king's boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, fat life. but pak chung chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he shook his head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the expensive nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. proofreaders the wolf hunters a tale of adventure in the wilderness by james oliver curwood to my comrades of the great northern wilderness, those faithful companions with whom i have shared the joys and hardships of the "long silent trail," and especially to mukoki, my red guide and beloved friend, does the writer gratefully dedicate this volume contents chapter i the fight in the forest ii how wabigoon became a white man iii roderick sees the footprint iv roderick's first taste of the hunter's life v shots in the wilderness vi mukoki disturbs the ancient skeletons vii roderick discovers the buckskin bag viii how wolf became the companion of men ix wolf takes vengeance upon his people x roderick explores the chasm xi roderick's dream xii the secret of the skeleton's hand xiii snowed in xiv the rescue of wabigoon xv roderick holds the woongas at bay xvi the surprise at the post illustrations: with his rifle ready rob approached the fissure (frontispiece) knife--fight--heem killed! the leader stopped in his snow-shoes the wolf hunters chapter i the fight in the forest cold winter lay deep in the canadian wilderness. over it the moon was rising, like a red pulsating ball, lighting up the vast white silence of the night in a shimmering glow. not a sound broke the stillness of the desolation. it was too late for the life of day, too early for the nocturnal roamings and voices of the creatures of the night. like the basin of a great amphitheater the frozen lake lay revealed in the light of the moon and a billion stars. beyond it rose the spruce forest, black and forbidding. along its nearer edges stood hushed walls of tamarack, bowed in the smothering clutch of snow and ice, shut in by impenetrable gloom. a huge white owl flitted out of this rim of blackness, then back again, and its first quavering hoot came softly, as though the mystic hour of silence had not yet passed for the night-folk. the snow of the day had ceased, hardly a breath of air stirred the ice-coated twigs of the trees. yet it was bitter cold--so cold that a man, remaining motionless, would have frozen to death within an hour. suddenly there was a break in the silence, a weird, thrilling sound, like a great sigh, but not human--a sound to make one's blood run faster and fingers twitch on rifle-stock. it came from the gloom of the tamaracks. after it there fell a deeper silence than before, and the owl, like a noiseless snowflake, drifted out over the frozen lake. after a few moments it came again, more faintly than before. one versed in woodcraft would have slunk deeper into the rim of blackness, and listened, and wondered, and watched; for in the sound he would have recognized the wild, half-conquered note of a wounded beast's suffering and agony. slowly, with all the caution born of that day's experience, a huge bull moose walked out into the glow of the moon. his magnificent head, drooping under the weight of massive antlers, was turned inquisitively across the lake to the north. his nostrils were distended, his eyes glaring, and he left behind a trail of blood. half a mile away he caught the edge of the spruce forest. there something told him he would find safety. a hunter would have known that he was wounded unto death as he dragged himself out into the foot-deep snow of the lake. a dozen rods out from the tamaracks he stopped, head thrown high, long ears pitched forward, and nostrils held half to the sky. it is in this attitude that a moose listens when he hears a trout splash three-quarters of a mile away. now there was only the vast, unending silence, broken only by the mournful hoot of the snow owl on the other side of the lake. still the great beast stood immovable, a little pool of blood growing upon the snow under his forward legs. what was the mystery that lurked in the blackness of yonder forest? was it danger? the keenest of human hearing would have detected nothing. yet to those long slender ears of the bull moose, slanting beyond the heavy plates of his horns, there came a sound. the animal lifted his head still higher to the sky, sniffed to the east, to the west, and back to the shadows of the tamaracks. but it was the north that held him. from beyond that barrier of spruce there soon came a sound that man might have heard--neither the beginning nor the end of a wail, but something like it. minute by minute it came more clearly, now growing in volume, now almost dying away, but every instant approaching--the distant hunting call of the wolf-pack! what the hangman's noose is to the murderer, what the leveled rifles are to the condemned spy, that hunt-cry of the wolves is to the wounded animal of the forests. instinct taught this to the old bull. his head dropped, his huge antlers leveled themselves with his shoulders, and he set off at a slow trot toward the east. he was taking chances in thus crossing the open, but to him the spruce forest was home, and there he might find refuge. in his brute brain he reasoned that he could get there before the wolves broke cover. and then-- again he stopped, so suddenly that his forward legs doubled under him and he pitched into the snow. this time, from the direction of the wolf-pack, there came the ringing report of a rifle! it might have been a mile or two miles away, but distance did not lessen the fear it brought to the dying king of the north. that day he had heard the same sound, and it had brought mysterious and weakening pain in his vitals. with a supreme effort he brought himself to his feet, once more sniffed into the north, the east, and the west, then turned and buried himself in the black and frozen wilderness of tamarack. stillness fell again with the sound of the rifle-shot. it might have lasted five minutes or ten, when a long, solitary howl floated from across the lake. it ended in the sharp, quick yelp of a wolf on the trail, and an instant later was taken up by others, until the pack was once more in full cry. almost simultaneously a figure darted out upon the ice from the edge of the forest. a dozen paces and it paused and turned back toward the black wall of spruce. "are you coming, wabi?" a voice answered from the woods. "yes. hurry up--run!" thus urged, the other turned his face once more across the lake. he was a youth of not more than eighteen. in his right hand he carried a club. his left arm, as if badly injured, was done up in a sling improvised from a lumberman's heavy scarf. his face was scratched and bleeding, and his whole appearance showed that he was nearing complete exhaustion. for a few moments he ran through the snow, then halted to a staggering walk. his breath came in painful gasps. the club slipped from his nerveless fingers, and conscious of the deathly weakness that was overcoming him he did not attempt to regain it. foot by foot he struggled on, until suddenly his knees gave way under him and he sank down into the snow. from the edge of the spruce forest a young indian now ran out upon the surface of the lake. his breath was coming quickly, but with excitement rather than fatigue. behind him, less than half a mile away, he could hear the rapidly approaching cry of the hunt-pack, and for an instant he bent his lithe form close to the snow, measuring with the acuteness of his race the distance of the pursuers. then he looked for his white companion, and failed to see the motionless blot that marked where the other had fallen. a look of alarm shot into his eyes, and resting his rifle between his knees he placed his hands, trumpet fashion, to his mouth and gave a signal call which, on a still night like this, carried for a mile. "wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o! wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o!" at that cry the exhausted boy in the snow staggered to his feet, and with an answering shout which came but faintly to the ears of the indian, resumed his flight across the lake. two or three minutes later wabi came up beside him. "can you make it, rod?" he cried. the other made an effort to answer, but his reply was hardly more than a gasp. before wabi could reach out to support him he had lost his little remaining strength and fallen for a second time into the snow. "i'm afraid--i--can't do it--wabi," he whispered. "i'm--bushed--" the young indian dropped his rifle and knelt beside the wounded boy, supporting his head against his own heaving shoulders. "it's only a little farther, rod," he urged. "we can make it, and take to a tree. we ought to have taken to a tree back there, but i didn't know that you were so far gone; and there was a good chance to make camp, with three cartridges left for the open lake." "only three!" "that's all, but i ought to make two of them count in this light. here, take hold of my shoulders! quick!" he doubled himself like a jack-knife in front of his half-prostrate companion. from behind them there came a sudden chorus of the wolves, louder and clearer than before. "they've hit the open and we'll have them on the lake inside of two minutes," he cried. "give me your arms, rod! there! can you hold the gun?" he straightened himself, staggering under the other's weight, and set off on a half-trot for the distant tamaracks. every muscle in his powerful young body was strained to its utmost tension. even more fully than his helpless burden did he realize the peril at their backs. three minutes, four minutes more, and then-- a terrible picture burned in wabi's brain, a picture he had carried from boyhood of another child, torn and mangled before his very eyes by these outlaws of the north, and he shuddered. unless he sped those three remaining bullets true, unless that rim of tamaracks was reached in time, he knew what their fate would be. there flashed into his mind one last resource. he might drop his wounded companion and find safety for himself. but it was a thought that made wabi smile grimly. this was not the first time that these two had risked their lives together, and that very day roderick had fought valiantly for the other, and had been the one to suffer. if they died, it would be in company. wabi made up his mind to that and clutched the other's arms in a firmer grip. he was pretty certain that death faced them both. they might escape the wolves, but the refuge of a tree, with the voracious pack on guard below, meant only a more painless end by cold. still, while there was life there was hope, and he hurried on through the snow, listening for the wolves behind him and with each moment feeling more keenly that his own powers of endurance were rapidly reaching an end. for some reason that wabi could not explain the hunt-pack had ceased to give tongue. not only the allotted two minutes, but five of them, passed without the appearance of the animals on the lake. was it possible that they! had lost the trail? then it occurred to the indian that perhaps he had wounded one of the pursuers, and that the others, discovering his injury, had set upon him and were now participating in one of the cannibalistic feasts that had saved them thus far. hardly had he thought of this possibility when he was thrilled by a series of long howls, and looking back he discerned a dozen or more dark objects moving swiftly over their trail. not an eighth of a mile ahead was the tamarack forest. surely rod could travel that distance! "run for it, rod!" he cried. "you're rested now. i'll stay here and stop 'em!" he loosened the other's arms, and as he did so his rifle fell from the white boy's nerveless grip and buried itself in the snow. as he relieved himself of his burden he saw for the first time the deathly pallor and partly closed eyes of his companion. with a new terror filling his own faithful heart he knelt beside the form which lay so limp and lifeless, his blazing eyes traveling from the ghastly face to the oncoming wolves, his rifle ready in his hands. he could now discern the wolves trailing out from the spruce forest like ants. a dozen of them were almost within rifle-shot. wabi knew that it was with this vanguard of the pack that he must deal if he succeeded in stopping the scores behind. nearer and nearer he allowed them to come, until the first were scarce two hundred feet away. then, with a sudden shout, the indian leaped to his feet and dashed fearlessly toward them. this unexpected move, as he had intended, stopped the foremost wolves in a huddled group for an instant, and in this opportune moment wabi leveled his gun and fired. a long howl of pain testified to the effect of the shot. hardly had it begun when wabi fired again, this time with such deadly precision that one of the wolves, springing high into the air, tumbled back lifeless among the pack without so much as making a sound. running to the prostrate roderick, wabi drew him quickly upon his back, clutched his rifle in the grip of his arm, and started again for the tamaracks. only once did he look back, and then he saw the wolves gathering in a snarling, fighting crowd about their slaughtered comrades. not until he had reached the shelter of the tamaracks did the indian youth lay down his burden, and then in his own exhaustion he fell prone upon the snow, his black eyes fixed cautiously upon the feasting pack. a few minutes later he discerned dark spots appearing here and there upon the whiteness of the snow, and at these signs of the termination of the feast he climbed up into the low branches of a spruce and drew roderick after him. not until then did the wounded boy show visible signs of life. slowly he recovered from the faintness which had overpowered him, and after a little, with some assistance from wabi, was able to place himself safely on a higher limb. "that's the second time, wabi," he said, reaching a hand down affectionately to the other's shoulder. "once from drowning, once from the wolves. i've got a lot to even up with you!" "not after what happened to-day!" the indian's dusky face was raised until the two were looking into each other's eyes, with a gaze of love, and trust. only a moment thus, and instinctively their glance turned toward the lake. the wolf-pack was in plain view. it was the biggest pack that wabi, in all his life in the wilderness, had ever seen, and he mentally figured that there were at least half a hundred animals in it. like ravenous dogs after having a few scraps of meat flung among them, the wolves were running about, nosing here and there, as if hoping to find a morsel that might have escaped discovery. then one of them stopped on the trail and, throwing himself half on his haunches, with his head turned to the sky like a baying hound, started the hunt-cry. "there's two packs. i thought it was too big for one," exclaimed the indian. "see! part of them are taking up the trail and the others are lagging behind gnawing the bones of the dead wolf. now if we only had our ammunition and the other gun those murderers got away from us, we'd make a fortune. what--" wabi stopped with a suddenness that spoke volumes, and the supporting arm that he had thrown around rod's waist tightened until it caused the wounded youth to flinch. both boys stared in rigid silence. the wolves were crowding around a spot in the snow half-way between the tamarack refuge and the scene of the recent feast. the starved animals betrayed unusual excitement. they had struck the pool of blood and red trail made by the dying moose! "what is it, wabi?" whispered rod. the indian did not answer. his black eyes gleamed with a new fire, his lips were parted in anxious anticipation, and he seemed hardly to breathe in his tense interest. the wounded boy repeated his question, and as if in reply the pack swerved to the west and in a black silent mass swept in a direction that would bring them into the tamaracks a hundred yards from the young hunters. "a new trail!" breathed wabi. "a new trail, and a hot one! listen! they make no sound. it is always that way when they are close to a kill!" as they looked the last of the wolves disappeared in the forest. for a few moments there was silence, then a chorus of howls came from deep in the woods behind them. "now is our chance," cried the indian. "they've broken again, and their game--" he had partly slipped from his limb, withdrawing his supporting arm from rod's waist, and was about to descend to the ground when the pack again turned in their direction. a heavy crashing in the underbrush not a dozen rods away sent wabi in a hurried scramble for his perch. "quick--higher up!" he warned excitedly. "they're coming out here--right under us! if we can get up so that they can't see us, or smell us--" the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a huge shadowy bulk rushed past them not more than fifty feet from the spruce in which they had sought refuge. both of the boys recognized it as a bull moose, though it did not occur to either of them that it was the same animal at which wabi had taken a long shot that same day a couple of miles back. in close pursuit came the ravenous pack. their heads hung close to the bloody trail, hungry, snarling cries coming from between their gaping jaws, they swept across the little opening almost at the young hunters' feet. it was a sight which rod had never expected to see, and one which held even the more experienced wabi fascinated. not a sound fell from either of the youths' lips as they stared down upon the fierce, hungry outlaws of the wilderness. to wabi this near view of the pack told a fateful story; to rod it meant nothing more than the tragedy about to be enacted before his eyes. the indian's keen vision saw in the white moonlight long, thin bodies, starved almost to skin and bone; to his companion the onrushing pack seemed filled only with agile, powerful beasts, maddened to almost fiendish exertions by the nearness of their prey. in a flash they were gone, but in that moment of their passing there was painted a picture to endure a lifetime in the memory of roderick drew. and it was to be followed by one even more tragic, even more thrilling. to the dazed, half-fainting young hunter it seemed but another instant before the pack overhauled the old bull. he saw the doomed monster turn, in the stillness heard the snapping of jaws, the snarling of hunger-crazed animals, and a sound that might have been a great, heaving moan or a dying bellow. in wabi's veins the blood danced with the excitement that stirred his forefathers to battle. not a line of the tragedy that was being enacted before his eyes escaped this native son of the wilderness. it was a magnificent fight! he knew that the old bull would die by inches in the one-sided duel, and that when it was over there would be more than one carcass for the survivors to gorge themselves upon. quietly he reached up and touched his companion. "now is our time," he said. "come on--still--and on this side of the tree!" he slipped down, foot by foot, assisting rod as he did so, and when both had reached the ground he bent over as before, that the other might get upon his back. "i can make it alone, wabi," whispered the wounded boy. "give me a lift on the arm, will you?" with the indian's arm about his waist, the two set off into the tamaracks. fifteen minutes later they came to the bank of a small frozen river. on the opposite side of this, a hundred yards down, was a sight which both, as if by a common impulse, welcomed with a glad cry. close to the shore, sheltered by a dense growth of spruce, was a bright camp-fire. in response to wabi's far-reaching whoop a shadowy figure appeared in the glow and returned the shout. "mukoki!" cried the indian. "mukoki!" laughed rod, happy that the end was near. even as he spoke he swayed dizzily, and wabi dropped his gun that he might keep his companion from falling into the snow. chapter ii how wabigoon became a white man had the young hunters the power of looking into the future, their camp-fire that night on the frozen ombabika might have been one of their last, and a few days later would have seen them back on the edges of civilization. possibly, could they have foreseen the happy culmination of the adventures that lay before them, they would still have gone on, for the love of excitement is strong in the heart of robust youth. but this power of discernment was denied them, and only in after years, with the loved ones of their own firesides close about them, was the whole picture revealed. and in those days, when they would gather with their families about the roaring logs of winter and live over again their early youth, they knew that all the gold in the world would not induce them to part with their memories of the life that had gone before. a little less than thirty years previous to the time of which we write, a young man named john newsome left the great city of london for the new world. fate had played a hard game with young newsome--had first robbed him of both parents, and then in a single fitful turn of her wheel deprived him of what little property he had inherited. a little later he came to montreal, and being a youth of good education and considerable ambition, he easily secured a position and worked himself into the confidence of his employers, obtaining an appointment as factor at wabinosh house, a post deep in the wilderness of lake nipigon. in the second year of his reign at wabinosh--a factor is virtually king in his domain--there came to the post an indian chief named wabigoon, and with him his daughter, minnetaki, in honor of whose beauty and virtue a town was named in after years. minnetaki was just budding into the early womanhood of her race, and possessed a beauty seldom seen among indian maidens. if there is such a thing as love at first sight, it sprang into existence the moment john newsome's eyes fell upon this lovely princess. thereafter his visits to wabigoon's village, thirty miles deeper in the wilderness, were of frequent occurrence. from the beginning minnetaki returned the young factor's affections, but a most potent reason prevented their marriage. for a long time minnetaki had been ardently wooed by a powerful young chief named woonga, whom she cordially detested, but upon whose favor and friendship depended the existence of her father's sway over his hunting-grounds. with the advent of the young factor the bitterest rivalry sprang up between the two suitors, which resulted in two attempts upon newsome's life, and an ultimatum sent by woonga to minnetaki's father. minnetaki herself replied to this ultimatum. it was a reply that stirred the fires of hatred and revenge to fever heat in woonga's breast. one dark night, at the head of a score of his tribe, he fell upon wabigoon's camp, his object being the abduction of the princess. while the attack was successful in a way, its main purpose failed. wabigoon and a dozen of his tribesmen were slain, but in the end woonga was driven off. a swift messenger brought news of the attack and of the old chief's death to wabinosh house, and with a dozen men newsome hastened to the assistance of his betrothed and her people. a counter attack was made upon woonga and he was driven deep into the wilderness with great loss. three days later minnetaki became newsome's wife at the hudson bay post. from that hour dated one of the most sanguinary feuds in the history of the great trading company; a feud which, as we shall see, was destined to live even unto the second generation. woonga and his tribe now became no better than outlaws, and preyed so effectively upon the remnants of the dead wabigoon's people that the latter were almost exterminated. those who were left moved to the vicinity of the post. hunters from wabinosh house were ambushed and slain. indians who came to the post to trade were regarded as enemies, and the passing of years seemed to make but little difference. the feud still existed. the outlaws came to be spoken of as "woongas," and a woonga was regarded as a fair target for any man's rifle. meanwhile two children came to bless the happy union of newsome and his lovely indian wife. one of these, the eldest, was a boy, and in honor of the old chief he was named wabigoon, and called wabi for short. the other was a girl, three years younger, and newsome insisted that she be called minnetaki. curiously enough, the blood of wabi ran almost pure to his indian forefathers, while minnetaki, as she became older, developed less of the wild beauty of her mother and more of the softer loveliness of the white race, her wealth of soft, jet black hair and her great dark eyes contrasting with the lighter skin of her father's blood. wabi, on the other hand, was an indian in appearance from his moccasins to the crown of his head, swarthy, sinewy, as agile as a lynx, and with every instinct in him crying for the life of the wild. yet born in him was a caucasian shrewdness and intelligence that reached beyond the factor himself. one of newsome's chief pleasures in life had been the educating of his woodland bride, and it was the ambition of both that the little minnetaki and her brother be reared in the ways of white children. consequently both mother and father began their education at the post; they were sent to the factor's school and two winters were passed in port arthur that they might have the advantage of thoroughly equipped schools. the children proved themselves unusually bright pupils, and by the time wabi was sixteen and minnetaki twelve one would not have known from their manner of speech that indian blood ran in their veins. yet both, by the common desire of their parents, were familiar with the life of the indian and could talk fluently the tongue of their mother's people. it was at about this time in their lives that the woongas became especially daring in their depredations. these outlaws no longer pretended to earn their livelihood by honest means, but preyed upon trappers and other indians without discrimination, robbing and killing whenever safe opportunities offered themselves. the hatred for the people of wabinosh house became hereditary, and the woonga children grew up with it in their hearts. the real cause of the feud had been forgotten by many, though not by woonga himself. at last so daring did he become that the provincial government placed a price upon his head and upon those of a number of his most notorious followers. for a time the outlaws were driven from the country, but the bloodthirsty chief himself could not be captured. when wabi was seventeen years of age it was decided that he should be sent to some big school in the states for a year. against this plan the young indian--nearly all people regarded him as an indian, and wabi was proud of the fact--fought with all of the arguments at his command. he loved the wilds with the passion of his mother's race. his nature revolted at the thoughts of a great city with its crowded streets, its noise, and bustle, and dirt. it was then that minnetaki pleaded with him, begged him to go for just one year, and to come back and tell her of all he had seen and teach her what he had learned. wabi loved his beautiful little sister beyond anything else on earth, and it was she more than his parents who finally induced him to go. for three months wabi devoted himself faithfully to his studies in detroit. but each week added to his loneliness and his longings for minnetaki and his forests. the passing of each day became a painful task to him. to minnetaki he wrote three times each week, and three times each week the little maiden at wabinosh house wrote long, cheering letters to her brother--though they came to wabi only about twice a month, because only so often did the mail-carrier go out from the post. it was at this time in his lonely school life that wabigoon became acquainted with roderick drew. roderick, even as wabi fancied himself to be just at this time, was a child of misfortune. his father had died before he could remember, and the property he had left had dwindled slowly away during the passing of years. rod was spending his last week in school when he met wabigoon. necessity had become his grim master, and the following week he was going to work. as the boy described the situation to his indian friend, his mother "had fought to the last ditch to keep him in school, but now his time was up." wabi seized upon the white youth as an oasis in a vast desert. after a little the two became almost inseparable, and their friendship culminated in wabi's going to live in the drew home. mrs. drew was a woman of education and refinement, and her interest in wabigoon was almost that of a mother. in this environment the ragged edges were smoothed away from the indian boy's deportment, and his letters to minnetaki were more and more filled with enthusiastic descriptions of his new friends. after a little mrs. drew received a grateful letter of thanks from the princess mother at wabinosh house, and thus a pleasant correspondence sprang up between the two. there were now few lonely hours for the two boys. during the long winter evenings, when roderick was through with his day's work and wabi had completed his studies, they would sit before the fire and the indian youth would describe the glorious life of the vast northern wilderness; and day by day, and week by week, there steadily developed within rod's breast a desire to see and live that life. a thousand plans were made, a thousand adventures pictured, and the mother would smile and laugh and plan with them. but in time the end of it all came, and wabi went back to the princess mother, to minnetaki, and to his forests. there were tears in the boys' eyes when they parted, and the mother cried for the indian boy who was returning to his people. many of the days that followed were painful to roderick drew. eight months had bred a new nature in him, and when wabi left it was as if a part of his own life had gone with him. spring came and passed, and then summer. every mail from wabinosh house brought letters for the drews, and never did an indian courier drop a pack at the post that did not carry a bundle of letters for wabigoon. then in the early autumn, when september frosts were turning the leaves of the north to red and gold, there came the long letter from wabi which brought joy, excitement and misgiving into the little home of the mother and her son. it was accompanied by one from the factor himself, another from the princess mother, and by a tiny note from minnetaki, who pleaded with the others that roderick and mrs. drew might spend the winter with them at wabinosh house. "you need not fear about losing your position." wrote wabigoon. "we shall make more money up here this winter than you could earn in detroit in three years. we will hunt wolves. the country is alive with them, and the government gives a bounty of fifteen dollars for every scalp taken. two winters ago i killed forty and i did not make a business of it at that. i have a tame wolf which we use as a decoy. don't bother about a gun or anything like that. we have everything here." for several days mrs. drew and her son deliberated upon the situation before a reply was sent to the newsomes. roderick pleaded, pictured the glorious times they would have, the health that it would give them, and marshaled in a dozen different ways his arguments in favor of accepting the invitation. on the other hand, his mother was filled with doubt. their finances were alarmingly low, and rod would be giving up a sure though small income, which was now supporting them comfortably. his future was bright, and that winter would see him promoted to ten dollars a week in the mercantile house where he was employed. in the end they came to an understanding. mrs. drew would not go to wabinosh house, but she would allow roderick to spend the winter there--and word to this effect was sent off into the wilderness. three weeks later came wabigoon's reply. on the tenth of october he would meet rod at sprucewood, on the black sturgeon river. thence they would travel by canoe up the sturgeon river to sturgeon lake, take portage to lake nipigon, and arrive at wabinosh house before the ice of early winter shut them in. there was little time to lose in making preparations, and the fourth day following the receipt of wabi's letter found rod and his mother waiting for the train which was to whirl the boy into his new life. not until the eleventh did he arrive at sprucewood. wabi was there to meet him, accompanied by an indian from the post; and that same afternoon the journey up black sturgeon river was begun. chapter iii roderick sees the footprint rod was now plunged for the first time in his life into the heart of the wilderness. seated in the bow of the birch-bark canoe which was carrying them up the sturgeon, with wabi close behind him, he drank in the wild beauties of the forests and swamps through which they slipped almost as noiselessly as shadows, his heart thumping in joyous excitement, his eyes constantly on the alert for signs of the big game which wabi told him was on all sides of them. across his knees, ready for instant use, was wabi's repeating rifle. the air was keen with the freshness left by night frosts. at times deep masses of gold and crimson forests shut them in, at others, black forests of spruce came down to the river's edge; again they would pass silently through great swamps of tamaracks. in this vast desolation there was a mysterious quiet, except for the occasional sounds of wild life. partridges drummed back in the woods, flocks of ducks got up with a great rush of wings at almost every turn, and once, late in the morning of the first day out, rod was thrilled by a crashing in the undergrowth scarcely a stone's throw from the canoe. he could see saplings twisting and bending, and heard wabi whisper behind him: "a moose!" they were words to set his hands trembling and his whole body quivering with anticipation. there was in him now none of the old hunter's coolness, none of the almost stoical indifference with which the men of the big north hear these sounds of the wild things about them. rod had yet to see his first big game. that moment came in the afternoon. the canoe had skimmed lightly around a bend in the river. beyond this bend a mass of dead driftwood had wedged against the shore, and this driftwood, as the late sun sank behind the forests, was bathed in a warm yellow glow. and basking in this glow, as he loves to do at the approach of winter nights, was an animal, the sight of which drew a sharp, excited cry from between rod's lips. in an instant he had recognized it as a bear. the animal was taken completely by surprise and was less than half a dozen rods away. quick as a flash, and hardly realizing what he was doing, the boy drew his rifle to his shoulder, took quick aim and fired. the bear was already clambering up the driftwood, but stopped suddenly at the report, slipped as if about to fall back--then continued his retreat. "you hit 'im!" shouted wabi. "quick-try 'im again!" rod's second shot seemed to have no effect in his excitement he jumped to his feet, forgetting that he was in a frail canoe, and took a last shot at the big black beast that was just about to disappear over the edge of the driftwood. both wabi and his indian companion flung themselves on the shore side of their birch and dug their paddles deep into the water, but their efforts were unavailing to save their reckless comrade. unbalanced by the concussion of his gun, rod plunged backward into the river, but before he had time to sink, wabi reached over and grabbed him by the arm. "don't make a move--and hang on to the gun!" he warned. "if we try to get you in here we'll all go over!" he made a sign to the indian, who swung the canoe slowly inshore. then he grinned down into rod's dripping, unhappy face. "by george, that last shot was a dandy for a tenderfoot! you got your bear!" despite his uncomfortable position, rod gave a whoop of joy, and no sooner did his feet touch solid bottom than he loosened himself from wabi's grip and plunged toward the driftwood. on its very top he found the bear, as dead as a bullet through its side and another through its head could make it. standing there beside his first big game, dripping and shivering, he looked down upon the two who were pulling their canoe ashore and gave, a series of triumphant whoops that could have been heard half a mile away. "it's camp and a fire for you," laughed wabi, hurrying up to him. "this is better luck than i thought you'd have, rod. we'll have a glorious feast to-night, and a fire of this driftwood that will show you what makes life worth the living up here in the north. ho, muky," he called to the old indian, "cut this fellow up, will you? i'll make camp." "can we keep the skin?" asked rod. "it's my first, you know, and--" "of course we can. give us a hand with the fire, rod; it will keep you from catching cold." in the excitement of making their first camp, rod almost forgot that he was soaked to the skin, and that night was falling about them. the first step was the building of a fire, and soon a great, crackling, almost smokeless blaze was throwing its light and heat for thirty feet around. wabi now brought blankets from the canoe, stripped off a part of his own clothes, made rod undress, and soon had that youth swathed in dry togs, while his wet ones were hung close up to the fire. for the first time rod saw the making of a wilderness shelter. whistling cheerily, wabi got an ax from the canoe, went into the edge of the cedars and cut armful after armful of saplings and boughs. tying his blankets about himself, rod helped to carry these, a laughable and grotesque figure as he stumbled about clumsily in his efforts. within half an hour the cedar shelter was taking form. two crotched saplings were driven into the ground eight feet apart, and from one to the other, resting in the crotches, was placed another sapling, which formed the ridge-pole; and from this pole there ran slantwise to the earth half a dozen others, making a framework upon which the cedar boughs were piled. by the time the old indian had finished his bear the home was completed, and with its beds of sweet-smelling boughs, the great camp-fire in front and the dense wilderness about them growing black with the approach of night, rod thought that nothing in picture-book or story could quite equal the reality of that moment. and when, a few moments later, great bear-steaks were broiling over a mass of coals, and the odor of coffee mingled with that of meal-cakes sizzling on a heated stone, he knew that his dearest dreams had come true. that night in the glow of the camp-fire rod listened to the thrilling stories of wabi and the old indian, and lay awake until nearly dawn, listening to the occasional howl of a wolf, mysterious splashings in the river and the shrill notes of the night birds. there were varied experiences in the following three days: one frosty morning before the others were awake he stole out from the camp with wabi's rifle and shot twice at a red deer--which he missed both times; there was an exciting but fruitless race with a swimming caribou in sturgeon lake, at which wabi himself took three long-range shots without effect. it was on a glorious autumn afternoon that wabi's keen eyes first descried the log buildings of the post snuggled in the edge of the seemingly unending forest. as they approached he joyfully pointed out the different buildings to rod--the company store, the little cluster of employees' homes and the factor's house, where rod was to meet his welcome. at least roderick himself had thought it would be there. but as they came nearer a single canoe shot out suddenly from the shore and the young hunters could see a white handkerchief waving them greeting. wabi replied with a whoop of pleasure and fired his gun into the air. "it's minnetaki!" he cried. "she said she would watch for us and come out to meet us!" minnetaki! a little nervous thrill shot through rod. wabi had described her to him a thousand times in those winter evenings at home; with a brother's love and pride he had always brought her into their talks and plans, and somehow, little by little, rod had grown to like her very much without ever having seen her. the two canoes swiftly approached each other, and in a few minutes more were alongside. with a glad laughing cry minnetaki leaned over and kissed her brother, while at the same time her dark eyes shot a curious glance at the youth of whom she had read and heard so much. at this time minnetaki was fifteen. like her mother's race she was slender, of almost woman's height, and unconsciously as graceful as a fawn in her movements. a slightly waving wealth of raven hair framed what rod thought to be one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen, and entwined in the heavy silken braid that fell over her shoulder were a number of red autumn leaves. as she straightened herself in her canoe she looked at rod and smiled, and he in making a polite effort to lift his cap in civilized style, lost that article of apparel in a sudden gust of wind. in an instant there was a general laugh of merriment in which even the old indian joined. the little incident did more toward making comradeship than anything else that might have happened, and laughing again into rod's face minnetaki urged her canoe toward the floating cap. "you shouldn't wear such things until it gets cold," she said, after retrieving the cap and handing it to him. "wabi does--but i don't!" "then i won't," replied rod gallantly, and at wabi's burst of laughter both blushed. that first night at the post rod found that wabi had already made all plans for the winter's hunting, and the white youth's complete equipment was awaiting him in the room assigned to him in the factor's house--a deadly looking five-shot remington, similar to wabi's, a long-barreled, heavy-caliber revolver, snow-shoes, and a dozen other articles necessary to one about to set out upon a long expedition in the wilderness. wabi had also mapped out their hunting-grounds. wolves in the immediate neighborhood of the post, where they were being constantly sought by the indians and the factor's men, had become exceedingly cautious and were not numerous, but in the almost untraveled wilderness a hundred miles to the north and east they were literally overrunning the country, killing moose, caribou and deer in great numbers. in this region wabi planned to make their winter quarters. and no time was to be lost in taking up the trail, for the log house in which they would pass the bitterly cold months should be built before the heavy snows set in. it was therefore decided that the young hunters should start within a week, accompanied by mukoki, the old indian, a cousin of the slain wabigoon, whom wabi had given the nickname of muky and who had been a faithful comrade to him from his earliest childhood. rod made the most of the six days which were allotted to him at the post, and while wabi helped to handle the affairs of the company's store during a short absence of his father at port arthur, the lovely little minnetaki gave our hero his first lessons in woodcraft. in canoe, with the rifle, and in reading the signs of forest life wabi's sister awakened constantly increasing admiration in rod. to see her bending over some freshly made trail, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her rich hair filled with the warmth of the sun, was a picture to arouse enthusiasm even in the heart of a youngster of eighteen, and a hundred times the boy mentally vowed that "she was a brick" from the tips of her pretty moccasined feet to the top of her prettier head. half a dozen times at least he voiced this sentiment to wabi, and wabi agreed with great enthusiasm. in fact, by the time the week was almost gone minnetaki and rod had become great chums, and it was not without some feeling of regret that the young wolf hunter greeted the dawn of the day that was to see them begin their journey deeper into the wilds. minnetaki was one of the earliest risers at the post. rod was seldom behind her. but on this particular morning he was late and heard the girl whistling outside half an hour before he was dressed--for minnetaki could whistle in a manner that often filled him with envy. by the time he came down she had disappeared in the edge of the forest, and wabi, who was also ahead of him, was busy with mukoki tying up their equipment in packs. it was a glorious morning, clear and frosty, and rod noticed that a thin shell of ice had formed on the lake during the night. once or twice wabi turned toward the forest and gave his signal whoop, but received no reply. "i don't see why minnetaki doesn't come back," he remarked carelessly, as he fastened a shoulder-strap about a bundle. "breakfast will be ready in a jiffy. hunt her up, will you, rod?" nothing loath, rod started out on a brisk run along the path which he knew to be a favorite with minnetaki and shortly it brought him down to a pebbly stretch of the beach where she frequently left her canoe. that she had been here a few minutes before he could tell by the fact that the ice about the birch-bark was broken, as though the girl had tested its thickness by shoving the light craft out into it for a few feet. her footsteps led plainly up the shelving shore and into the forest. "o minnetaki--minnetaki!" rod called loudly and listened. there was no response. as if impelled by some presentiment which he himself could not explain, the boy hurried deeper into the forest along the narrow path which minnetaki must have taken. five minutes--ten minutes--and he called again. still there was no answer. possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have left the path for the thick woods. a little farther on there was a soft spot in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before, leaving a rich black soil. clearly traced in this were the imprints of minnetaki's moccasins. for a full minute rod stopped and listened, making not a sound. why he maintained silence he could not have explained. but he knew that he was half a mile from the post, and that wabi's sister should not be here at breakfast time. in this minute's quiet he unconsciously studied the tracks in the ground. how small the pretty indian maiden's feet were! and he noticed, too, that her moccasins, unlike most moccasins, had a slight heel. but in a moment more his inspection was cut short. was that a cry he heard far ahead? his heart seemed to stop beating, his blood thrilled--and in another instant he was running down the path like a deer. twenty rods beyond this point the path entered an opening in the forest made by a great fire, and half-way across this opening the youth saw a sight which chilled him to the marrow. there was minnetaki, her long hair tumbling loosely down her back, a cloth tied around her head--and on either side an indian dragging her swiftly toward the opposite forest! for as long as he might have drawn three breaths rod stood transfixed with horror. then his senses returned to him, and every muscle in his body seemed to bound with action. for days he had been practising with his revolver and it was now in the holster at his side. should he use it? or might he hit minnetaki? at his feet he saw a club and snatching this up he sped across the opening, the soft earth holding the sound of his steps. when he was a dozen feet behind the indians minnetaki stumbled in a sudden effort to free herself, and as one of her captors half turned to drag her to her feet he saw the enraged youth, club uplifted, bearing down upon them like a demon. a terrific yell from rod, a warning cry from the indian, and the fray began. with crushing force, the boy's club fell upon the shoulder of the second indian, and before he could recover from the delivery of this blow the youth was caught in a choking, deadly grip by the other from behind. freed by the sudden attack, minnetaki tore away the cloth that bound her eyes and mouth. as quick as a flash she took in the situation. at her feet the wounded indian was half rising, and upon the ground near him, struggling in close embrace, were rod and the other. she saw the indian's fatal grip upon her preserver's throat, the whitening face and wide-open eyes, and with a great, sobbing cry she caught up the fallen club and brought it down with all her strength upon the redskin's head. twice, three times the club rose and fell, and the grip on rod's throat relaxed. a fourth time it rose, but this time was caught from behind, and a huge hand clutched the brave girl's throat so that the cry on her lips died in a gasp. but the relief gave rod his opportunity. with a tremendous effort he reached his pistol holster, drew out the gun, and pressed it close up against his assailant's body. there was a muffled report and with a shriek of agony the indian pitched backward. hearing the shot and seeing the effect upon his comrade, the second indian released his hold on minnetaki and ran for the forest. rod, seeing minnetaki fall in a sobbing, frightened heap, forgot all else but to run to her, smooth back her hair and comfort her with all of the assurances at his boyish command. it was here that wabi and the old indian guide found them five minutes later. hearing rod's first piercing yell of attack, they had raced into the forest, afterward guided by the two or three shrill screams which minnetaki had unconsciously emitted during the struggle. close behind them, smelling trouble, followed two of the post employees. the attempted abduction of wabi's sister, rod's heroic rescue and the death of one of the captors, who was recognized as one of woonga's men, caused a seven-day sensation at the post. there was now no thought of leaving on the part of the young wolf hunters. it was evident that woonga was again in the neighborhood, and wabi and rod, together with a score of indians and hunters, spent days in scouring the forests and swamps. but the woongas disappeared as suddenly as they came. not until wabi had secured a promise from minnetaki that she would no longer go into the forests unaccompanied did the indian youth again allow himself to take up their interrupted plans. minnetaki had been within easy calling distance of help when the woongas, without warning, sprang upon her, smothered her attempted cries and dragged her away, compelling her to walk alone over the soft earth where rod had seen her footsteps, so that any person who followed might suppose she was alone and safe. this fact stirred the dozen white families at the post into aggressive action, and four of the most skillful indian track-hunters in the service were detailed to devote themselves exclusively to hunting down the outlaws, their operations not to include a territory extending more than twenty miles from wabinosh house in any direction. with these precautions it was believed that no harm could come to minnetaki or other young girls of the post. it was, therefore, on a monday, the fourth day of november, that rod, wabi and mukoki turned their faces at last to the adventures that awaited them in the great north. chapter iv roderick's first taste of the hunter's life by this time it was bitter cold. the lakes and rivers were frozen deep and a light snow covered the ground. already two weeks behind their plans, the young wolf hunters and the old indian made forced marches around the northern extremity of lake nipigon and on the sixth day found themselves on the ombabika river, where they were compelled to stop on account of a dense snow-storm. a temporary camp was made, and it was while constructing this camp that mukoki discovered signs of wolves. it was therefore decided to remain for a day or two and investigate the hunting-grounds. on the morning of the second day wabi shot at and wounded the old bull moose which met such a tragic end a few hours later, and that same morning the two boys made a long tour to the north in the hope of finding that they were in a good game country, which would mean also that there were plenty of wolves. this left mukoki alone in camp. thus far, in their desire to cover as much ground as possible before the heavy snows came, wabi and his companions had not stopped to hunt for game and for six days their only meat had been bacon and jerked venison. mukoki, whose prodigious appetite was second only to the shrewdness with which he stalked game to satisfy it, determined to add to their larder if possible during the others' absence, and with this object in view he left camp late in the afternoon to be gone, as he anticipated, not longer than an hour or so. with him he carried two powerful wolf-traps slung over his shoulders. stealing cautiously along the edge of the river, his eyes and ears alert for game, mukoki suddenly came upon the frozen and half-eaten carcass of a red deer. it was evident that the animal had been killed by wolves either the day or night before, and from the tracks in the snow the indian concluded that not more than four wolves had participated in the slaughter and feast. that these wolves would return to continue their banquet, probably that night, mukoki's many experiences as a wolf hunter assured him; and he paused long enough to set his traps, afterward covering them over with three or four inches of snow. continuing his hunt, the old indian soon struck the fresh spoor of a deer. believing that the animal would not travel for any great distance in the deep snow, he swiftly took up the trail. half a mile farther on he stopped abruptly with a grunt of unbounded surprise. another hunter had taken up the trail! with increased caution mukoki now advanced. two hundred feet more and a second pair of moccasined feet joined in the pursuit, and a little later still a third! led on by curiosity more than by the hope of securing a partnership share in the quarry, the indian slipped silently and swiftly through the forest. as he emerged from a dense growth of spruce through which the tracks led him mukoki was treated to another surprise by almost stumbling over the carcass of the deer he had been following. a brief examination satisfied him that the doe had been shot at least two hours before. the three hunters had cut out her heart, liver and tongue and had also taken the hind quarters, leaving the remainder of the carcass and the skin! why had they neglected this most valuable part of their spoils? with a new gleam of interest in his eyes mukoki carefully scrutinized the moccasin trails. he soon discovered that the indians ahead of him were in great haste, and that after cutting the choicest meat from the doe they had started off to make up for lost time by running! with another grunt of astonishment the old indian returned to the carcass, quickly stripped off the skin, wrapped in it the fore quarters and ribs of the doe, and thus loaded, took up the home trail. it was dark when he reached camp. wabi and rod had not yet returned. building a huge fire and hanging the ribs of the doe on a spit before it, he anxiously awaited their appearance. half an hour later he heard the shout which brought him quickly to where wabi was holding the partly unconscious form of rod in his arms. it took but a few moments to carry the injured youth to camp, and not until rod was resting upon a pile of blankets in their shack, with the warmth of the fire reviving him, did wabi vouchsafe an explanation to the old indian. "i guess he's got a broken arm, muky," he said. "have you any hot water?" "shot?" asked the old hunter, paying no attention to the question. he dropped upon his knees beside rod, his long brown fingers reaching out anxiously. "shot?" "no--hit with a club. we met three indian hunters who were in camp and who invited us to eat with them. while we were eating they jumped upon our backs. rod got that--and lost his rifle!" mukoki quickly stripped the wounded boy of his garments, baring his left arm and side. the arm was swollen and almost black and there was a great bruise on rod's body a little above the waist. mukoki was a surgeon by necessity, a physician such as one finds only in the vast unblazed wildernesses, where nature is the teacher. crudely he made his examination, pinching and twisting the flesh and bones until rod cried out in pain, but in the end there was a glad triumph in his voice as he said: "no bone broke--hurt most here!" and he touched the bruise. "near broke rib--not quite. took wind out and made great deal sick. want good supper, hot coffee--rub in bear's grease, then be better!" rod, who had opened his eyes, smiled faintly and wabi gave a half-shout of delight. "not so bad as we thought, eh, rod?" he cried. "you can't fool muky! if he says your arm isn't broken--why, it _isn't_, and that's all there is to it. let me bolster you up in these blankets and we'll soon have a supper that will sizzle the aches out of you. i smell meat--fresh meat!" with a chuckle of pleasure mukoki jumped to his feet and ran out to where the ribs of the doe were slowly broiling over the fire. they were already done to a rich brown and their dripping juice filled the nostrils with an appetizing odor. by the time wabi had applied mukoki's prescription to his comrade's wounds, and had done them up in bandages, the tempting feast was spread before them. as a liberal section of the ribs was placed before him, together with corn-meal cakes and a cup of steaming coffee, rod could not suppress a happy though somewhat embarrassed laugh. "i'm ashamed of myself, wabi," he said. "here i've been causing so much bother, like some helpless kid; and now i find i haven't even the excuse of a broken arm, and that i'm as hungry as a bear! looks pretty yellow, doesn't it? just as though i was scared to death! so help me, i almost wish my arm _was_ broken!" mukoki had buried his teeth in a huge chunk of fat rib, but he lowered it with a great chuckling grunt, half of his face smeared with the first results of his feast. "whole lot sick," he explained. "be sick some more--mighty sick! maybe vomit lots!" "waugh!" shrieked wabi. "how is that for cheerful news, rod?" his merriment echoed far out into the night. suddenly he caught himself and peered suspiciously into the gloom beyond the circle of firelight. "do you suppose they would follow?" he asked. a more cautious silence followed, and the indian youth quickly related the adventures of the day to mukoki--how, in the heart of the forest several miles beyond the lake, they had come upon the indian hunters, had accepted of their seemingly honest hospitality, and in the midst of their meal had suffered an attack from them. so sudden and unexpected had been the assault that one of the indians got away with rod's rifle, ammunition belt and revolver before any effort could be made to stop him. wabi was under the other two indians when rod came to his assistance, with the result that the latter was struck two heavy blows, either with a club or a gun-stock. so tenaciously had the indian boy clung to his own weapon that his assailants, after a brief struggle, darted into the dense underbrush, evidently satisfied with the white boy's equipment. "they were of woonga's people, without a doubt," finished wabi. "it puzzles me why they didn't kill us. they had half a dozen chances to shoot us, but didn't seem to want to do us any great injury. either the measures taken at the post are making them reform, or--" he paused, a troubled look in his eyes. immediately mukoki told of his own experience and of the mysterious haste of the three indians who had slain the doe. "it is certainly curious," rejoined the young indian. "they couldn't have been the ones we met, but i'll wager they belong to the same gang. i wouldn't be surprised if we had hit upon one of woonga's retreats. we've always thought he was in the thunder bay regions to the west, and that is where father is watching for him now. we've hit the hornets' nest, muky, and the only thing for us to do is to get out of this country as fast as we can!" "we'd make a nice pot-shot just at this moment," volunteered rod, looking across to the dense blackness on the opposite side of the river, where the moonlight seemed to make even more impenetrable the wall of gloom. as he spoke there came a slight sound from behind him, the commotion of a body moving softly beyond the wall of spruce boughs, then a curious, suspicious sniffing, and after that a low whine. "listen!" wabi's command came in a tense whisper. he leaned close against the boughs, stealthily parted them, and slowly thrust his head through the aperture. "hello, wolf!" he whispered. "what's up?" an arm's length away, tied before a smaller shelter of spruce, a gaunt, dog-like animal stood in a rigid listening attitude. an instant's glance, however, would have assured one that it was not a dog, but a full-grown wolf. from the days of its puppyhood wabi had taught it in the ways of dogdom, yet had the animal perversely clung to its wild instincts. a weakness in that thong, a slip of the collar, and wolf would have bounded joyously into the forests to seek for ever the packs of his fathers. now the babeesh rope was taut, wolf's muzzle was turned half to the sky, his ears were alert, half-sounding notes rattled in his throat. "there is something near our camp!" announced the indian boy, drawing himself back quickly. "muky--" he was interrupted by a long mournful howl from the captive wolf. mukoki had jumped to his feet with the alertness of a cat, and now with his gun in his hand slunk around the edge of the shelter and buried himself in the gloom. roderick lay quiet while wabi, seizing the remaining rifle, followed him. "lie over there in the dark, rod, where the firelight doesn't show you up," he cautioned in a low voice. "probably it is only some animal that has stumbled on to our camp, but we want to make sure." ten minutes later the young hunter returned alone. "false alarm!" he laughed cheerfully. "there's a part of a carcass of a red deer up the creek a bit. it has been killed by wolves, and wolf smells some of his own blood coming in to the feast. muky has set traps there and we may have our first scalp in the morning." "where is mukoki?" "on watch. he is going to keep guard until a little after midnight, and then i'll turn out. we can't be too careful, with the woongas in the neighborhood." rod shifted himself uneasily. "what shall we do--to-morrow?" he asked. "get out!" replied wabi with emphasis. "that is, if you are able to travel. from what mukoki tells me, and from what you and i already know, woonga's people must be in the forests beyond the lake. we'll cut a trail up the ombabika for two or three days before we strike camp. you and muky can start out as soon as it is light enough." "and you--" began rod. "oh, i'm going to take a run back over our old wolf-trail and collect the scalps we shot to-day. there's a month's salary back there for you, rod! now, let's turn in. good night--sleep tight--and be sure to wake up early in the morning." the boys, exhausted by the adventures of the day, were soon in profound slumber. and though midnight came, and hour after hour passed between then and dawn, the faithful mukoki did not awaken them. never for a moment neglecting his caution the old indian watched tirelessly over the camp. with the first appearance of day he urged the fire into a roaring blaze, raked out a great mass of glowing coals, and proceeded to get breakfast. wabi discovered him at this task when he awoke from his slumber. "i didn't think you would play this trick on me, muky," he said, a flush of embarrassment gathering in his brown face. "it's awfully good of you, and all that, but i wish you wouldn't treat me as if i were a child any longer, old friend!" he placed his hand affectionately upon the kneeling mukoki's shoulder, and the old hunter looked up at him with a happy, satisfied grin on his weather-beaten visage, wrinkled and of the texture of leather by nearly fifty years of life in the wilderness. it was mukoki who had first carried the baby wabi about the woods upon his shoulders; it was he who had played with him, cared for him, and taught him in the ways of the wild in early childhood, and it was he who had missed him most, with little minnetaki, when he went away to school. all the love in the grim old redskin's heart was for the indian youth and his sister, and to them mukoki was a second father, a silent, watchful guardian and comrade. this one loving touch of wabi's hand was ample reward for the long night's duty, and his pleasure expressed itself in two or three low chuckling grunts. "had heap bad day," he replied. "very much tired. me feel good--better than sleep!" he rose to his feet and handed wabi the long fork with which he manipulated the meat on the spits. "you can tend to that," he added. "i go see traps." rod, who had awakened and overheard these last remarks, called out from the shack: "wait a minute, mukoki. i'm going with you. if you've got a wolf, i want to see him." "got one sure 'nuff," grinned the old indian. in a few minutes rod came out, fully dressed and with a much healthier color in his face than when he went to bed the preceding night. he stood before the fire, stretched one arm then the other, gave a slight grimace of pain, and informed his anxious comrades that he seemed to be as well as ever, except that his arm and side were very sore. walking slowly, that rod might "find himself," as wabi expressed it, the two went up the river. it was a dull gray morning and occasionally large flakes of snow fell, giving evidence that before the day was far advanced another storm would set in. mukoki's traps were not more than an eighth of a mile from camp, and as the two rounded a certain bend in the river the old hunter suddenly stopped with a huge grant of satisfaction. following the direction in which he pointed rod saw a dark object lying in the snow a short distance away. "that's heem!" exclaimed the indian. as they approached, the object became animate, pulling and tearing in the snow as though in the agonies of death. a few moments more and they were close up to the captive. "she wolf!" explained mukoki. he gripped the ax he had brought with him and approached within a few feet of the crouching animal. rod could see that one of the big steel traps had caught the wolf on the forward leg and that the other had buried its teeth in one of the hind legs. thus held the doomed animal could make little effort to protect itself and crouched in sullen quiet, its white fangs gleaming in a noiseless, defiant snarl, its eyes shining with pain and anger, and with only its thin starved body, which jerked and trembled as the indian came nearer, betraying signs of fear. to rod it might have been a pitiful sight had not there come to him a thought of the preceding night and of his own and wabi's narrow escape from the pack. two or three quick blows of the ax and the wolf was dead. with a skill which can only be found among those of his own race, mukoki drew his knife, cut deftly around the wolf's head just below the ears, and with one downward, one upward, and two sidewise jerks tore off the scalp. suddenly, without giving a thought to his speech, there shot from rod, "is that the way you scalp people?" mukoki looked up, his jaw fell--and then he gave the nearest thing to a real laugh that rod ever heard come from between his lips. when mukoki laughed it was usually in a half-chuckle, a half-gurgle--something that neither rod nor wabi could have imitated if they had tried steadily for a month. "never scalped white people," the old indian shot back. "father did when--young man. did great scalp business!" mukoki had not done chuckling to himself even when they reached camp. scarcely ten minutes were taken in eating breakfast. snow was already beginning to fall, and if the hunters took up their trail at once their tracks would undoubtedly be entirely obliterated by midday, which was the best possible thing that could happen for them in the woonga country. on the other hand, wabi was anxious to follow back over the wolf-trail before the snow shut it in. there was no danger of their becoming separated and lost, for it was agreed that rod and mukoki should travel straight up the frozen river. wabi would overtake them before nightfall. arming himself with his rifle, revolver, knife, and a keen-edged belt-ax, the indian boy lost no time in leaving camp. a quarter of an hour later wabi came out cautiously on the end of the lake where had occurred the unequal duel between the old bull moose and the wolves. a single glance told him what the outcome of that duel had been. twenty rods out upon the snow he saw parts of a great skeleton, and a huge pair of antlers. as he stood on the arena of the mighty battle, wabi would have given a great deal if rod could have been with him. there lay the heroic old moose, now nothing more than a skeleton. but the magnificent head and horns still remained--the largest head that the indian youth, in all his wilderness life, had ever seen--and it occurred to him that if this head could be preserved and taken back to civilization it would be worth a hundred dollars or more. that the old bull had put up a magnificent fight was easily discernible. fifty feet away were the bones of a wolf, and almost under the skeleton of the moose were those of another. the heads of both still remained, and wabi, after taking their scalps, hurried on over the trail. half-way across the lake, where he had taken his last two shots, were the skeletons of two more wolves, and in the edge of the spruce forest he found another. this animal had evidently been wounded farther back and had later been set upon by some of the pack and killed. half a mile deeper in the forest he came upon a spot where he had emptied five shells into the pack and here he found the bones of two more wolves. he had seven scalps in his possession when he turned back over the home trail. beside the remains of the old bull wabi paused again. he knew that the indians frequently preserved moose and caribou heads through the winter by keeping them frozen, and the head at his feet was a prize worth some thought. but how could he keep it preserved until their return, months later? he could not suspend it from the limb of a tree, as was the custom when in camp, for it would either be stolen by some passing hunter or spoiled by the first warm days of spring. suddenly an idea came to him. why could it not be preserved in what white hunters called an "indian ice-box"? in an instant he was acting upon this inspiration. it was not a small task to drag the huge head to the shelter of the tamaracks, where, safely hidden from view, he made a closer examination. the head was gnawed considerably by the wolves, but wabi had seen worse ones skillfully repaired by the indians at the post. under a dense growth of spruce, where the rays of the sun seldom penetrated, the indian boy set to work with his belt-ax. for an hour and a half he worked steadily, and at the end of that time had dug a hole in the frozen earth three feet deep and four feet square. this hole he now lined with about two inches of snow, packed as tight as he could jam it with the butt of his gun. then placing in the head he packed snow closely about it and afterward filled in the earth, stamping upon the hard chunks with his feet. when all was done he concealed the signs of his work under a covering of snow, blazed two trees with his ax, and resumed his journey. "there is thirty dollars for each of us if there's a cent," he mused softly, as he hurried toward the ombabika. "that ground won't thaw out until june. a moose-head and eight scalps at fifteen dollars each isn't bad for one day's work, rod, old boy!" he had been absent for three hours. it had been snowing steadily and by the time he reached their old camp the trail left by rod and mukoki was already partly obliterated, showing that they had secured an early start up the river. bowing his head in the white clouds falling silently about him, wabi started in swift pursuit. he could not see ten rods ahead of him, so dense was the storm, and at times one side or the other of the river was lost to view. conditions could not have been better for their flight out of the woonga country, thought the young hunter. by nightfall they would be many miles up the river, and no sign would be left behind to reveal their former presence or to show in which direction they had gone. for two hours he followed tirelessly over the trail, which became more and more distinct as he proceeded, showing that he was rapidly gaining on his comrades. but even now, though the trail was fresher and deeper, so disguised had it become by falling snow that a passing hunter might have thought a moose or caribou had passed that way. at the end of the third hour, by which time he figured that he had made at least ten miles, wabi sat down to rest, and to refresh himself with the lunch which he had taken from the camp that morning. he was surprised at rod's endurance. that mukoki and the white boy were still three or four miles ahead of him he did not doubt, unless they, too, had stopped for dinner. this, on further thought, he believed was highly probable. the wilderness about him was intensely still. not even the twitter of a snow-bird marred its silence. for a long time wabi sat as immovable as the log upon which he had seated himself, resting and listening. such a day as this held a peculiar and unusual fascination for him. it was as if the whole world was shut out, and that even the wild things of the forest dared not go abroad in this supreme moment of nature's handiwork, when with lavish hand she spread the white mantle that was to stretch from the border to hudson bay. as he listened there came to him suddenly a sound that forced from between his lips a half-articulate cry. it was the clear, ringing report of a rifle! and following it there came another, and another, until in quick succession he had counted five! what did it mean? he sprang to his feet, his heart thumping, every nerve in him prepared for action. he would have sworn it was mukoki's rifle--yet mukoki would not have fired at game! they had agreed upon that. had rod and the old indian been attacked? in another instant wabi was bounding over the trail with the speed of a deer. chapter v mysterious shots in the wilderness as the indian youth sped over the trail in the direction of the rifle-shots he flung his usual caution to the winds. his blood thrilled with the knowledge that there was not a moment to lose--that even now, in all probability, he would be too late to assist his friends. this fear was emphasized by the absolute silence which followed the five shots. eagerly, almost prayerfully, he listened as he ran for other sounds of battle--for the report of mukoki's revolver, or the whoops of the victors. if there had been an ambush it was all over now. each moment added to his conviction, and as he thrust the muzzle of his gun ahead of him, his finger hovering near the trigger and his snow-blinded eyes staring ahead into the storm, something like a sob escaped his lips. ahead of him the stream narrowed until it almost buried itself under a mass of towering cedars. the closeness of the forest walls now added to the general gloom, intensified by the first gray pallor of the northern dusk, which begins to fall in these regions early in the afternoon of november days. for a moment, just before plunging into the gloomy trail between the cedars, wabi stopped and listened. he heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, which worked like a trip-hammer within his breast. the stillness was oppressive. and the longer he listened the more some invisible power seemed to hold him back. it was not fear, it was not lack of courage, but-- what was there just beyond those cedars, lurking cautiously in the snow gloom? with instinct that was almost animal in its unreasonableness wabi sank upon his knees. he had seen nothing, he had heard nothing; but he crouched close, until he was no larger than a waiting wolf, and there was a deadly earnestness in the manner in which he turned his rifle into the deeper gloom of those close-knit walls of forest. something was approaching, cautiously, stealthily, and with extreme slowness. the indian boy felt that this was so, and yet if his life had depended upon it he could not have told why. he huddled himself lower in the snow. his eyes gleamed with excitement. minute after minute passed, and still there came no sound. then, from far up that dusky avenue of cedars, there came the sudden startled chatter of a moose-bird. it was a warning which years of experience had taught wabi always to respect. perhaps a roving fox had frightened it, perhaps the bird had taken to noisy flight at the near tread of a moose, a caribou, or a deer. but-- to wabi the soft, quick notes of the moose-bird spelled man! in an instant he was upon his feet, darting quickly into the sheltering cedars of the shore. through these he now made his way with extreme caution, keeping close to the bank of the frozen stream. after a little he paused again and concealed himself behind the end of a fallen log. ahead of him he could look into the snow gloom between the cedars, and whatever was coming through that gloom would have to pass within a dozen yards of him. each moment added to his excitement. he heard the chatter of a red squirrel, much nearer than the moose-bird. once he fancied that he heard the striking of two objects, as though a rifle barrel had accidentally come into contact with the dead limb of a tree. suddenly the indian youth imagined that he saw something--an indistinct shadow that came in the snow gloom, then disappeared, and came again. he brushed the water and snow from his eyes with one of his mittened hands and stared hard and steadily. once more the shadow disappeared, then came again, larger and more distinct than before. there was no doubt now. whatever had startled the moose-bird was coming slowly, noiselessly. wabi brought his rifle to his shoulder. life and death hovered with his anxious, naked finger over the gun trigger. but he was too well trained in the ways of the wilderness to fire just yet. yard by yard the shadow approached, and divided itself into two shadows. wabi could now see that they were men. they were advancing in a cautious, crouching attitude, as though they expected to meet enemies somewhere ahead of them. wabi's heart thumped with joy. there could be no surer sign that mukoki and rod were still among the living, for why should the woongas employ this caution if they had already successfully ambushed the hunters? with the chill of a cold hand at his throat the answer flashed into wabigoon's brain. his friends had been ambushed, and these two woongas were stealing back over the trail to slay him! very slowly, very gently, the young indian's finger pressed against the trigger of his rifle. a dozen feet more, and then-- the shadows had stopped, and now drew together as if in consultation. they were not more than twenty yards away, and for a moment wabi lowered his rifle and listened hard. he could hear the low unintelligible mutterings of their conversation. then there came to him a single incautious reply from one of the shadows. "all right!" surely that was not the english of a woonga! it sounded like-- in a flash wabi had called softly. "ho, muky--muky--rod!" in another moment the three wolf hunters were together, silently wringing one another's hands, the death-like pallor of rod's face and the tense lines in the bronzed countenances of mukoki and wabigoon plainly showing the tremendous strain they had been under. "you shoot?" whispered mukoki. "no!" replied wabi, his eyes widening in surprise. "didn't _you_ shoot?" "no!" only the one word fell from the old indian, but it was filled with a new warning. who had fired the five shots? the hunters gazed blankly at one another, mute questioning in their eyes. without speaking, mukoki pointed suggestively to the clearer channel of the river beyond the cedars. evidently he thought the shots had come from there. wabi shook his head. "there was no trail," he whispered. "nobody has crossed the river." "i thought they were there!" breathed rod. he pointed into the forest. "but mukoki said no." for a long time the three stood and listened. half a mile back in the forest they heard the howl of a single wolf, and wabi flashed a curious glance into the eyes of the old indian. "that's a man's cry," he whispered. "the wolf has struck a human trail. it isn't mine!" "nor ours," replied rod. this one long howl of the wolf was the only sound that broke the stillness of approaching night. mukoki turned, and the others followed in his trail. a quarter of a mile farther on the stream became still narrower and plunged between great masses of rock which rose into wild and precipitous hills that were almost mountains a little way back. no longer could the hunters now follow the channel of the rushing torrent. through a break in a gigantic wall of rock and huge boulders led the trail of rod and mukoki. ten minutes more and the three had clambered to the top of the ridge where, in the lee of a great rock, the remains of a fire were still burning. here the old indian and his companion had struck camp and were waiting for wabigoon when they heard the shots which they, too, believed were those of an ambush. a comfortable shelter of balsam had already been erected against the rock, and close beside the fire, where mukoki had dropped it at the sound of the shots, was a large piece of spitted venison. the situation was ideal for a camp and after the hard day's tramp through the snow the young wolf hunters regarded it with expressions of pleasure, in spite of the enemies whom they knew might be lurking near them. both wabi and rod had accepted the place as their night's home, and were stirring up the fire, when their attention was drawn to the singular attitude of mukoki. the old warrior stood leaning on his rifle, speechless and motionless, his eyes regarding the process of rekindling the fire with mute disapprobation. wabi, poised on one knee, looked at him questioningly. "no make more fire," said the old indian, shaking his head. "no dare stay here. go on--beyond mountain!" mukoki straightened himself and stretched a long arm toward the north. "river go like much devil 'long edge of mountain," he continued. "make heap noise through rock, then make swamp thick for cow moose--then run through mountain and make wide, smooth river once more. we go over mountain. snow all night. morning come--no trail for woonga. we stay here--make big trail in morning. woonga follow like devil, ver' plain to see!" wabi rose to his feet, his face showing the keenness of his disappointment. since early morning he had been traveling, even running at times, and he was tired enough to risk willingly a few dangers for the sake of sleep and supper. rod was in even worse condition, though his trail had been much shorter. for a few moments the two boys looked at each other in silence, neither attempting to conceal the lack of favor with which mukoki's suggestion was received. but wabi was too wise openly to oppose the old pathfinder. if mukoki said that it was dangerous for them to remain where they were during the night--well, it was dangerous, and it would be foolish of him to dispute it. he knew mukoki to be the greatest hunter of his tribe, a human bloodhound on the trail, and what he said was law. so with a cheerful grin at rod, who needed all the encouragement that could be given to him, wabi began the readjustment of the pack which he had flung from his shoulders a few minutes before. "mountain not ver' far. two--t'ree mile, then camp," encouraged mukoki. "walk slow--have big supper." only a few articles had been taken from the toboggan-sled on which the hunters were dragging the greater part of their equipment into the wilderness, and mukoki soon had these packed again. the three adventurers now took up the new trail along the top of one of those wild and picturesque ridges which both the indians and white hunters of this great northland call mountains. wabigoon led, weighted under his pack, selecting the clearest road for the toboggan and clipping down obstructing saplings with his keen-edged belt-ax. a dozen feet behind him followed mukoki, dragging the sled; and behind the sled, securely tied with a thong of babeesh, or moose-skin rope, slunk the wolf. rod, less experienced in making a trail and burdened with a lighter pack, formed the rear of the little cavalcade. darkness was now falling rapidly. though wabigoon was not more than a dozen yards ahead, rod could only now and then catch a fleeting vision of him through the gloom. mukoki, doubled over in his harness, was hardly more than a blotch in the early night. only the wolf was near enough to offer companionship to the tired and down-spirited youth. rod's enthusiasm was not easily cooled, but just now he mentally wished that, for this one night at least, he was back at the post, with the lovely little minnetaki relating to him some legend of bird or beast they had encountered that day. how much pleasanter that would be! the vision of the bewitching little maiden was suddenly knocked out of his head in a most unexpected and startling way. mukoki had paused for a moment and rod, unconscious of the fact, continued on his journey until he tumbled in a sprawling heap over the sled, knocking mukoki's legs completely from under him in his fall. when wabi ran back he found rod flattened out, face downward, and mukoki entangled in his site harness on top of him. in a way this accident was fortunate. wabi, who possessed a caucasian sense of humor, shook with merriment as he gave his assistance, and rod, after he had dug the snow from his eyes and ears and had emptied a handful of it from his neck, joined with him. the ridge now became narrower as the trio advanced. on one side, far down, could be heard the thunderous rush of the river, and from the direction of the sound rod knew they were near a precipice. great beds of boulders and broken rock, thrown there by some tumultuous upheaval of past ages, now impeded their progress, and every step was taken with extreme caution. the noise of the torrent became louder and louder as they advanced and on one side of him rod now thought that he could distinguish a dim massive shadow towering above them, like the precipitous side of a mountain. a few steps farther and mukoki exchanged places with wabigoon. "muky has been here before," cried wabi close up to rod's ear. his voice was almost drowned by the tumult below. "that's where the river rushes through the mountain!" rod forgot his fatigue in the new excitement. never in his wildest dreams of adventure had he foreseen an hour like this. each step seemed to bring them nearer the edge of the vast chasm through which the river plunged, and yet not a sign of it could he see. he strained his eyes and ears, each moment expecting to hear the warning voice of the old warrior. with a suddenness that chilled him he saw the great shadow close in upon them from the opposite side, and for the first time he realized their position. on their left was the precipice--on their right the sheer wall of the mountain! how wide was the ledge along which they were traveling? his foot struck a stick under the snow. catching it up he flung it out into space. for a single instant he paused to listen, but there came no sound of the falling object. the precipice was very near--a little chill ran up his spine. it was a sensation he had never experienced in walking the streets of a city! though he could not see, he knew that the ledge was now leading them up. he could hear wabigoon straining ahead of the toboggan and he began to assist by pushing on the rear of the loaded sled. for half an hour this upward climb continued, until the sound of the river had entirely died away. no longer was the mountain on the right. five minutes later mukoki called a halt. "on top mountain," he said briefly. "camp here!" rod could not repress an exclamation of joy, and wabigoon, as he threw off his harness, gave a suppressed whoop. mukoki, who seemed tireless, began an immediate search for a site for their camp and after a short breathing-spell rod and wabi joined him. the spot chosen was in the shelter of a huge rock, and while mukoki cleaned away the snow the young hunters set to work with their axes in a near growth of balsam, cutting armful after armful of the soft odorous boughs. inside of an hour a comfortable camp was completed, with an exhilarating fire throwing its crackling flames high up into the night before it. for the first time since leaving the abandoned camp at the other end of the ridge the hunters fully realized how famished they were, and mukoki was at once delegated to prepare supper while wabi and rod searched in the darkness for their night's supply of wood. fortunately quite near at hand they discovered several dead poplars, the best fuel in the world for a camp-fire, and by the time the venison and coffee were ready they had collected a huge pile of this, together with several good-sized backlogs. mukoki had spread the feast in the opening of the shelter where the heat of the fire, reflected from the face of the rock, fell upon them in genial warmth, suffusing their faces with a most comfortable glow. the heat, together with the feast, were almost overpowering in their effects, and hardly was his supper completed when rod felt creeping over him a drowsiness which he attempted in vain to fight off a little longer. dragging himself back in the shelter he wrapped himself in his blanket, burrowed into the mass of balsam boughs, and passed quickly into oblivion. his last intelligible vision was mukoki piling logs upon the fire, while the flames shot up a dozen feet into the air, illumining to his drowsy eyes for an instant a wild chaos of rock, beyond which lay the mysterious and impenetrable blackness of the wilderness. chapter vi mukoki disturbs the ancient skeletons completely exhausted, every muscle in his aching body still seeming to strain with exertion, the night was one of restless and uncomfortable dreams for roderick drew. while wabi and the old indian, veterans in wilderness hardship, slept in peace and tranquillity, the city boy found himself in the most unusual and thrilling situations from which he would extricate himself with a grunt or sharp cry, several times sitting bolt upright in his bed of balsam until he realized where he was, and that his adventures were only those of dreamland. from one of these dreams rod had aroused himself into drowsy wakefulness. he fancied that he had heard steps. for the tenth time he raised himself upon an elbow, stretched, rubbed his eyes, glanced at the dark, inanimate forms of his sleeping companions, and snuggled down into his balsam boughs again. a few moments later he sat bolt upright. he could have sworn that he heard real steps this time--a soft cautious crunching in the snow very near his head. breathlessly he listened. not a sound broke the silence except the snapping of a dying ember in the fire. another dream! once more he settled back, drawing his blanket closely about him. then, for a full breath, the very beating of his heart seemed to cease. what was that! he was awake now, wide awake, with every faculty in him striving to arrange itself. he had heard--a step! slowly, very cautiously this time, he raised himself. there came distinctly to his ears a light crunching in the snow. it seemed back of the shelter--then was moving away, then stopped. the flickering light of the dying fire still played on the face of the great rock. suddenly, at the very end of that rock, something moved. some object was creeping cautiously upon the sleeping camp! for a moment his thrilling discovery froze the young hunter into inaction. but in a moment the whole situation flashed upon him. the woongas had followed them! they were about to fall upon the helpless camp! unexpectedly one of his hands came in contact with the barrel of wabi's rifle. the touch of the cold steel aroused him. there was no time to awaken his companions. even as he drew the gun to him he saw the object grow larger and larger at the end of the rock, until it stood crouching, as if about to spring. one bated breath--a thunderous report--a snarling scream of pain, and the camp was awake! "we're attacked!" cried rod. "quick--wabi--mukoki!" the white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveled toward the rocks. out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, a body was groveling and kicking in death agonies. in another instant the gaunt form of the old warrior was beside rod, his rifle at his shoulder, and over their heads reached wabigoon's arm, the barrel of his heavy revolver glinting in the firelight. for a full minute they crouched there, breathless, waiting. "they've gone!" broke wabi in a tense whisper. "i got one of them!" replied rod, his voice trembling with excitement. mukoki slipped back and burrowed a hole through the side of the shelter. he could see nothing. slowly he slipped out, his rifle ready. the others could hear him as he went. foot by foot the old warrior slunk along in the deep gloom toward the end of the rock. now he was almost there, now-- the young hunters saw him suddenly straighten. there came to them a low chuckling grunt. he bent over, seized an object, and flung it in the light of the fire. "heap big woonga! kill nice fat lynx!" with a wail, half feigned, half real, rod flung himself back upon the balsam while wabi set up a roar that made the night echo. mukoki's face was creased in a broad grin. "heap big woonga--heem!" he repeated, chuckling. "nice fat lynx shot well in face. no look like bad man woonga to mukoki!" when rod finally emerged from his den to join the others his face was flushed and wore what wabi described as a "sheepish grin." "it's all right for you fellows to make fun of me," he declared. "but what if they had been woongas? by george, if we're ever attacked again i won't do a thing. i'll let you fellows fight 'em off!" in spite of the general merriment at his expense, rod was immensely proud of his first lynx. it was an enormous creature of its kind, drawn by hunger to the scraps of the camp-fire feast; and it was this animal, as it cautiously inspected the camp, that the young hunter had heard crunching in the snow. wolf, whose instinct had told him what a mix-up would mean, had slunk into his shelter without betraying his whereabouts to this arch-enemy of his tribe. with the craft of his race, mukoki was skinning the animal while it was still warm. "you go back bed," he said to his companions. "i build big fire again--then sleep." the excitement of his adventure at least freed rod from the unpleasantness of further dreams, and it was late the following morning before he awoke again. he was astonished to find that a beautiful sun was shining. wabi and the old indian were already outside preparing breakfast, and the cheerful whistling of the former assured rod that there was now little to be feared from the woongas. without lingering to take a beauty nap he joined them. everywhere about them lay white winter. the rocks, the trees, and the mountain behind them were covered with two feet of snow and upon it the sun shone with dazzling brilliancy. but it was not until rod looked into the north that he saw the wilderness in all of its grandeur. the camp had been made at the extreme point of the ridge, and stretching away under his eyes, mile after mile, was the vast white desolation that reached to hudson bay. in speechless wonder he gazed down upon the unblazed forests, saw plains and hills unfold themselves as his vision gained distance, followed a river until it was lost in the bewildering picture, and let his eyes rest here and there upon the glistening, snow-smothered bosoms of lakes, rimmed in by walls of black forest. this was not the wilderness as he had expected it to be, nor as he had often read of it in books. it was beautiful! it was magnificent! his heart throbbed with pleasure as he gazed down on it, the blood rose to his face in an excited flush, and he seemed hardly to breathe in his tense interest. mukoki had come up beside him softly, and spoke in his low guttural voice. "twent' t'ousand moose down there--twent' t'ousand caribou-oo! no man--no house--more twent' t'ousand miles!" roderick, even trembling in his new emotion, looked into the old warrior's face. in mukoki's eyes there was a curious, thrilling gleam. he stared straight out into the unending distance as though his keen vision would penetrate far beyond the last of that visible desolation--on and on, even to the grim and uttermost fastnesses of hudson bay. wabi came up and placed his hand on rod's shoulder. "muky was born off there," he said. "away beyond where we can see. those were his hunting-grounds when a boy. see that mountain yonder? you might take it for a cloud. it's thirty miles from here! and that lake down there--you might think a rifle-shot would reach it--is five miles away! if a moose or a caribou or a wolf should cross it how you could see him." for a few moments longer the three stood silent, then wabi and the old indian returned to the fire to finish the preparation of breakfast, leaving rod alone in his enchantment. what unsolved mysteries, what unwritten tragedies, what romance, what treasure of gold that vast north must hold! for a thousand, perhaps a million centuries, it had lain thus undisturbed in the embrace of nature; few white men had broken its solitudes, and the wild things still lived there as they had lived in the winters of ages and ages ago. the call to breakfast came almost as an unpleasant interruption to rod. but it did not shock his appetite as it had his romantic fancies, and he performed his part at the morning meal with considerable credit. wabi and mukoki had already decided that they would not take up the trail again that day but would remain in their present camp until the following morning. there were several reasons for this delay. "we can't travel without snow-shoes now," explained wabi to rod, "and we've got to take a day off to teach you how to use them. then, all the wild things are lying low. moose, deer, caribou, and especially wolves and fur animals, won't begin traveling much until this afternoon and to-night, and if we took up the trail now we would have no way of telling what kind of a game country we were in. and that is the important thing just now. if we strike a first-rate game country during the next couple days we'll stop and build our winter camp." "then you believe we are far enough away from the woongas?" asked rod. mukoki grunted. "no believe woongas come over mountain. heap good game country back there. they stay." during the meal the white boy asked a hundred questions about the vast wilderness which lay stretched out before them in a great panorama, and in which they were soon to bury themselves, and every answer added to his enthusiasm. immediately after they had finished eating rod expressed a desire to begin his study in snow-shoeing, and for an hour after that wabi and mukoki piloted him back and forth along the ridge, instructing him in this and in that, applauding when he made an especially good dash and enjoying themselves immensely when he took one of his frequent tumbles into the snow. by noon rod secretly believed that he was becoming quite an adept. although the day in camp was an exceedingly pleasant one for rod, he could not but observe that at times something seemed to be troubling wabi. twice he discovered the indian youth alone within the shelter sitting in silent and morose dejection, and finally he insisted upon an explanation. "i want you to tell me what the trouble is, wabi," he demanded. "what has gone wrong?" wabi jumped to his feet with a little laugh. "did you ever have a dream that bothered you, rod?" he asked. "well, i had one last night, and since then--somehow--i can't keep from worrying about the people back at the post, and especially about minnetaki. it's all--what do you call it--bosh? listen! wasn't that mukoki's whistle?" as he paused mukoki came running around the end of the rock. "see fun!" he cried softly. "quick--see heem quick!" he turned and darted toward the precipitous edge of the ridge, closely followed by the two boys. "cari-boo-oo!" he whispered excitedly as they came up beside him. "cari-boo-oo--making big play!" he pointed down into the snowy wilderness. three-quarters of a mile away, though to rod apparently not more than a third of that distance from where they stood, half a dozen animals were disporting themselves in a singular fashion in a meadow-like opening between the mountain and a range of forest. it was rod's first real glimpse of that wonderful animal of the north of which he had read so much, the caribou--commonly known beyond the sixtieth degree as the reindeer; and at this moment those below him were indulging in the queer play known in the hudson bay regions as the "caribou dance." "what's the matter with them?" he asked, his voice quivering with excitement. "what--" "making big fun!" chuckled mukoki, drawing the boy closer to the rock that concealed them. wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head, the indian's truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind. the lee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side upon which the breeze fell was quickly dried. "the wind is toward us, muky," he announced. "there's a fine chance for a shot. you go! rod and i will stay here and watch you." roderick heard--knew that mukoki was creeping back to the camp for his rifle, but not for an instant did his spellbound eyes leave the spectacle below him. two other animals had joined those in the open. he could see the sun glistening on their long antlers as they tossed their heads in their amazing antics. now three or four of them would dash away with the speed of the wind, as though the deadliest of enemies were close behind them. two or three hundred yards away they would stop with equal suddenness, whirl about in a circle, as though flight were interrupted on all sides of them, then tear back with lightning speed to rejoin the herd. in twos and threes and fours they performed these evolutions again and again. but there was another antic that held rod's eyes, and if it had not been so new and wonderful to him he would have laughed, as wabi was doing--silently--behind him. from out of the herd would suddenly dash one of the agile creatures, whirl about, jump and kick, and finally bounce up and down on all four feet, as though performing a comedy sketch in pantomime for the amusement of its companions; and when this was done it would start out in another mad flight, with others of the herd at its heels. "they are the funniest, swiftest, and shrewdest animals in the north," said wabi. "they can smell you over a mountain if the wind is right, and hear you for half a mile. look!" he pointed downward over rod's shoulder. mukoki had already reached the base of the ridge and was stealing straight out in the direction of the caribou. rod gave a surprised gasp. "great scott! they'll see him, won't they?" he cried. "not if mukoki knows himself," smiled the indian youth. "remember that we are looking down on things. everything seems clear and open to us, while in reality it's quite thick down there. i'll bet muky can't see one hundred yards ahead of him. he has got his bearings and will go as straight as though he was on a blazed trail; but he won't see the caribou until he conies to the edge of the open." each minute now added to rod's excitement. each of those minutes brought the old warrior nearer his game. seldom, thought rod, had such a scene been unfolded to the eyes of a white boy. the complete picture--the playful rompings of the dumb children of the wilderness; the stealthy approach of the old indian; every rock, every tree that was to play its part--all were revealed to their eyes. not a phase in this drama in wild life escaped them. five minutes, ten, fifteen passed. they could see mukoki as he stopped and lifted a hand to test the wind. then he crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed to be on his hands and knees. "he can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed wabigoon. "see! he places his ear to the ground! now he has got his bearings again--as straight as a die! good old muky!" the old indian crept on. in his excitement rod clenched his hands and he seemed to live without breathing. would mukoki never shoot? would he _never_ shoot? he seemed now to be within a stone's throw of the herd. "how far, wabi?" "four hundred yards, perhaps five," replied the indian. "it's a long shot! he can't see them yet." rod gripped his companion's arm. mukoki had stopped. down and down he slunk, until he became only a blot in the snow. "now!" there came a moment of startled silence. in the midst of their play the animals in the open stood for a single instant paralyzed by a knowledge of impending danger, and in that instant there came to the young hunters the report of mukoki's rifle. "no good!" cried wabi. in his excitement he leaped to his feet. the caribou had turned and the whole eight of them were racing across the open. another shot, and another--three in quick succession, and one of the fleeing animals fell, scrambled to its knees--and plunged on again! a fifth shot--the last in mukoki's rifle! again the wounded animal fell, struggled to its knees--to its forefeet--and fell again. "good work! five hundred yards if it was a foot!" exclaimed wabigoon with a relieved laugh. "fresh steak for supper, rod!" mukoki came out into the open, reloading his rifle. quickly he moved across the wilderness playground, now crimson with blood, unsheathed his knife, and dropped upon his knees close to the throat of the slain animal. "i'll go down and give him a little help, rod," said wabi. "your legs are pretty sore, and it's a hard climb down there; so if you will keep up the fire, mukoki and i will bring back the meat." during the next hour rod busied himself with collecting firewood for the night and in practising with his snow-shoes. he was astonished to find how swiftly and easily he could travel in them, and was satisfied that he could make twenty miles a day even as a tenderfoot. left to his own thoughts he found his mind recurring once more to the woongas and minnetaki. why was wabi worried? inwardly he did not believe that it was a dream alone that was troubling him. there was still some cause for fear. of that he was certain. and why would not the woongas penetrate beyond this mountain? he had asked himself this question a score of times during the last twenty-four hours, in spite of the fact that both mukoki and wabigoon were quite satisfied that they were well out of the woonga territory. it was growing dusk when wabi and the old indian returned with the meat of the caribou. no time was lost in preparing supper, for the hunters had decided that the next day's trail would begin with dawn and probably end with darkness, which meant that they would require all the rest they could get before then. they were all eager to begin the winter's hunt. that day mukoki's eyes had glistened at each fresh track he encountered. wabi and rod were filled with enthusiasm. even wolf, now and then stretching his gaunt self, would nose the air with eager suspicion, as if longing for the excitement of the tragedies in which he was to play such an important part. "if you can stand it," said wabi, nodding at rod over his caribou steak, "we won't lose a minute from now on. over that country we ought to make twenty-five or thirty miles to-morrow. we may strike our hunting-ground by noon, or it may take us two or three days; but in either event we haven't any time to waste. hurrah for the big camp, i say--and our fun begins!" it seemed to rod as though he had hardly fallen asleep that night when somebody began tumbling him about in his bed of balsam. opening his eyes he beheld wabi's laughing face, illuminated in the glow of a roaring fire. "time's up!" he called cheerily. "hustle out, rod. breakfast is sizzling hot, everything is packed, and here you are still dreaming of--what?" "minnetaki!" shot back rod with unblushing honesty. in another minute he was outside, straightening his disheveled garments and smoothing his tousled hair. it was still very dark, but rod assured himself by his watch that it was nearly four o'clock. mukoki had already placed their breakfast on a flat rock beside the fire and, according to wabigoon's previous scheme, no time was lost in disposing of it. dawn was just breaking when the little cavalcade of adventurers set out from the camp. more keenly than ever rod now felt the loss of his rifle. they were about to enter upon a hunter's paradise--and he had no gun! his disappointment was acute and he could not repress a confession of his feelings to wabi. the indian youth at once suggested a happy remedy. they would take turns in using his gun, rod to have it one day and he the next; and wabi's heavy revolver would also change hands, so that the one who did not possess the rifle would be armed with the smaller weapon. this solution of the difficulty lifted a dampening burden from rod's heart, and when the little party began its descent into the wilderness regions under the mountain the city lad carried the rifle, for wabi insisted that he have the first "turn." once free of the rock-strewn ridge the two boys joined forces in pulling the toboggan while mukoki struck out a trail ahead of them. as it became lighter rod found his eyes glued with keen interest to mukoki's snow-shoes, and for the first time in his life he realized what it really meant to "make a trail." the old indian was the most famous trailmaker as well as the keenest trailer of his tribe, and in the comparatively open bottoms through which they were now traveling he was in his element. his strides were enormous, and with each stride he threw up showers of snow, leaving a broad level path behind him in which the snow was packed by his own weight, so that when wabi and rod came to follow him they were not impeded by sinking into a soft surface. half a mile from the mountain mukoki stopped and waited for the others to come up to him. "moose!" he called, pointing at a curious track in the snow. rod leaned eagerly over the track. "the snow is still crumbling and falling where he stepped," said wabi. "watch that little chunk, rod. see--it's slipping--down--down--there! it was an old bull--a big fellow--and he passed here less than an hour ago." signs of the night carnival of the wild things now became more and more frequent as the hunters advanced. they crossed and recrossed the trail of a fox; and farther on they discovered where this little pirate of darkness had slaughtered a big white rabbit. the snow was covered with blood and hair and part of the carcass remained uneaten. again wabi forgot his determination to waste no time and paused to investigate. "now, if we only knew what kind of a fox he was!" he exclaimed to rod. "but we don't. all we know is that he's a fox. and all fox tracks are alike, no matter what kind of a fox makes them. if there was only some difference our fortunes would be made!" "how?" asked rod. mukoki chuckled as if the mere thought of such a possibility filled him with glee. "well, that fellow may be an ordinary red fox," explained the indian youth. "if so, he is only worth from ten to twenty dollars; or he may be a black fox, worth fifty or sixty; or what we call a 'cross'--a mixture of silver and black--worth from seventy-five to a hundred. or--" "heap big silver!" interrupted mukoki with another chuckle. "yes, or a silver," finished wabi. "a poor silver is worth two hundred dollars, and a good one from five hundred to a thousand! now do you see why we would like to have a difference in the tracks? if that was a silver, a black or a 'cross,' we'd follow him; but in all probability he is red." every hour added to rod's knowledge of the wilderness and its people. for the first time in his life he saw the big dog-like tracks made by wolves, the dainty hoof-prints of the red deer and the spreading imprints of a traveling lynx; he pictured the hugeness of the moose that made a track as big as his head, discovered how to tell the difference between the hoof-print of a small moose and a big caribou, and in almost every mile learned something new. half a dozen times during the morning the hunters stopped to rest. by noon wabi figured that they had traveled twenty miles, and, although very tired, rod declared that he was still "game for another ten." after dinner the aspect of the country changed. the river which they had been following became narrower and was so swift in places that it rushed tumultuously between its frozen edges. forest-clad hills, huge boulders and masses of rock now began to mingle again with the bottoms, which in this country are known as plains. every mile added to the roughness and picturesque grandeur of the country. a few miles to the east rose another range of wild and rugged hills; small lakes became more and more numerous, and everywhere the hunters crossed and recrossed frozen creeks. and each step they took now added to the enthusiasm of wabi and his companions. evidences of game and fur animals were plenty. a thousand ideal locations for a winter camp were about them, and their progress became slow and studied. a gently sloping hill of considerable height now lay in their path and mukoki led the ascent. at the top the three paused in joyful astonishment. at their feet lay a "dip," or hollow, a dozen acres in extent, and in the center of this dip was a tiny lake partly surrounded by a mixed forest of cedar, balsam and birch that swept back over the hill, and partly inclosed by a meadow-like opening. one might have traveled through the country a thousand times without discovering this bit of wilderness paradise hidden in a hilltop. without speaking mukoki threw off his heavy pack. wabi unbuckled his harness and relieved his shoulders of their burden. rod, following their example, dropped his small pack beside that of the old indian, and wolf, straining at his babeesh thong, gazed with eager eyes into the hollow as though he, too, knew that it was to be their winter home. wabi broke the silence. "how is that, muky?" he asked. mukoki chuckled with unbounded satisfaction. "ver' fine. no get bad wind--never see smoke--plenty wood--plenty water." relieved of their burdens, and leaving wolf tied to the toboggan, the hunters made their way down to the lake. hardly had they reached its edge when wabi halted with a startled exclamation and pointed into the forest on the opposite side. "look at that!" a hundred yards away, almost concealed among the trees, was a cabin. even from where they stood they could see that it was deserted. snow was drifted high about it. no chimney surmounted its roof. nowhere was there a sign of life. slowly the hunters approached. it was evident that the cabin was very old. the logs of which it was built were beginning to decay. a mass of saplings had taken root upon its roof, and everything about it gave evidence that it had been erected many years before. the door, made of split timber and opening toward the lake, was closed; the one window, also opening upon the lake, was tightly barred with lengths of sapling. mukoki tried the door, but it resisted his efforts. evidently it was strongly barred from within. curiosity now gave place to astonishment. how could the door be locked within, and the window barred from within, without there being somebody inside? for a few moments the three stood speechless, listening. "looks queer, doesn't it?" spoke wabi softly. mukoki had dropped on his knees beside the door. he could hear no sound. then he kicked off his snow-shoes, gripped his belt-ax and stepped to the window. a dozen blows and one of the bars fell. the old indian sniffed suspiciously, his ear close to the opening. damp, stifling air greeted his nostrils, but still there was no sound. one after another he knocked off the remaining bars and thrust his head and shoulders inside. gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he pulled himself in. half-way--and he stopped. "go on, muky," urged wabi, who was pressing close behind. there came no answer from the old indian. for a full minute he remained poised there, as motionless as a stone, as silent as death. then, very slowly--inch by inch, as though afraid of awakening a sleeping person, he lowered himself to the ground. when he turned toward the young hunters it was with an expression that rod had never seen upon mukoki's face before. "what is it, mukoki?" the old indian gasped, as if for fresh air. "cabin--she filled with twent' t'ousand dead men!" he replied. [illustration: "knife--fight--heem killed!"] chapter vii roderick discovers the buckskin bag for one long breath rod and wabi stared at their companion, only half believing, yet startled by the strange look in the old warrior's face. "twent' t'ousand dead men!" he repeated. as he raised his hand, partly to give emphasis and partly to brush the cobwebs from his face, the boys saw it trembling in a way that even wabi had never witnessed before. "ugh!" in another instant wabi was at the window, head and shoulders in, as mukoki had been before him. after a little he pulled himself back and as he glanced at rod he laughed in an odd thrilling way, as though he had been startled, but not so much so as mukoki, who had prepared him for the sight which had struck his own vision with the unexpectedness of a shot in the back. "take a look, rod!" with his breath coming in little uneasy jerks rod approached the black aperture. a queer sensation seized upon him--a palpitation, not of fear, but of something; a very unpleasant feeling that seemed to choke his breath, and made him wish that he had not been asked to peer into that mysterious darkness. slowly he thrust his head through the hole. it was as black as night inside. but gradually the darkness seemed to be dispelled. he saw, in a little while, the opposite wall of the cabin. a table outlined itself in deep shadows, and near the table there was a pile of something that he could not name; and tumbled over that was a chair, with an object that might have been an old rag half covering it. his eyes traveled nearer. outside wabi and mukoki heard a startled, partly suppressed cry. the boy's hands gripped the sides of the window. fascinated, he stared down upon an object almost within arm's reach of him. there, leaning against the cabin wall, was what half a century or more ago had been a living man! now it was a mere skeleton, a grotesque, terrible-looking object, its empty eye-sockets gleaming dully with the light from the window, its grinning mouth, distorted into ghostly life by the pallid mixture of light and gloom, turned full up at him! rod fell back, trembling and white. "i only saw one," he gasped, remembering mukoki's excited estimate. wabi, who had regained his composure, laughed as he struck him two or three playful blows on the back. mukoki only grunted. "you didn't look long enough, rod!" he cried banteringly. "he got on your nerves too quick. i don't blame you, though. by george, i'll bet the shivers went up muky's back when he first saw 'em! i'm going in to open the door." without trepidation the young indian crawled through the window. rod, whose nervousness was quickly dispelled, made haste to follow him, while mukoki again threw his weight against the door. a few blows of wabi's belt-ax and the door shot inward so suddenly that the old indian went sprawling after it upon all fours. a flood of light filled the interior of the cabin. instinctively rod's eyes sought the skeleton against the wall. it was leaning as if, many years before, a man had died there in a posture of sleep. quite near this ghastly tenant of the cabin, stretched at full length upon the log floor, was a second skeleton, and near the overturned chair was a small cluttered heap of bones which were evidently those of some animal. rod and wabi drew nearer the skeleton against the wall and were bent upon making a closer examination when an exclamation from mukoki attracted their attention to the old pathfinder. he was upon his knees beside the second skeleton, and as the boys approached he lifted eyes to them that were filled with unbounded amazement, at the same time pointing a long forefinger to come object among the bones. "knife--fight--heem killed!" plunged to the hilt in what had once been the breast of a living being, the boys saw a long, heavy-bladed knife, its handle rotting with age, its edges eaten by rust--but still erect, held there by the murderous road its owner had cleft for it through the flesh and bone of his victim. rod, who had fallen upon his knees, gazed up blankly; his jaw dropped, and he asked the first question that popped into his head. "who--did it?" mukoki chuckled, almost gleefully, and nodded toward the gruesome thing reclining against the wall. "heem!" moved by a common instinct the three drew near the other skeleton. one of its long arms was resting across what had once been a pail, but which, long since, had sunk into total collapse between its hoops. the finger-bones of this arm were still tightly shut, clutching between them a roll of something that looked like birch-bark. the remaining arm had fallen close to the skeleton's side, and it was on this side that mukoki's critical eyes searched most carefully, his curiosity being almost immediately satisfied by the discovery of a short, slant-wise cut in one of the ribs. "this un die here!" he explained. "git um stuck knife in ribs. bad way die! much hurt--no die quick, sometime. ver' bad way git stuck!" "ugh!" shuddered rod. "this cabin hasn't had any fresh air in it for a century, i'll bet. let's get out!" mukoki, in passing, picked up a skull from the heap of bones near the chair. "dog!" he grunted. "door lock'--window shut--men fight--both kill. dog starve!" as the three retraced their steps to the spot where wolf was guarding the toboggan, rod's imaginative mind quickly painted a picture of the terrible tragedy that had occurred long ago in the old cabin. to mukoki and wabigoon the discovery of the skeletons was simply an incident in a long life of wilderness adventure--something of passing interest, but of small importance. to rod it was the most tragic event that had ever come into his city-bound existence, with the exception of the thrilling conflict at wabinosh house. he reconstructed that deadly hour in the cabin; saw the men in fierce altercation, saw them struggling, and almost heard the fatal blows as they were struck--the blows that slew one with the suddenness of a lightning bolt and sent the other, triumphant but dying, to breathe his last moments with his back propped against the wall. and the dog! what part had he taken? and after that--long days of maddening loneliness, days of starvation and of thirst, until he, too, doubled himself up on the floor and died. it was a terrible, a thrilling picture that burned in roderick's brain. but why had they quarreled? what cause had there been for that sanguinary night duel? instinctively rod accepted it as having occurred at night, for the door had been locked, the window barred. just then he would have given a good deal to have had the mystery solved. at the top of the hill rod awoke to present realities. wabi, who had harnessed himself to the toboggan, was in high spirits. "that cabin is a dandy!" he exclaimed as rod joined him. "it would have taken us at least two weeks to build as good a one. isn't it luck?" "we're going to live in it?" inquired his companion. "live in it! i should say we were. it is three times as big as the shack we had planned to build. i can't understand why two men like those fellows should have put up such a large cabin. what do you think, mukoki?" mukoki shook his head. evidently the mystery of the whole thing, beyond the fact that the tenants of the cabin had killed themselves in battle, was beyond his comprehension. the winter outfit was soon in a heap beside the cabin door. "now for cleaning up," announced wabi cheerfully. "muky, you lend me a hand with the bones, will you? rod can nose around and fetch out anything he likes." this assignment just suited rod's curiosity. he was now worked up to a feverish pitch of expectancy. might he not discover some clue that would lead to a solution of the mystery? one question alone seemed to ring incessantly in his head. why had they fought? _why had they fought?_ he even found himself repeating this under his breath as he began rummaging about. he kicked over the old chair, which was made of saplings nailed together, scrutinized a heap of rubbish that crumbled to dust under his touch, and gave a little cry of exultation when he found two guns leaning in a corner of the cabin. their stocks were decaying; their locks were encased with rust, their barrels, too, were thick with the accumulated rust of years. carefully, almost tenderly, he took one of these relics of a past age in his hands. it was of ancient pattern, almost as long as he was tall. "hudson bay gun--the kind they had before my father was born!" said wabi. with bated breath and eagerly beating heart rod pursued his search. on one of the walls he found the remains of what had once been garments--part of a hat, that fell in a thousand pieces when he touched it; the dust-rags of a coat and other things that he could not name. on the table there were rusty pans, a tin pail, an iron kettle, and the remains of old knives, forks and spoons. on one end of this table there was an unusual-looking object, and he touched it. unlike the other rags it did not crumble, and when he lifted it he found that it was a small bag, made of buckskin, tied at the end--and heavy! with trembling fingers he tore away the rotted string and out upon the table there rattled a handful of greenish-black, pebbly looking objects. rod gave a sharp quick cry for the others. wabi and mukoki had just come through the door after bearing out one of their gruesome loads, and the young indian hurried to his side. he weighed one of the pieces in the palm of his hand. "it's lead, or--" "gold!" breathed rod. he could hear his own heart thumping as wabi jumped back to the light of the door, his sheath-knife in his hand. for an instant the keen blade sank into the age-discolored object, and before rod could see into the crease that it made wabi's voice rose in an excited cry. "it's a gold nugget!" "and _that's_ why they fought!" exclaimed rod exultantly. he had hoped--and he had discovered the reason. for a few moments this was of more importance to him than the fact that he had found gold. wabi and mukoki were now in a panic of excitement. the buckskin bag was turned inside out; the table was cleared of every other object; every nook and cranny was searched with new enthusiasm. the searchers hardly spoke. each was intent upon finding--finding--finding. thus does gold--virgin gold--stir up the sparks of that latent, feverish fire which is in every man's soul. again rod joined in the search. every rag, every pile of dust, every bit of unrecognizable debris was torn, sifted and scattered. at the end of an hour the three paused, hopelessly baffled, even keenly disappointed for the time. "i guess that's all there is," said wabi. it was the longest sentence that he had spoken for half an hour. "there is only one thing to do, boys. we'll clean out everything there is in the cabin, and to-morrow we'll tear up the floor. you can't tell what there might be under it, and we've got to have a new floor anyway. it is getting dusk, and if we have this place fit to sleep in to-night we have got to hustle." no time was lost in getting the debris of the cabin outside, and by the time darkness had fallen a mass of balsam boughs had been spread upon the log floor just inside the door, blankets were out, packs and supplies stowed away in one corner, and everything "comfortable and shipshape," as rod expressed it. a huge fire was built a few feet away from the open door and the light and heat from this made the interior of the cabin quite light and warm, and, with the assistance of a couple of candles, more home-like than any camp they had slept in thus far. mukoki's supper was a veritable feast--broiled caribou, cold beans that the old indian had cooked at their last camp, meal cakes and hot coffee. the three happy hunters ate of it as though they had not tasted food for a week. the day, though a hard one, had been fraught with too much excitement for them to retire to their blankets immediately after this meal, as they had usually done in other camps. they realized, too, that they had reached the end of their journey and that their hardest work was over. there was no long jaunt ahead of them to-morrow. their new life--the happiest life in the world to them--had already begun. their camp was established, they were ready for their winter's sport, and from this moment on they felt that their evenings were their own to do with as they pleased. so for many hours that night rod, mukoki and wabigoon sat up and talked and kept the fire roaring before the door. twenty times they went over the tragedy of the old cabin; twenty times they weighed the half-pound of precious little lumps in the palms of their hands, and bit by bit they built up that life romance of the days of long ago, when all this wilderness was still an unopened book to the white man. and that story seemed very clear to them now. these men had been prospectors. they had discovered gold. afterward they had quarreled, probably over some division of it--perhaps over the ownership of the very nuggets they had found; and then, in the heat of their anger, had followed the knife battle. but where had they discovered the gold? that was the question of supreme interest to the hunters, and they debated it until midnight. there were no mining tools in the camp; no pick, shovel or pan. then it occurred to them that the builders of the cabin had been hunters, had discovered gold by accident and had collected that in the buckskin bag without the use of a pan. there was little sleep in the camp that night, and with the first light of day the three were at work again. immediately after breakfast the task of tearing up the old and decayed floor began. one by one the split saplings were pried up and carried out for firewood, until the earth floor lay bare. every foot of it was now eagerly turned over with a shovel which had been brought in the equipment; the base-logs were undermined, and filled in again; the moss that had been packed in the chinks between the cabin timbers was dug out, and by noon there was not a square inch of the interior of the camp that had not been searched. there was no more gold. in a way this fact brought relief with it. both wabi and rod gradually recovered from their nervous excitement. the thought of gold gradually faded from their minds; the joy and exhilaration of the "hunt life" filled them more and more. mukoki set to work cutting fresh cedars for the floor; the two boys scoured every log with water from the lake and afterward gathered several bushels of moss for refilling the chinks. that evening supper was cooked on the sheet-iron "section stove" which they had brought on the toboggan, and which was set up where the ancient stove of flat stones had tumbled into ruin. by candle-light the work of "rechinking" with moss progressed rapidly. wabi was constantly bursting into snatches of wild indian song, rod whistled until his throat was sore and mukoki chuckled and grunted and talked with constantly increasing volubility. a score of times they congratulated one another upon their good luck. eight wolf-scalps, a fine lynx and nearly two hundred dollars in gold--all within their first week! it was enough to fill them with enthusiasm and they made little effort to repress their joy. during this evening mukoki boiled up a large pot of caribou fat and bones, and when rod asked what kind of soup he was making he responded by picking up a handful of steel traps and dropping them into the mixture. "make traps smell good for fox--wolf--fisher, an' marten, too; heem come--all come--like smell," he explained. "if you don't dip the traps," added wabi, "nine fur animals out of ten, and wolves most of all, will fight shy of the bait. they can smell the human odor you leave on the steel when you handle it. but the grease 'draws' them." when the hunters wrapped themselves in their blankets that night their wilderness home was complete. all that remained to be done was the building of three bunks against the ends of the cabin, and this work it was agreed could be accomplished at odd hours by any one who happened to be in camp. in the morning, laden with traps, they would strike out their first hunting-trails, keeping their eyes especially open for signs of wolves; for mukoki was the greatest wolf hunter in all the hudson bay region. chapter viii how wolf became the companion of men twice that night rod was awakened by mukoki opening the cabin door. the second time he raised himself upon his elbows and quietly watched the old warrior. it was a brilliantly clear night and a flood of moonlight was pouring into the camp. he could hear mukoki chuckling and grunting, as though communicating with himself, and at last, his curiosity getting the better of him, he wrapped his blanket about him and joined the indian at the door. mukoki was peering up into space. rod followed his gaze. the moon was directly above the cabin. the sky was clear of clouds and so bright was the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly visible. besides, it was bitter cold--so cold that his face began to tingle as he stood there. these things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold mukoki's vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of the night. "what is it, mukoki?" he asked. the old indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious, all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face. "wolf night!" he whispered. he looked back to where wabi was sleeping. "wolf night!" he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the unconscious young hunter. rod regarded his actions with growing wonder. he saw him bend over wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him repeat again, "wolf night! wolf night!" wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and mukoki came back to the door. he had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out into the night. the young indian had joined rod at the open door and together they watched mukoki's gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond. when rod looked at wabi he saw that the indian boy's eyes were wide and staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright and horror. without speaking he went to the table and lighted the candles and then dressed. when he was done his face still bore traces of suppressed excitement. he ran back to the door and whistled loudly. from his shelter beside the cabin the captive wolf responded with a snarling whine. again he whistled, a dozen times, twenty, but there came no reply. more swiftly than mukoki the indian youth sped across the lake and to the summit of the hill. mukoki had completely disappeared in the white, brilliant vastness of the wilderness that stretched away at his feet. when wabi returned to the cabin rod had a fire roaring in the stove. he seated himself beside it, holding out a pair of hands blue with cold. "ugh! it's an awful night!" he shivered. he laughed across at rod, a little uneasily, but with the old light back in his eyes. suddenly he asked: "did minnetaki ever tell you--anything--queer--about mukoki, rod?" "nothing more than you have told me yourself." "well, once in a great while mukoki has--not exactly a fit, but a little mad spell! i have never determined to my own satisfaction whether he is really out of his head or not. sometimes i think he is and sometimes i think he is not. but the indians at the post believe that at certain times he goes crazy over wolves." "wolves!" exclaimed rod. "yes, wolves. and he has good reason. a good many years ago, just about when you and i were born, mukoki had a wife and child. my mother and others at the post say that he was especially gone over the kid. he wouldn't hunt like other indians, but would spend whole days at his shack playing with it and teaching it to do things; and when he did go hunting he would often tote it on his back, even when it wasn't much more than a squalling papoose. he was the happiest indian at the post, and one of the poorest. one day mukoki came to the post with a little bundle of fur, and most of the things he got in exchange for it, mother says, were for the kid. he reached the store at night and expected to leave for home the next noon, which would bring him to his camp before dark. but something delayed him and he didn't get started until the morning after. meanwhile, late in the afternoon of the day when he was to have been home, his wife bundled up the kid and they set out to meet him. well--" a weird howl from the captive wolf interrupted wabi for a moment. "well, they went on and on, and of course did not meet him. and then, the people at the post say, the mother must have slipped and hurt herself. anyway, when mukoki came over the trail the next day he found them half eaten by wolves. from that day on mukoki was a different indian. he became the greatest wolf hunter in all these regions. soon after the tragedy he came to the post to live and since then he has not left minnetaki and me. once in a great while when the night is just right, when the moon is shining and it is bitter cold, mukoki seems to go a little mad. he calls this a 'wolf night.' no one can stop him from going out; no one can get him to talk; he will allow no one to accompany him when in such a mood. he will walk miles and miles to-night. but he will come back. and when he returns he will be as sane as you and i, and if you ask him where he has been he will say that he went out to see if he could get a shot at something." rod had listened in rapt attention. to him, as wabi proceeded with his story of the tragedy in mukoki's life, the old indian was transformed into another being. no longer was he a mere savage reclaimed a little from the wilderness. there had sprung up in rod's breast a great, human, throbbing sympathy for him, and in the dim candle-glow his eyes glistened with a dampness which he made no attempt to conceal. "what does mukoki mean by 'wolf night'?" he asked. "muky is a wizard when it comes to hunting wolves," wabi went on. "he has studied them and thought of them every day of his life for nearly twenty years. he knows more about wolves than all the rest of the hunters in this country together. he can catch them in every trap he sets, which no other trapper in the world can do; he can tell you a hundred different things about a certain wolf simply by its track, and because of his wonderful knowledge he can tell, by some instinct that is almost supernatural, when a 'wolf night' comes. something in the air to-night, something in the sky--in the moon--in the very way the wilderness looks, tells him that stray wolves in the plains and hills are 'packing' or banding together to-night, and that in the morning the sun will be shining, and they will be on the sunny sides of the mountains. see if i am not right. to-morrow night, if mukoki comes back by then, we shall have some exciting sport with the wolves, and then you will see how wolf out there does his work!" there followed several minutes of silence. the fire roared up the chimney, the stove glowed red hot and the boys sat and looked and listened. rod took out his watch. it lacked only ten minutes of midnight. yet neither seemed possessed with a desire to return to their interrupted sleep. "wolf is a curious beast," mused wabi softly. "you might think he was a sneaking, traitorous cur of a wolf to turn against his own breed and lure them to death. but he isn't. wolf, as well as mukoki, has good cause for what he does. you might call it animal vengeance. did you ever notice that a half of one of his ears is gone? and if you thrust back his head you will find a terrible sear in his throat, and from his left side just back of the fore leg a chunk of flesh half as big as my hand has been torn away. we caught wolf in a lynx trap, mukoki and i. he wasn't much more than a whelp then--about six months old, mukoki said. and while he was in the trap, helpless and unable to defend himself, three or four of his lovely tribe jumped upon him and tried to kill him for breakfast. we hove in sight just in time to drive the cannibals off. we kept wolf, sewed up his side and throat, tamed him--and to-morrow night you will see how mukoki has taught him to get even with his people." it was two hours later when rod and wabigoon extinguished the candles and returned to their blankets. and for another hour after that the former found it impossible to sleep. he wondered where mukoki was--wondered what he was doing, and how in his strange madness he found his way in the trackless wilderness. when he finally fell asleep it was to dream of the indian mother and her child; only after a little there was no child, and the woman changed into minnetaki, and the ravenous wolves into men. from this unpleasant picture he was aroused by a series of prods in his side, and opening his eyes he beheld wabi in his blankets a yard away, pointing over and beyond him and nodding his head. rod looked, and caught his breath. there was mukoki--peeling potatoes! "hello, muky!" he shouted. the old indian looked up with a grin. his face bore no signs of his mad night on the trail. he nodded cheerfully and proceeded with the preparation of breakfast as though he had just risen from his blankets after a long night's rest. "better get up," he advised. "big day's hunt. much fine sunshine to-day. find wolves on mountain--plenty wolves!" the boys tumbled from their blankets and began dressing. "what time did you get in?" asked wabi. "now," replied mukoki, pointing to the hot stove and the peeled potatoes. "just make fire good." wabi gave rod a suggestive look as the old indian bent over the stove. "what were you doing last night?" he questioned. "big moon--might get shot," grunted mukoki. "see lynx on hill. see wolf-tracks on red deer trail. no shot." this was as much of the history of mukoki's night on the trail as the boys could secure, but during their breakfast wabi shot another glance at rod, and as mukoki left the table for a moment to close the damper in the stove he found an opportunity to whisper: "see if i'm not right. he will choose the mountain trail." when their companion returned, he said: "we had better split up this morning, hadn't we, muky? it looks to me as though there are two mighty good lines for traps--one over the hill, where that creek leads off through the range of ridges to the east, and the other along the creek which runs through the hilly plains to the north. what do you think of it?" "good" agreed the old hunter. "you two go north--i take ridges." "no, you and i will take the ridges and wabi will go north alone," amended rod quickly. "i'm going with you, mukoki!" mukoki, who was somewhat flattered by this preference of the white youth, grinned and chuckled and began to talk more volubly about the plans which were in his head. it was agreed that they all would return to the cabin at an early hour in the afternoon, for the old indian seemed positive that they would have their first wolf hunt that night. rod noticed that the captive wolf received no breakfast that morning, and he easily guessed the reason. the traps were now divided. three different sizes had been brought from the post--fifty small ones for mink, marten and other small fur animals; fifteen fox traps, and as many larger ones for lynx and wolves. wabi equipped himself with twenty of the small traps and four each of fox and lynx traps, while rod and mukoki took about forty in all. the remainder of the caribou meat was then cut into chunks and divided equally among them for bait. the sun was just beginning to show itself above the wilderness when the hunters left camp. as mukoki had predicted, it was a glorious day, one of those bitterly cold, cloudless days when, as the indians believe, the great creator robs the rest of the world of the sun that it may shine in all its glory upon their own savage land. from the top of the hill that sheltered their home rod looked out over the glistening forests and lakes in rapt and speechless admiration; but only for a few moments did the three pause, then took up their different trails. at the foot of this hill mukoki and his companion struck the creek. they had not progressed more than fifty rods when the old indian stopped and pointed at a fallen log which spanned the stream. the snow on this log was beaten by tiny footprints. mukoki gazed a moment, cast an observant eye along the trail, and at once threw off his pack. "mink!" he explained. he crossed the frozen creek, taking care not to touch the log. on the opposite side the tracks spread out over a windfall of trees. "whole family mink live here," continued mukoki. "t'ree--mebby four--mebby five. build trap-house right here!" never before had rod seen a trap set as the old indian now set his. very near the end of the log over which the mink made their trail he quickly built a shelter of sticks which when completed was in the form of a tiny wigwam. at the back of this was placed a chunk of the caribou meat, and in front of this bait, so that an animal would have to spring it in passing, was set a trap, carefully covered with snow and a few leaves. within twenty minutes mukoki had built two of these shelters and had set two traps. "why do you build those little houses?" asked rod, as they again took up their trail. "much snow come in winter," elucidated the indian. "build house to keep snow off traps. no do that, be digging out traps all winter. when mink--heem smell meat--go in house he got to go over trap. make house for all small animal like heem. no good for lynx. he see house--walk roun' 'n' roun' 'n' roun'--and then go 'way. smart fellow--lynx. wolf and fox, too." "is a mink worth much?" "fi' dollar--no less that. seven--eight dollar for good one." during the next mile six other mink traps were set. the creek now ran along the edge of a high rocky ridge and mukoki's eyes began to shine with a new interest. no longer did he seem entirely absorbed in the discovery of signs of fur animals. his eyes were constantly scanning the sun-bathed side of the ridge ahead and his progress was slow and cautious. he spoke in whispers, and rod followed his example. frequently the two would stop and scan the openings for signs of life. twice they set fox traps where there were evident signs of runways; in a wild ravine, strewn with tumbled trees and masses of rock, they struck a lynx track and set a trap for him at each end of the ravine; but even during these operations mukoki's interest was divided. the hunters now walked abreast, about fifty yards apart, rod never forging a foot ahead of the cautious mukoki. suddenly the youth heard a low call and he saw his companion beckoning to him with frantic enthusiasm. "wolf!" whispered mukoki as rod joined him. in the snow were a number of tracks that reminded rod of those made by a dog. "t'ree wolf!" continued the indian jubilantly. "travel early this morning. somewhere in warm sun on mountain!" they followed now in the wolf trail. a little way on rod found part of the carcass of a rabbit with fox tracks about it. here mukoki set another trap. a little farther still they came across a fisher trail and another trap was laid. caribou and deer tracks crossed and recrossed the creek, but the indian paid little attention to them. a fourth wolf joined the pack, and a fifth, and half an hour later the trail of three other wolves cut at right angles across the one they were following and disappeared in the direction of the thickly timbered plains. mukoki's face was crinkled with joy. "many wolf near," he exclaimed. "many wolf off there 'n' off there 'n' off there. good place for night hunt." soon the creek swung out from the ridge and cut a circuitous channel through a small swamp. here there were signs of wild life which set rod's heart thumping and his blood tingling with excitement. in places the snow was literally packed with deer tracks. trails ran in every direction, the bark had been rubbed from scores of saplings, and every step gave fresh evidence of the near presence of game. the stealth with which mukoki now advanced was almost painful. every twig was pressed behind him noiselessly, and once when rod struck his snow-shoe against the butt of a small tree the old indian held up his hands in mock horror. ten minutes, fifteen--twenty of them passed in this cautious, breathless trailing of the swamp. suddenly mukoki stopped, and a hand was held out behind him warningly. he turned his face back, and rod knew that he saw game. inch by inch he crouched upon his snow-shoes, and beckoned for rod to approach, slowly, quietly. when the boy had come near enough he passed back his rifle, and his lips formed the almost noiseless word, "shoot!" tremblingly rod seized the gun and looked into the swamp ahead, mukoki doubling down in front of him. what he saw sent him for a moment into the first nervous tremor of buck fever. not more than a hundred yards away stood a magnificent buck browsing the tips of a clump of hazel, and just beyond him were two does. with a powerful effort rod steadied himself. the buck was standing broadside, his head and neck stretched up, offering a beautiful shot at the vital spot behind his fore leg. at this the young hunter aimed and fired. with one spasmodic bound the animal dropped dead. hardly had rod seen the effect of his shot before mukoki was traveling swiftly toward the fallen game, unstrapping his pack as he ran. by the time the youth reached his quarry the old indian had produced a large whisky flask holding about a quart. without explanation he now proceeded to thrust his knife into the quivering animal's throat and fill this flask with blood. when he had finished his task he held it up with an air of unbounded satisfaction. "blood for wolf. heem like blood. smell um--come make big shoot to-night. no blood, no bait--no wolf shoot!" mukoki no longer maintained his usual quiet, and it was evident to rod that the indian considered his mission for that day practically accomplished. after taking the heart, liver and one of the hind quarters of the buck mukoki drew a long rope of babeesh from his pack, tied one end of it around the animal's neck, flung the other end over a near limb, and with his companion's assistance hoisted the carcass until it was clear of the ground. "if somethin' happen we no come back to-night heem safe from wolf," he explained. the two now continued through the swamp. at its farther edge the ground rose gently from the creek toward the hills, and this sloping plain was covered with huge boulders and a thin growth of large spruce and birch. just beyond the creek was a gigantic rock which immediately caught mukoki's attention. all sides except one were too precipitous for ascent, and even this one could not be climbed without the assistance of a sapling or two. they could see, however, that the top of the, rock was flat, and mukoki called attention to this fact with an exultant chuckle. "fine place for wolf hunt!" he exclaimed. "many wolf off there in swamp an' in hill. we call heem here. shoot from there!" he pointed to a clump of spruce a dozen rods away. by rod's watch it was now nearly noon and the two sat down to eat the sandwiches they had brought with them. only a few minutes were lost in taking up the home trail. beyond the swamp mukoki cut at right angles to their trap-line until he had ascended to the top of the ridge that had been on their right and which would take them very near their camp. from this ridge rod could look about him upon a wild and rugged scene. on one side it sloped down to the plains, but on the other it fell in almost sheer walls, forming at its base five hundred feet below a narrow and gloomy chasm, through which a small stream found its way. several times mukoki stopped and leaned perilously close to the dizzy edge of the mountain, peering down with critical eyes, and once when he pulled himself back cautiously by means of a small sapling he explained his interest by saying: "plenty bear there in spring!" but rod was not thinking of bears. once more his head was filled with the thought of gold. perhaps that very chasm held the priceless secret that had died with its owners half a century ago. the dark and gloomy silence that hung between those two walls of rock, the death-like desolation, the stealthy windings of the creek--everything in that dim and mysterious world between the two mountains, unshattered by sound and impenetrable to the winter sun, seemed in his mind to link itself with the tragedy of long ago. did that chasm hold the secret of the dead men? again and again rod found himself asking this question as he followed mukoki, and the oftener he asked it the nearer he seemed to an answer, until at last, with a curious, thrilling certainty that set his blood tingling he caught mukoki by the arm and pointing back, said: "mukoki--the gold was found between those mountains!" chapter ix wolf takes vengeance upon his people from that hour was born in roderick drew's breast a strange, imperishable desire. willingly at this moment would he have given up the winter trapping to have pursued that golden _ignis fatuus_ of all ages--the lure of gold. to him the story of the old cabin, the skeletons and the treasure of the buckskin bag was complete. those skeletons had once been men. they had found a mine--a place where they had picked up nuggets with their fingers. and that treasure ground was somewhere near. no longer was he puzzled by the fact that they had discovered no more gold in the old log cabin. in a flash he had solved that mystery. the men had just begun to gather their treasure when they had fought. what was more logical than that? one day, two, three--and they had quarreled over division, over rights. that was the time when they were most likely to quarrel. perhaps one had discovered the gold and had therefore claimed a larger share. anyway, the contents of the buckskin bag represented but a few days' labor. rod was sure of that. mukoki had grinned and shrugged his shoulders with an air of stupendous doubt when rod had told him that the gold lay between the mountains, so now the youth kept his thoughts to himself. it was a silent trail home. rod's mind was too active in its new channel, and he was too deeply absorbed in impressing upon his memory certain landmarks which they passed to ask questions; and mukoki, with the natural taciturnity of his race, seldom found occasion to break into conversation unless spoken to first. although his eyes were constantly on the alert, rod could see no way in which a descent could be made into the chasm from the ridge they were on. this was a little disappointing, for he had made up his mind to explore the gloomy, sunless gulch at his first opportunity. he had no doubt that wabi would join in the adventure. or he might take his own time, and explore it alone. he was reasonably sure that from somewhere on the opposite ridge a descent could be made into it. wabi was in camp when they arrived. he had set eighteen traps and had shot two spruce partridges. the birds were already cleaned for their early supper, and a thick slice of venison steak was added to the menu. during the preparation of the meal rod described their discovery of the chasm and revealed some of his thoughts concerning it, but wabi betrayed only passing flashes of interest. at times he seemed strangely preoccupied and would stand in an idle, contemplative mood, his hands buried deep in his pockets, while rod or mukoki proceeded with the little duties about the table or the stove. finally, after arousing himself from one of these momentary spells, he pulled a brass shell from his pocket and held it out to the old indian. "see here," he said. "i don't want to stir up any false fears, or anything of that sort--but i found that on the trail to-day!" mukoki clutched at the shell as though it had been another newly found nugget of gold. the shell was empty. the lettering on the rim was still very distinct. he read ". rem." "why, that's--" "a shell from rod's gun!" for a few moments rod and mukoki stared at the young indian in blank amazement. "it's a . caliber remington," continued wabi, "and it's an auto-loading shell. there are only three guns like that in this country. i've got one, mukoki has another--and you lost the third in your fight with the woongas!" the venison had begun to burn, and mukoki quickly transferred it to the table. without a word the three sat down to their meal. "that means the woongas are on our trail," declared rod presently. "that is what i have been trying to reason out all the afternoon," replied wabi. "it certainly is proof that they are, or have been quite recently, on this side of the mountain. but i don't believe they know we are here. the trail i struck was about five miles from camp. it was at least two days old. three indians on snow-shoes were traveling north. i followed back on their trail and found after a time that the indians had come from the north, which leads me to believe that they were simply on a hunting expedition, cut a circle southward, and then returned to their camp. i don't believe they will come farther south. but we must keep our eyes open." wabi's description of the manner in which the strange trail turned gave great satisfaction to mukoki, who nodded affirmatively when the young hunter expressed it as his belief that the woongas would not come so far as their camp. but the discovery of their presence chilled the buoyant spirits of the hunters. there was, however, a new spice of adventure lurking in this possible peril that was not altogether displeasing, and by the time the meal was at an end something like a plan of campaign had been formed. the hunters would not wait to be attacked and then act in self-defense, possibly at a disadvantage. they would be constantly on the lookout for the woongas, and if a fresh trail or a camp was found they would begin the man-hunt themselves. the sun was just beginning to sink behind the distant hills in the southwest when the hunters again left camp. wolf had received nothing to eat since the previous night, and with increasing hunger the fiery impatience lurking in his eyes and the restlessness of his movements became more noticeable. mukoki called attention to these symptoms with a gloating satisfaction. the gloom of early evening was enveloping the wilderness by the time the three wolf hunters reached the swamp in which rod had slain the buck. while he carried the guns and packs, mukoki and wabigoon dragged the buck between them to the huge flat-top rock. now for the first time the city youth began to understand the old pathfinder's scheme. several saplings were cut, and by means of a long rope of babeesh the deer was dragged up the side of the rock until it rested securely upon the flat space. from the dead buck's neck the babeesh rope was now stretched across the intervening space between the rock and the clump of cedars in which the hunters were to conceal themselves. in two of these cedars, at a distance of a dozen feet from the ground, were quickly made three platforms of saplings, upon which the ambushed watchers could comfortably seat themselves. by the time complete darkness had fallen the "trap" was finished, with the exception of a detail which rod followed with great interest. from inside his clothes, where it had been kept warm by his body, mukoki produced the flask of blood. a third of this blood he scattered upon the face of the rock and upon the snow at its base. the remainder he distributed, drop by drop, in trails running toward the swamp and plains. there still remained three hours before the moon would be up, and the hunters now joined wolf, who had been fastened half-way up the ridge. in the shelter of a big rock a small fire was built, and during their long wait the hunters passed the time away by broiling and eating chunks of venison and in going over again the events of the day. it was nine o'clock before the moon rose above the edge of the wilderness. this great orb of the northern night seemed to hold a never-ending fascination for rod. it crept above the forests, a glowing, throbbing ball of red, quivering and palpitating in an effulgence that neither cloud nor mist dimmed in this desolation beyond the sphere of man; and as it rose, almost with visible movement to the eyes, the blood in it faded, until at last it seemed a great blaze of soft light between silver and gold. it was then that the whole world was lighted up under it. it was then that mukoki, speaking softly, beckoned the others to follow him, and with wolf at his side went down the ridge. making a circuit around the back of the rock, mukoki paused near a small sapling twenty yards from the dead buck and secured wolf by his babeesh thong. hardly had he done so when the animal began to exhibit signs of excitement. he trotted about nervously, sniffing the air, gathering the wind from every direction, and his jaws dropped with a snarling whine. then he struck one of the clots of blood in the snow. "come," whispered wabi, pulling at rod's sleeve, "come--quietly." they slipped back among the shadows of the spruce and watched wolf in unbroken silence. the animal now stood rigidly over the blood clot. his head was level with his quivering back, his ears half aslant, his nostrils pointing to a strange thrilling scent that came to him from somewhere out there in the moonlight. once more the instinct of his breed was flooding the soul of the captive wolf. there was the odor of blood in his widening nostrils. it was not the blood of the camp, of the slaughtered game dragged in by human hands before his eyes. it was the blood of the chase! a flashing memory of his captors turned the animal's head for an instant in backward inspection. they were gone. he could neither hear nor see them. he sniffed the sign of human presence, but that sign was always with him, and was not disturbing. the blood held him--and the strange scent, the game scent--that was coming to him more clearly every instant. he crunched about cautiously in the snow. he found other spots of blood, and to the watchers there came a low long whine that seemed about to end in the wolf song. the blood trails were leading him away toward the game scent, and he tugged viciously at the babeesh that held him captive, gnawing at it vainly, like an angry dog, forgetting what experience had taught him many times before. each moment added to his excitement he ran about the sapling, gulped mouthfuls of the bloody snow, and each time he paused for a moment with his open dripping jaws held toward the dead buck on the rock. the game was very near. brute sense told him that. oh, the longing that was in him, the twitching, quivering longing to kill--kill--kill! he made another effort, tore up the snow in his frantic endeavors to free himself, to break loose, to follow in the wild glad cry of freed savagery in the calling of his people. he failed again, panting, whining in piteous helplessness. then he settled upon his haunches at the end of his babeesh thong. for a moment his head turned to the moonlit sky, his long nose poised at right angles to the bristling hollows between his shoulders. there came then a low, whining wail, like the beginning of the "death-song" of a husky dog--a wail that grew in length and in strength and in volume until it rose weirdly among the mountains and swept far out over the plains--the hunt call of the wolf on the trail, which calls to him the famished, gray-gaunt outlaws of the wilderness, as the bugler's notes call his fellows on the field of battle. three times that blood-thrilling cry went up from the captive wolf's throat, and before those cries had died away the three hunters were perched upon their platforms among the spruce. there followed now the ominous, waiting silence of an awakened wilderness. rod could hear his heart throbbing within him. he forgot the intense cold. his nerves tingled. he looked out over the endless plains, white and mysteriously beautiful as they lay bathed in the glow of the moon. and wabi knew more than he what was happening. all over that wild desolation the call of the wolf had carried its meaning. down there, where a lake lay silent in its winter sleep, a doe started in trembling and fear; beyond the mountain a huge bull moose lifted his antlered head with battle-glaring eyes; half a mile away a fox paused for an instant in its sleuth-like stalking of a rabbit; and here and there in that world of wild things the gaunt hungry people of wolf's blood stopped in their trails and turned their heads toward the signal that was coming in wailing echoes to their ears. and then the silence was broken. from afar--it might have been a mile away--there came an answering cry; and at that cry the wolf at the end of his babeesh thong settled upon his haunches again and sent back the call that comes only when there is blood upon the trail or when near the killing time. there was not the rustle of a bough, not a word spoken, by the silent watchers in the spruce. mukoki had slipped back and half lay across his support in shooting attitude. wabi had braced a foot, and his rifle was half to his shoulder, leveled over a knee. it was rod's turn with the big revolver, and he had practised aiming through a crotch that gave a rest to his arm. in a few moments there came again the howl of the distant wolf on the plains, and this time it was joined by another away to the westward. and after that there came two from the plains instead of one, and then a far cry to the north and east. for the first time rod and wabi heard the gloating chuckle of mukoki in his spruce a dozen feet away. at the increasing responses of his brethren wolf became more frantic in his efforts. the scent of fresh blood and of wounded game was becoming maddening to the captive. but his frenzy no longer betrayed itself in futile efforts to escape from the babeesh thong. wolf knew that his cries were assembling the hunt-pack. nearer and nearer came the responses of the leaders, and there were now only momentary rests between the deep-throated exhortations which he sent in all directions into the night. suddenly, almost from the swamp itself, there came a quick, excited, yelping reply, and wabi gripped rod by the arm. "he has struck the place where you killed the buck," he whispered. "there'll be quick work now!" hardly had he spoken when a series of excited howls broke forth from the swamp, coming nearer and nearer as the hunger-crazed outlaw of the plains followed over the rich-scented trail made by the two indians as they carried the slaughtered deer. soon he nosed one of the trails of blood, and a moment later the watchers saw a gaunt shadow form running swiftly over the snow toward wolf. for an instant, as the two beasts of prey met, there fell a silence; then both animals joined in the wailing hunt-pack cry, and the wolf that was free came to the edge of the great rock and stood with his fore feet on its side, and his cry changed from that of the chase to the still more thrilling signal that told the gathering pack of game at bay. swiftly the wolves closed in. from over the edge of the mountain one came and joined the wolf at the rock without the hunters seeing his approach. from out of the swamp there came a pack of three, and now about the rock there grew a maddened, yelping horde, clambering and scrambling and fighting in their efforts to climb up to the game that was so near and yet beyond their reach. and sixty feet away wolf crouched, watching the gathering of his clan, helpless, panting from his choking efforts to free himself, and quieting, gradually quieting, until in sullen silence he looked upon the scene, as though he knew the moment was very near when that thrilling spectacle would be changed into a scene of direst tragedy. and it was mukoki who had first said that this was the vengeance of wolf upon his people. from mukoki there now came a faint hissing warning, and wabi threw his rifle to his shoulder. there were at least a score of wolves at the base of the rock. gradually the old indian pulled upon the babeesh rope that led to the dead buck--pulled until he was putting a half of his strength into the effort, and could feel the animal slowly slipping from the flat ledge. a moment more and the buck tumbled down in the midst of the waiting pack. as flies gather upon a lump of sugar the famished animals now crowded and crushed and fought over the deer's body, and as they came thus together there sounded the quick sharp signal to fire from mukoki. for five seconds the edge of the spruce was a blaze of death-dealing flashes, and the deafening reports of the two rifles and the big colt drowned the cries and struggles of the animals. when those five seconds were over fifteen shots had been fired, and five seconds later the vast, beautiful silence of the wilderness night had fallen again. about the rock was the silence of death, broken only faintly by the last gasping throes of the animals that lay dying in the snow. in the trees there sounded the metallic clink of loading shells. wabi spoke first. "i believe we did a good job, mukoki!" mukoki's reply was to slip down his tree. the others followed, and hastened across to the rock. five bodies lay motionless in the snow. a sixth was dragging himself around the side of the rock, and mukoki attacked it with his belt-ax. still a seventh had run for a dozen rods, leaving a crimson trail behind, and when wabi and rod came up to it the animal was convulsed in its last dying struggles. "seven!" exclaimed the indian youth. "that is one of the best shoots we ever had. a hundred and five dollars in a night isn't bad, is it?" the two came back to the rock, dragging the wolf with them. mukoki was standing as rigid as a statue in the moonlight, his face turned into the north. he pointed one arm far out over the plains, and said, without turning his head, "see!" far out in that silent desolation the hunters saw a lurid flash of flame. it climbed up and up, until it filled the night above it with a dull glow--a single unbroken stream of fire that rose far above the swamps and forests of the plains. "that's a burning jackpine!" said wabigoon. "burning jackpine!" agreed the old warrior. then he added, "woonga signal fire!" chapter x roderick explores the chasm to rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away--a mile, perhaps a little more. in the silence of the two indians as they contemplated the strange fire he read an ominous meaning. in mukoki's eyes was a dull sullen glare, not unlike that which fills the orbs of a wild beast in a moment of deadly anger. wabi's face was filled with an eager flush, and three times, rod observed, he turned eyes strangely burning with some unnatural passion upon mukoki. slowly, even as the instincts of his race had aroused the latent, brutish love of slaughter and the chase in the tamed wolf, the long smothered instincts of these human children of the forest began to betray themselves in their bronzed countenances. rod watched, and he was thrilled to the soul. back at the old cabin they had declared war upon the woongas. both mukoki and wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies. now the opportunity had come. for five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light. still mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night. at last wabi broke the silence. "how far away is it, muky?" "t'ree mile," answered the old warrior without hesitation. "we could make it in forty minutes." "yes." wabi turned to rod. "you can find your way back to camp alone, can't you?" he asked. "not if you're going over there!" declared the white boy. "i'm going with you." mukoki broke in upon them with a harsh disappointed laugh. "no go. no go over there." he spoke with emphasis, and shook his head. "we lose pine in five minutes. no find woonga camp--make big trail for woongas to see in morning. better wait. follow um trail in day, then shoot!" rod found immense relief in the old indian's decision. he did not fear a fight; in fact, he was a little too anxious to meet the outlaws who had stolen his gun, now that they had determined upon opening fire on sight. but in this instance he was possessed of the cooler judgment of his race. he believed that as yet the woongas were not aware of their presence in this region, and that there was still a large possibility of the renegades traveling northward beyond their trapping sphere. he hoped that this would be the case, in spite of his desire to recapture his gun. a scrimmage with the woongas just now would spoil the plans he had made for discovering gold. the "skeleton mine," as he had come to call it, now absorbed his thoughts beyond everything else. he felt confident that he would discover the lost treasure ground if given time, and he was just as confident that if war was once begun between themselves and the woongas it would mean disaster or quick flight from the country. even wabi, worked up more in battle enthusiasm than by gold fever, conceded that if half of the woongas were in this country they were much too powerful for them to cope with successfully, especially as one of them was without a rifle. it was therefore with inward exultation that rod saw the project of attack dropped and mukoki and wabigoon proceed with their short task of scalping the seven wolves. during this operation wolf was allowed to feast upon the carcass of the buck. that night there was but little sleep in the old cabin. it was two o'clock when the hunters arrived in camp and from that hour until nearly four they sat about the hot stove making plans for the day that was nearly at hand. rod could but contrast the excitement that had now taken possession of them with the tranquil joy with which they had first taken up their abode in this dip in the hilltop. and how different were their plans from those of two or three days ago! not one of them now but realized their peril. they were in an ideal hunting range, but it was evidently very near, if not actually in, the woonga country. at any moment they might be forced to fight for their lives or abandon their camp, and perhaps they would be compelled to do both. so the gathering about the stove was in reality a small council of war. it was decided that the old cabin should immediately be put into a condition of defense, with a loophole on each side, strong new bars at the door, and with a thick barricade near at hand that could be quickly fitted against the window in case of attack. until the war-clouds cleared away, if they cleared at all, the camp would be continually guarded by one of the hunters, and with this garrison would be left both of the heavy revolvers. at dawn or a little later mukoki would set out upon wabi's trap-line, both to become acquainted with it and to extend the line of traps, while later in the day the indian youth would follow mukoki's line, visiting the houses already built and setting other traps. this scheme left to rod the first day's watch in camp. mukoki aroused himself from his short sleep with the first approach of dawn but did not awaken his tired companions until breakfast was ready. when the meal was finished he seized his gun and signified his intention of visiting the mink traps just beyond the hill before leaving on his long day's trail. rod at once joined him, leaving wabi to wash the dishes. they were shortly within view of the trap-houses near the creek. instinctively the eyes of both rested upon these houses and neither gave very close attention to the country ahead or about them. as a result both were exceedingly startled when they heard a huge snort and a great crunching in the deep snow close beside them. from out of a small growth of alders had dashed a big bull moose, who was now tearing with the speed of a horse up the hillside toward the hidden camp, evidently seeking the quick shelter of the dip. "wait heem git top of hill!" shouted mukoki, swinging his rifle to his shoulder. "wait!" it was a beautiful shot and rod was tempted to ignore the old indian's advice. but he knew that there was some good reason for it, so he held his trembling finger. hardly had the animal's huge antlered head risen to the sky-line when mukoki shouted again, and the young hunter pressed the trigger of his automatic gun three times in rapid succession. it was a short shot, not more than two hundred yards, and mukoki fired but once just as the bull mounted the hilltop. the next instant the moose was gone and rod was just about to dash in pursuit when his companion caught him by the arm. "we got um!" he grinned. "he run downhill, then fall--ver' close to camp. ver' good scheme--wait heem git on top hill. no have to carry meat far!" as coolly as though nothing had occurred the indian turned again in the direction of the traps. rod stood as though he had been nailed to the spot, his mouth half open in astonishment. "we go see traps," urged mukoki. "find moose dead when we go back." but roderick drew, who had hunted nothing larger than house rats in his own city, was not the young man to see the logic of this reasoning, and before mukoki could open his mouth again he was hurrying up the hill. on its summit he saw a huge torn-up blotch in the snow, spattered with blood, where the moose had fallen first after the shots; and at the foot of the hill, as the indian had predicted, the great animal lay dead. wabi was hastening across the lake, attracted by the shots, and both reached the slain bull at about the same time. rod quickly perceived that three shots had taken effect; one, which was undoubtedly mukoki's carefully directed ball, in a vital spot behind the fore leg, and two through the body. the fact that two of his own shots had taken good effect filled the white youth with enthusiasm, and he was still gesticulating excitedly in describing the bull's flight to wabi when the old indian came over the hill, grinning broadly, and holding up for their inspection a magnificent mink. the day could not have begun more auspiciously for the hunters, and by the time mukoki was ready to leave upon his long trail the adventurers were in buoyant spirits, the distressing fears of the preceding night being somewhat dispelled by their present good fortune and the glorious day which now broke in full splendor upon the wilderness. until their early dinner wabi remained in camp, securing certain parts of the moose and assisting rod in putting the cabin into a state of defense according to their previous plans. it was not yet noon when he started over mukoki's trap-line. left to his own uninterrupted thoughts, rod's mind was once more absorbed in his scheme of exploring the mysterious chasm. he had noticed during his inspection from the top of the ridge that the winter snows had as yet fallen but little in the gloomy gulch between the mountains, and he was eager to attempt his adventure before other snows came or the fierce blizzards of december filled the chasm with drifts. later in the afternoon he brought forth the buckskin bag from a niche in the log wall where it had been concealed, and one after another carefully examined the golden nuggets. he found, as he had expected, that they were worn to exceeding smoothness, and that every edge had been dulled and rounded. rod's favorite study in school had been a minor branch of geology and mineralogy, and he knew that only running water could work this smoothness. he was therefore confident that the nuggets had been discovered in or on the edge of a running stream. and that stream, he was sure, was the one in the chasm. but rod's plans for an early investigation were doomed to disappointment. late that day both mukoki and wabi returned, the latter with a red fox and another mink, the former with a fisher, which reminded rod of a dog just growing out of puppyhood, and another story of strange trails that renewed their former apprehensions. the old indian had discovered the remnants of the burned jackpine, and about it were the snow-shoe tracks of three indians. one of these trails came from the north and two from the west, which led him to believe that the pine had been fired as a signal to call the two. at the very end of their trap-line, which extended about four miles from camp, a single snow-shoe trail had cut across at right angles, also swinging into the north. these discoveries necessitated a new arrangement of the plans that had been made the preceding night. hereafter, it was agreed, only one trap-line would be visited each day, and by two of the hunters in company, both armed with rifles. rod saw that this meant the abandonment of his scheme for exploring the chasm, at least for the present. day after day now passed without evidences of new trails, and each day added to the hopes of the adventurers that they were at last to be left alone in the country. never had mukoki or wabigoon been in a better trapping ground, and every visit to their lines added to their hoard of furs. if left unmolested it was plainly evident that they would take a small fortune back to wabinosh house with them early in the spring. besides many mink, several fisher, two red foxes and a lynx, they added two fine "cross" foxes and three wolf scalps to their treasure during the next three weeks. rod began to think occasionally of the joy their success would bring to the little home hundreds of miles away, where he knew that the mother was waiting and praying for him every day of her life; and there were times, too, when he found himself counting the days that must still elapse before he returned to minnetaki and the post. but at no time did he give up his determination to explore the chasm. from the first mukoki and wabigoon had regarded this project with little favor, declaring the impossibility of discovering gold under snow, even though gold was there; so rod waited and watched for an opportunity to make the search alone, saying nothing about his plans. on a beautiful day late in december, when the sun rose with dazzling brightness, his opportunity came. wabi was to remain in camp, and mukoki, who was again of the belief that they were safe from the woongas, was to follow one of the trap-lines alone. supplying himself well with food, taking wabi's rifle, a double allowance of cartridges, a knife, belt-ax, and a heavy blanket in his pack, rod set out for the chasm. wabi laughed as he stood in the doorway to see him off. "good luck to you, rod; hope you find gold," he cried gaily, waving a final good-by with his hand. "if i don't return to-night don't you fellows worry about me," called back the youth. "if things look promising i may camp in the chasm and take up the hunt again in the morning." he now passed quickly to the second ridge, knowing from previous experience that it would be impossible to make a descent into the gulch from the first mountain. this range, a mile south of the camp, had not been explored by the hunters, but rod was sure that there was no danger of losing himself as long as he followed along the edge of the chasm which was in itself a constant and infallible guide. much to his disappointment he found that the southern walls of this mysterious break between the mountains were as precipitous as those on the opposite side, and for two hours he looked in vain for a place where he might climb down. the country was now becoming densely wooded and he was constantly encountering signs of big game. but he paid little attention to these. finally he came to a point where the forest swept over and down the steep side of the mountain, and to his great joy he saw that by strapping his snow-shoes to his back and making good use of his hands it was possible for him to make a descent. fifteen minutes later, breathless but triumphant, he stood at the bottom of the chasm. on his right rose the strip of cedar forest; on his left he was shut in by towering walls of black and shattered rock. at his feet was the little stream which had played such an important part in his golden dreams, frozen in places, and in others kept clear of ice by the swiftness of its current. a little ahead of him was that gloomy, sunless part of the chasm into which he had peered so often from the top of the ridge on the north. as he advanced step by step into its mysterious silence, his eyes alert, his nerves stretched to a tension of the keenest expectancy, there crept over him a feeling that he was invading that enchanted territory which, even at this moment, might be guarded by the spirits of the two mortals who had died because of the treasure it held. narrower and narrower became the walls high over his head. not a ray of sunlight penetrated into the soundless gloom. not a leaf shivered in the still air. the creek gurgled and spattered among its rocks, without the note of a bird or the chirp of a squirrel to interrupt its monotony. everything was dead. now and then rod could hear the wind whispering over the top of the chasm. but not a breath of it came down to him. under his feet was only sufficient snow to deaden his own footsteps, and he still carried his snow-shoes upon his back. suddenly, from the thick gloom that hung under one of the cragged walls, there came a thundering, unearthly sound that made him stop, his rifle swung half to shoulder. he saw that he had disturbed a great owl, and passed on. now and then he paused beside the creek and took up handful after handful of its pebbles, his heart beating high with hope at every new gleam he caught among them, and never sinking to disappointment though he found no gold. the gold was here--somewhere. he was as certain of that as he was of the fact that he was living, and searching for it. everything assured him of that; the towering masses of cleft rock, whole walls seeming about to crumble into ruin, the broad margins of pebbles along the creek--everything, to the very stillness and mystery in the air, spoke this as the abode of the skeletons' secret. it was this inexplicable _something_--this unseen, mysterious element hovering in the air that caused the white youth to advance step by step, silently, cautiously, as though the slightest sound under his feet might awaken the deadliest of enemies. and it was because of this stealth in his progress that he came very close upon something that was living, and without startling it. less than fifty yards ahead of him he saw an object moving slowly among the rocks. it was a fox. even before the animal had detected his presence he had aimed and fired. thunderous echoes rose up about him. they rolled down the chasm, volume upon volume, until in the ghostly gloom between the mountain walls he stood and listened, a nervous shiver catching him once or twice. not until the last echo had died away did he approach where the fox lay upon the snow. it was not red. it was not black. it was not-- his heart gave a big excited thump. the bleeding creature at his feet was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen--and the tip of its thick black fur was silver gray. then, in that lonely chasm, there went up a great human whoop of joy. "a silver fox!" rod spoke the words aloud. for five minutes he stood and looked upon his prize. he held it up and stroked it, and from what wabi and mukoki had told him he knew that the silken pelt of this creature was worth more to them than all the furs at the camp together. he made no effort to skin it, but put the animal in his pack and resumed his slow, noiseless exploration of the gulch. he had now passed beyond those points in the range from which he had looked down into this narrow, shut-in world. ever more wild and gloomy became the chasm. at times the two walls of rock seemed almost to meet far above his head; under gigantic, overhanging crags there lurked the shadows of night. fascinated by the grandeur and loneliness of the scenes through which he was passing rod forgot the travel of time. mile after mile he continued his tireless trail. he had no inclination to eat. he stopped only once at the creek to drink. and when he looked at his watch he was astonished to find that it was three o'clock in the afternoon. it was now too late to think of returning to camp. within an hour the day gloom of the chasm would be thickening into that of night. so rod stopped at the first good camp site, threw off his pack, and proceeded with the building of a cedar shelter. not until this was completed and a sufficient supply of wood for the night's fire was at hand did he begin getting supper. he had brought a pail with him and soon the appetizing odors of boiling coffee and broiling moose sirloin filled the air. night had fallen between the mountain walls by the time rod sat down to his meal. chapter xi roderick's dream a chilling loneliness now crept over the young adventurer. even as he ate he tried to peer out into the mysterious darkness. a sound from up the chasm, made by some wild prowler of the night, sent a nervous tremor through him. he was not afraid; he would not have confessed to that. but still, the absolute, almost gruesome silence between the two mountains, the mere knowledge that he was alone in a place where the foot of man had not trod for more than half a century, was not altogether quieting to his nerves. what mysteries might not these grim walls hold? what might not happen here, where everything was so strange, so weird, and so different from the wilderness world just over the range? rod tried to laugh away his nervousness, but the very sound of his own voice was distressing. it rose in unnatural shivering echoes--a low, hollow mockery of a laugh beating itself against the walls; a ghost of a laugh, rod thought, and that very thought made him hunch closer to the fire. the young hunter was not superstitious, or at least he was not unnaturally so; but what man or boy is there in this whole wide world of ours who does not, at some time, inwardly cringe from something in the air--something that does not exist and never did exist, but which holds a peculiar and nameless fear for the soul of a human being? and rod, as he piled his fire high with wood and shrank in the warmth of his cedar shelter, felt that nameless dread; and there came to him no thought of sleep, no feeling of fatigue, but only that he was alone, absolutely alone, in the mystery and almost unending silence of the chasm. try as he would he could not keep from his mind the vision of the skeletons as he had first seen them in the old cabin. many, many years ago, even before his own mother was born, those skeletons had trod this very chasm. they had drunk from the same creek as he, they had clambered over the same rocks, they had camped perhaps where he was camping now! they, too, in flesh and life, had strained their ears in the grim silence, they had watched the flickering light of their camp-fire on the walls of rock--and they had found gold! just now, if rod could have moved himself by magic, he would have been safely back in camp. he listened. from far back over the trail he had followed there came a lonely, plaintive, almost pleading cry. "'ello--'ello--'ello!" it sounded like a distant human greeting, but rod knew that it was the awakening night cry of what wabi called the "man owl." it was weirdly human-like; and the echoes came softly, and more softly, until ghostly voices seemed to be whispering in the blackness about him. "'ello--'ello--'ello!" the boy shivered and laid his rifle across his knees. there was tremendous comfort in the rifle. rod fondled it with his fingers, and two or three times he felt as though he would almost like to talk to it. only those who have gone far into the silence and desolation of the unblazed wilderness know just how human a good rifle becomes to its owner. it is a friend every hour of the night and day, faithful to its master's desires, keeping starvation at bay and holding death for his enemies; a guaranty of safety at his bedside by night, a sharp-fanged watch-dog by day, never treacherous and never found wanting by the one who bestows upon it the care of a comrade and friend. thus had rod come to look upon his rifle. he rubbed the barrel now with his mittens; he polished the stock as he sat in his loneliness, and long afterward, though he had determined to remain awake during the night, he fell asleep with it clasped tightly in his hands. it was an uneasy, troubled slumber in which the young adventurer's visions and fears took a more realistic form. he half sat, half lay, upon his cedar boughs; his head fell forward upon his breast, his feet were stretched out to the fire. now and then unintelligible sounds fell from his lips, and he would start suddenly as if about to awaken, but each time would sink back into his restless sleep, still clutching the gun. the visions in his head began to take a more definite form. once more he was on the trail, and had come to the old cabin. but this time he was alone. the window of the cabin was wide open, but the door was tightly closed, just as the hunters had found it when they first came down into the dip. he approached cautiously. when very near the window he heard sounds--strange sounds--like the clicking of bones! step by step in his dream he approached the window and looked in. and there he beheld a sight that froze him to the marrow. two huge skeletons were struggling in deadly embrace. he could hear no sound but the click-click-click of their bones. he saw the gleam of knives held between fleshless fingers, and he saw now that both were struggling for the possession of something that was upon the table. now one almost reached it, now the other, but neither gained possession. the clicking of the bones became louder, the struggle fiercer, the knives of the skeleton combatants rose and fell. then one staggered back and sank in a heap on the floor. for a moment the victor swayed, tottered to the table, and gripped the mysterious object in its bony fingers. as it stumbled weakly against the cabin wall the gruesome creature held the object up, and rod saw that it was a roll of birch-bark! an ember in the dying fire snapped with a sound like the report of a small pistol and rod sat bolt upright, awake, staring, trembling. what a horrible dream! he drew in his cramped legs and approached the fire on his knees, holding his rifle in one hand while he piled on wood with the other. what a horrible dream! he shuddered and ran his eyes around the impenetrable wall of blackness that shut him in, the thought constantly flashing through his mind, what a horrible dream--what a horrible dream! he sat down again and watched the flames of his fire as they climbed higher and higher. the light and the heat cheered him, and after a little he allowed his mind to dwell upon the adventure of his slumber. it had made him sweat. he took off his cap and found that the hair about his forehead was damp. all the different phases of a dream return to one singly when awake, and it was with the suddenness of a shot that there came to rod a remembrance of the skeleton hand held aloft, clutching between its gleaming fleshless fingers the roll of birch-bark. and with that memory of his dream there came another--the skeleton in the cabin was clutching a piece of birch-bark when they had buried it! could that crumpled bit of bark hold the secret of the lost mine? was it for the possession of that bark instead of the buckskin bag that the men had fought and died? as the minutes passed rod forgot his loneliness, forgot his nervousness and only thought of the possibilities of the new clue that had come to him in a dream. wabi and mukoki had seen the bark clutched in the skeleton fingers, but they as well as he had given it no special significance, believing that it had been caught up in some terrible part of the struggle when both combatants were upon the floor, or perhaps in the dying agonies of the wounded man against the wall. rod remembered now that they had found no more birch-bark upon the floor, which they would have done if a supply had been kept there for kindling fires. step by step he went over the search they had made in the old cabin, and more and more satisfied did he become that the skeleton hand held something of importance for them. he replenished his fire and waited impatiently for dawn. at four o'clock, before day had begun to dispel the gloom of night, he cooked his breakfast and prepared his pack for the homeward journey. soon afterward a narrow rim of light broke through the rift in the chasm. slowly it crept downward, until the young hunter could make out objects near him and the walls of the mountains. thick shadows still defied his vision when he began retracing his steps over the trail he had made the day before. he returned with the same caution that he had used in his advance. even more carefully, if possible, did he scrutinize the rocks and the creek ahead. he had already found life in the chasm, and he might find more. the full light of day came quickly now, and with it the youth's progress became more rapid. he figured that if he lost no time in further investigation of the creek he would arrive at camp by noon, and they would dig up the skeleton without delay. there was little snow in the chasm, in spite of the lateness of the season, and if the roll of bark held the secret of the lost gold it would be possible for them to locate the treasure before other snows came to baffle them. at the spot where he had killed the silver fox rod paused for a moment. he wondered if foxes ever traveled in pairs, and regretted that he had not asked wabi or mukoki that question. he could see where the fox had come straight from the black wall of the mountain. curiosity led him over the trail. he had not followed it more than two hundred yards when he stopped in sudden astonishment. plainly marked in the snow before him was the trail of a pair of snow-shoes! whoever had been there had passed since he shot the fox, for the imprints of the animal's feet were buried under those of the snow-shoes. who was the other person in the chasm? was it wabi? had mukoki or he come to join him? or-- he looked again at the snow-shoe trail. it was a peculiar trail, unlike the one made by his own shoes. the imprints were a foot longer than his own, and narrower. neither wabi nor mukoki wore shoes that would make that trail! at this point the strange trail had turned and disappeared among the rocks along the wall of the mountain, and it occurred to rod that perhaps the stranger had not discovered his presence in the chasm. there was some consolation in this thought, but it was doomed to quick disappointment. very cautiously the youth advanced, his rifle held in readiness and his eyes searching every place of concealment ahead of him. a hundred yards farther on the stranger had stopped, and from the way in which the snow was packed rod knew that he had stood in a listening and watchful attitude for some time. from this point the trail took another turn and came down until, from behind a huge rock, the stranger had cautiously peered out upon the path made by the white youth. it was evident that he was extremely anxious to prevent the discovery of his own trail, for now the mysterious spy threaded his way behind rocks until he had again come to the shelter of the mountain wall. rod was perplexed. he realized the peril of his dilemma, and yet he knew not what course to take to evade it. he had little doubt that the trail was made by one of the treacherous woongas, and that the indian not only knew of his presence, but was somewhere in the rocks ahead of him, perhaps even now waiting behind some ambuscade to shoot him. should he follow the trail, or would it be safer to steal along among the rocks of the opposite wall of the chasm? he had decided upon the latter course when his eyes caught a narrow horizontal slit cleaving the face of the mountain on his left, toward which the snow-shoe tracks seemed to lead. with his rifle ready for instant use the youth slowly approached the fissure, and was surprised to find that it was a complete break in the wall of rock, not more than four feet wide, and continuing on a steady incline to the summit of the ridge. at the mouth of this fissure his mysterious watcher had taken off his snow-shoes and rod could see where he had climbed up the narrow exit from the chasm. with a profound sense of relief the young hunter hurried along the base of the mountain, keeping well within its shelter so that eyes that might be spying from above could not see his movements. he now felt no fear of danger. the stranger's flight up the cleft in the chasm wall and his careful attempts to conceal his trail among the rocks assured rod that he had no designs upon his life. his chief purpose had seemed to be to keep secret his own presence in the gorge, and this fact in itself added to the mystification of the white youth. for a long time he had been secretly puzzled, and had evolved certain ideas of his own because of the movements of the woongas. contrary to the opinions of mukoki and wabigoon, he believed that the red outlaws were perfectly conscious of their presence in the dip. from the first their actions had been unaccountable, but not once had one of their snow-shoe trails crossed their trap-lines. was this fact in itself not significant? rod was of a contemplative theoretical turn of mind, one of those wide-awake, interesting young fellows who find food for conjecture in almost every incident that occurs, and his suspicions were now aroused to an unusual pitch. a chief fault, however, was that he kept most of his suspicions to himself, for he believed that mukoki and wabigoon, born and taught in the life of the wilderness, were infallible in their knowledge of the ways and the laws and the perils of the world they were in. chapter xii the secret of the skeleton's hand a little before noon rod arrived at the top of the hill from which he could look down on their camp. he was filled with pleasurable anticipation, and with an unbounded swelling satisfaction that caused him to smile as he proceeded into the dip. he had found a fortune in the mysterious chasm. the burden of the silver fox upon his shoulders was a most pleasing reminder of that, and he pictured the moment when the good-natured raillery of mukoki and wabigoon would be suddenly turned into astonishment and joy. as he approached the cabin the young hunter tried to appear disgusted and half sick, and his effort was not bad in spite of his decided inclination to laugh. wabi met him in the doorway, grinning broadly, and mukoki greeted him with a throatful of his inimitable chuckles. "aha, here's rod with a packful of gold!" cried the young indian, striking an expectant attitude. "will you let us see the treasure?" in spite of his banter there was gladness in his face at rod's arrival. the youth threw off his pack with a spiritless effort and flopped into a chair as though in the last stage of exhaustion. "you'll have to undo the pack," he replied. "i'm too tired and hungry." wabi's manner changed at once to one of real sympathy. "i'll bet you're tired, rod, and half starved. we'll have dinner in a hurry. ho, muky, put on the steak, will you?" there followed a rattle of kettles and tin pans and the indian youth gave rod a glad slap on the back as he hurried to the table. he was evidently in high spirits, and burst into a snatch of song as he cut up a loaf of bread. "i'm tickled to see you back," he admitted, "for i was getting a little bit nervous. we had splendid luck on our lines yesterday. brought in another 'cross' and three mink. did you see anything?" "aren't you going to look in the pack?" wabi turned and gazed at his companion with a half-curious hesitating smile. "anything in it?" he asked suspiciously. "see here, boys," cried rod, forgetting himself in his suppressed enthusiasm. "i said there was a treasure in that chasm, and there was. i found it. you are welcome to look into that pack if you wish!" wabi dropped the knife with which he was cutting the bread and went to the pack. he touched it with the toe of his boot, lifted it in his hands, and glanced at rod again. "it isn't a joke?" he asked. "no." rod turned his back upon the scene and began to take off his coat as coolly as though it were the commonest thing in the world for him to bring silver foxes into camp. only when wabi gave a suppressed yell did he turn about, and then he found the indian standing erect and holding out the silver to the astonished gaze of mukoki. "is it a good one?" he asked. "a beauty!" gasped wabi. mukoki had taken the animal and was examining it with the critical eyes of a connoisseur. "ver' fine!" he said. "at post heem worth fi' hundred dollars--at montreal t'ree hundred more!" wabi strode across the cabin and thrust out his hand. "shake, rod!" as the two gripped hands he turned to mukoki. "bear witness, mukoki, that this young gentleman is no longer a tenderfoot. he has shot a silver fox. he has done a whole winter's work in one day. i take off my hat to you, mr. drew!" roderick's face reddened with a flush of pleasure. "and that isn't all, wabi," he said. his eyes were filled with a sudden intense earnestness, and in the strangeness of the change wabi forgot to loosen the grip of his fingers about his companion's hand. "you don't mean that you found--" "no, i didn't find gold," anticipated rod. "but the gold is there! i know it. and i think i have found a clue. you remember that when you and i examined the skeleton against the wall we saw that it clutched something that looked like birch-bark in its hand? well, i believe that birch-bark holds the key to the lost mine!" mukoki had come beside them and stood listening to rod, his face alive with keen interest. in wabi's eyes there was a look half of doubt, half of belief. "it might," he said slowly. "it wouldn't do any harm to see." he stepped to the stove and took off the partly cooked steak. rod slipped on his coat and hat and mukoki seized his belt-ax and the shovel. no words were spoken, but there was a mutual understanding that the investigation was to precede dinner. wabi was silent and thoughtful and rod could see that his suggestion had at least made a deep impression upon him. mukoki's eyes began to gleam again with the old fire with which he had searched the cabin for gold. the skeletons were buried only a few inches deep in the frozen earth in the edge of the cedar forest, and mukoki soon exposed them to view. almost the first object that met their eyes was the skeleton hand clutching its roll of birch-bark. it was rod who dropped upon his knees to the gruesome task. with a shudder at the touch of the cold bones he broke the fingers back. one of them snapped with a sharp sound, and as he rose with the bark in his hand his face was bloodlessly white. the bones were covered again and the three returned to the cabin. still silent, they gathered about the table. with age the bark of the birch hardens and rolls itself tightly, and the piece rod held was almost like thin steel. inch by inch it was spread out, cracking and snapping in brittle protest. the hunters could see that the bark was in a single unbroken strip about ten inches long by six in width. two inches, three, four were unrolled--and still the smooth surface was blank. another half-inch, and the bark refused to unroll farther. "careful!" whispered wabi. with the point of his knife he loosened the cohesion. "i guess--there's--nothing--" began rod. even as he spoke he caught his breath. a mark had appeared on the bark, a black, meaningless mark with a line running down from it into the scroll. another fraction of an inch and the line was joined by a second, and then with an unexpectedness that was startling the remainder of the roll released itself like a spring--and to the eyes of the three wolf hunters was revealed the secret of the skeleton hand. spread out before them was a map, or at least what they at once accepted as a map, though in reality it was more of a crude diagram of straight and crooked lines, with here and there a partly obliterated word to give it meaning. in several places there were mere evidences of words, now entirely illegible. but what first held the attention of rod and his companions were several lines in writing under the rough sketch on the bark, still quite plain, which formed the names of three men. roderick read them aloud. "john ball, henri langlois, peter plante." through the name of john ball had been drawn a broad black line which had almost destroyed the letters, and at the end of this line, in brackets, was printed a word in french which wabi quickly translated. "dead!" he breathed. "the frenchmen killed him!" the words shot from him in hot excitement. rod did not reply. slowly he drew a trembling finger over the map. the first word he encountered was unintelligible. of the next he could only make out one letter, which gave him no clue. evidently the map had been made with a different and less durable substance than that with which the names had been written. he followed down the first straight black line, and where this formed a junction with a wider crooked line were two words quite distinct: "second waterfall." half an inch below this rod could make out the letters t, d and l, widely scattered. "that's the third waterfall," he exclaimed eagerly. at this point the crude lines of the diagram stopped, and immediately below, between the map and the three names, it was evident that there had been considerable writing. but not a word of it could the young hunters make out. that writing, without doubt, had given the key to the lost gold. rod looked up, his face betraying the keenness of his disappointment. he knew that under his hand he held all that was left of the secret of a great treasure. but he was more baffled than ever. somewhere in this vast desolation there were three waterfalls, and somewhere near the third waterfall the englishman and the two frenchmen had found their gold. that was all he knew. he had not found a waterfall in the chasm; they had not discovered one in all their trapping and hunting excursions. wabi was looking down into his face in silent thought. suddenly he reached out and seized the sheet of bark and examined it closely. as he looked there came a deeper flush in his face, his eyes brightened and he gave a cry of excitement. "by george, i believe we can peel this!" he cried. "see here, muky!" he thrust the birch under the old indian's eyes. even mukoki's hands were trembling. "birch-bark is made up of a good many layers, each as thin as the thinnest paper," he explained to rod as mukoki continued his examination. "if we can peel off that first layer, and then hold it up to the light, we shall be able to see the impression of every word that was ever made on it--even though they were written a hundred years ago!" mukoki had gone to the door, and now he turned, grinning exultantly. "she peel!" he showed them where he had stripped back a corner of the film-like layer. then he sat down in the light, his head bent over, and for many minutes he worked at his tedious task while wabi and rod hung back in soundless suspense. half an hour later mukoki straightened himself, rose to his feet and held out the precious film to rod. as tenderly as though his own life depended upon its care, rod held the piece of birch, now a silken, almost transparent sheet, between himself and the light. a cry welled up into his throat. it was repeated by wabi. and then there was silence--a silence broken only by their bated breaths and the excited thumpings of their hearts. as though they had been written but yesterday, the mysterious words on the map were disclosed to their eyes. where rod had made out only three letters there were now plainly discernible the two words "third waterfall," and very near to these was the word "cabin." below them were several lines, clearly impressed in the birch film. slowly, his voice trembling, rod read them to his companions. "we, john ball, henri langlois, and peter plante, having discovered gold at this fall, do hereby agree to joint partnership in the same, and do pledge ourselves to forget our past differences and work in mutual good will and honesty, so help us god. signed, "john ball, henri langlois, peter plante." at the very top of the map the impression of several other words caught rod's eyes. they were more indistinct than any of the others, but one by one he made them out. a hot blurring film seemed to fall over his eyes and he felt as though his heart had suddenly come up into his throat. wabi's breath was burning against his cheek, and it was wabi who spoke the words aloud. "cabin and head of chasm." rod went back to the table and sat down, the precious bit of birch-bark under his hand. mukoki, standing mute, had listened and heard, and was as if stunned by their discovery. but now his mind returned to the moose steak, and he placed it on the stove. wabi stood with his hands in his pockets, and after a little he laughed a trembling, happy laugh. "well, rod, you've found your mine. you are as good as rich!" "you mean that we have found our mine," corrected the white youth. "we are three, and we just naturally fill the places of john ball, henri langlois and peter plante. they are all dead. the gold is ours!" wabi had taken up the map. "i can't see the slightest possibility of our not finding it," he said. "the directions are as plain as day. we follow the chasm, and somewhere in that chasm we come to a waterfall. a little beyond this the creek that runs through the gorge empties into a larger stream, and we follow this second creek or river until we come to the third fall. the cabin is there, and the gold can not be far away." he had carried the map to the door again, and rod joined him. "there is nothing that gives us an idea of distance on the map," he continued. "how far did you travel down the chasm?" "ten miles, at least," replied rod. "and you discovered no fall?" "no." with a splinter picked up from the floor wabi measured the distances between the different points on the diagram. "there is no doubt but what this map was drawn by john ball," he said after a few moments of silent contemplation. "everything points to that fact. notice that all of the writing is in one hand, except the signatures of langlois and plante, and you could hardly decipher the letters in those signatures if you did not already know their names from this writing below. ball wrote a good hand, and from the construction of the agreement over the signatures he was a man of pretty fair education. don't you think so? well, he must have drawn this map with some idea of distance in his mind. the second fall is only half as far from the first fall as the third fall is from the second, which seems to me conclusive evidence of this. if he had not had distance in mind he would not have separated the falls in this way on the map." "then if we can find the first fall we can figure pretty nearly how far the last fall is from the head of the chasm," said rod. "yes. i believe the distance from here to the first fall will give us a key to the whole thing." rod had produced a pencil from one of his pockets and was figuring on the smooth side of a chip. "the gold is a long way from here at the best, wabi. i explored the chasm for ten miles. say that we find the first fall within fifteen miles. then, according to the map, the second fall would be about twenty miles from the first, and the third forty miles from the second. if the first fall is within fifteen miles of this cabin the third fall is at least seventy-five miles away." wabi nodded. "but we may not find the first fall within that distance," he said. "by george--" he stopped and looked at rod with an odd look of doubt in his face. "if the gold is seventy-five or a hundred miles away, why were those men here, and with only a handful of nuggets in their possession? is it possible that the gold played out--that they found only what was in the buckskin bag?" "if that were so, why should they have fought to the death for the possession of the map?" argued rod. mukoki was turning the steak. he had not spoken, but now he said: "mebby going to post for supplies." "that's exactly what they were doing!" shouted the indian youth. "muky, you have solved the whole problem. they were going for supplies. and they didn't fight for the map--not for the map alone!" his face flushed with new excitement. "perhaps i am wrong, but it all seems clear to me now," he continued. "ball and the two frenchmen worked their find until they ran out of supplies. wabinosh house is over a hundred years old, and fifty years ago that was the nearest point where they could get more. in some way it fell to the frenchmen to go. they had probably accumulated a hoard of gold, and before they left they murdered ball. they brought with them only enough gold to pay for their supplies, for it was their purpose not to arouse the suspicion of any adventurers who happened to be at the post. they could easily have explained their possession of those few nuggets. in this cabin either langlois or plante tried to kill his companion, and thus become the sole possessor of the treasure, and the fight, fatal to both, ensued. i may be wrong, but--by george, i believe that is what happened!" "and that they buried the bulk of their gold somewhere back near the third fall?" "yes; or else they brought the gold here and buried it somewhere near this very cabin!" they were interrupted by mukoki. "dinner ready!" he called. chapter xiii snowed in until the present moment rod had forgotten to speak of the mysterious man-trail he had encountered in the chasm. the excitement of the past hour had made him oblivious to all other things, but now as they ate their dinner he described the strange maneuvers of the spying woonga. he did not, however, voice those fears which had come to him in the gorge, preferring to allow mukoki and wabigoon to draw their own conclusions. by this time the two indians were satisfied that the woongas were not contemplating attack, but that for some unaccountable reason they were as anxious to evade the hunters as the hunters were to evade them. everything that had passed seemed to give evidence of this. the outlaw in the chasm, for instance, could easily have waylaid rod; a dozen times the almost defenseless camp could have been attacked, and there were innumerable places where ambushes might have been laid for them along the trap-lines. so rod's experience with the woonga trail between the mountains occasioned little uneasiness, and instead of forming a scheme for the further investigation of this trail on the south, plans were made for locating the first fall. mukoki was the swiftest and most tireless traveler on snow-shoes, and it was he who volunteered to make the first search. he would leave the following morning, taking with him a supply of food, and during his absence rod and wabigoon would attend to the traps. "we must have the location of the first fall before we return to the post," declared wabi. "if from that we find that the third fall is not within a hundred miles of our present camp it will be impossible for us to go in search of our gold during this trip. in that event we shall have to go back to wabinosh house and form a new expedition, with fresh supplies and the proper kind of tools. we can not do anything until the spring freshets are over, anyway." "i have been thinking of that," replied rod, his eyes softening. "you know mother is alone, and--her--" "i understand," interrupted the indian boy, laying a hand fondly across his companion's arm. "--her funds are small, you know," rod finished. "if she has been sick--or--anything like that--" "yes, we've got to get back with our furs," helped wabi, a tremor of tenderness in his own voice. "and if you don't mind, rod, i might take a little run down to detroit with you. do you suppose she would care?" "care!" shouted rod, bringing his free hand down upon wabi's arm with a force that hurt. "care! why, she thinks as much of you as she does of me, wabi! she'd be tickled to death! do you mean it?" wabi's bronzed face flushed a deeper red at his friend's enthusiasm. "i won't promise--for sure," he said. "but i'd like to see her--almost as much as you, i guess. if i can, i'll go." rod's face was suffused with a joyful glow. "and i'll come back with you early in the summer and we'll start out for the gold," he cried. he jumped to his feet and slapped mukoki on the back in the happy turn his mind had taken. "will you come, too, mukoki? i'll give you the biggest 'city time' you ever had in your life!" the old indian grinned and chuckled and grunted, but did not reply in words. wabi laughed, and answered for him. "he is too anxious to become minnetaki's slave again, rod. no, muky won't go, i'll wager that. he will stay at the post to see that she doesn't get lost, or hurt, or stolen by the woongas. eh, mukoki?" mukoki nodded, grinning good-humoredly. he went to the door, opened it and looked out. "devil--she snow!" he cried. "she snow like twent' t'ousand--like devil!" this was the strongest english in the old warrior's vocabulary, and it meant something more than usual. wabi and rod quickly joined him. never in his life had the city youth seen a snow-storm like that which he now gazed out into. the great north storm had arrived--a storm which comes just once each year in the endless arctic desolation. for days and weeks the indians had expected it and wondered at its lateness. it fell softly, silently, without a breath of air to stir it; a smothering, voiceless sea of white, impenetrable to human vision, so thick that it seemed as though it might stifle one's breath. rod held out the palm of his hand and in an instant it was covered with a film of white. he walked out into it, and a dozen yards away he became a ghostly, almost invisible shadow. when he came back a minute later he brought a load of snow into the cabin with him. all that afternoon the snow fell like this, and all that night the storm continued. when he awoke in the morning rod heard the wind whistling and howling through the trees and around the ends of the cabin. he rose and built the fire while the others were still sleeping. he attempted to open the door, but it was blocked. he lowered the barricade at the window, and a barrel of snow tumbled in about his feet. he could see no sign of day, and when he turned he saw wabi sitting up in his blankets, laughing silently at his wonder and consternation. "what in the world--" he gasped. "we're snowed in," grinned wabi. "does the stove smoke?" "no," replied rod, throwing a bewildered glance at the roaring fire. "you don't mean to say--" "then we are not completely, buried," interrupted the other. "at least the top of the chimney is sticking out!" mukoki sat up and stretched himself. "she blow," he said, as a tremendous howl of wind swept over the cabin. "bime-by she blow some more!" rod shoveled the snow into a corner and replaced the barricade while his companions dressed. "this means a week's work digging out traps," declared wabi. "and only mukoki's great spirit, who sends all blessings to this country, knows when the blizzard is going to stop. it may last a week. there is no chance of finding our waterfall in this." "we can play dominoes," suggested rod cheerfully. "you remember we haven't finished that series we began at the post. but you don't expect me to believe that it snowed enough yesterday afternoon and last night to cover this cabin, do you?" "it didn't exactly _snow_ enough to cover it," explained his comrade. "but we're covered for all of that. the cabin is on the edge of an open, and of course the snow just naturally drifts around us, blown there by the wind. if this blizzard keeps up we shall be under a small mountain by night." "won't it--smother us?" faltered rod. wabi gave a joyous whoop of merriment at the city-bred youth's half-expressed fear and a volley of mukoki's chuckles came from where he was slicing moose-steak on the table. "snow mighty nice thing live under," he asserted with emphasis. "if you were under a mountain of snow you could live, if you weren't crushed to death," said wabi. "snow is filled with air. mukoki was caught under a snow-slide once and was buried under thirty feet for ten hours. he had made a nest about as big as a barrel and was nice and comfortable when we dug him out. we won't have to burn much wood to keep warm now." after breakfast the boys again lowered the barricade at the window and wabi began to bring small avalanches of snow down into the cabin with his shovel. at the third or fourth upward thrust a huge mass plunged through the window, burying them to the waist, and when they looked out they could see the light of day and the whirling blizzard above their heads. "it's up to the roof," gasped rod. "great scott, what a snow-storm!" "now for some fun!" cried the indian youth. "come on, rod, if you want to be in it." he crawled through the window into the cavity he had made in the drift, and rod followed. wabi waited, a mischievous smile on his face, and no sooner had his companion joined him than he plunged his shovel deep into the base of the drift. half a dozen quick thrusts and there tumbled down upon their heads a mass of light snow that for a few moments completely buried them. the suddenness of it knocked rod to his knees, where he floundered, gasped and made a vain effort to yell. struggling like a fish he first kicked his feet free, and wabi, who had thrust out his head and shoulders, shrieked with laughter as he saw only rod's boots sticking out of the snow. "you're going the wrong way, rod!" he shouted. "wow--wow!" he seized his companion's legs and helped to drag him out, and then stood shaking, the tears streaming down his face, and continued to laugh until he leaned back in the drift, half exhausted. rod was a curious and ludicrous-looking object. his eyes were wide and blinking; the snow was in his ears, his mouth, and in his floundering he had packed his coat collar full of it. slowly he recovered from his astonishment, saw wabi and mukoki quivering with laughter, grinned--and then joined them in their merriment. it was not difficult now for the boys to force their way through the drift and they were soon standing waist-deep in the snow twenty yards from the cabin. "the snow is only about four feet deep in the open," said wabi. "but look at that!" he turned and gazed at the cabin, or rather at the small part of it which still rose triumphant above the huge drift which had almost completely buried it. only a little of the roof, with the smoking chimney rising out of it, was to be seen. rod now turned in all directions to survey the wild scene about him. there had come a brief lull in the blizzard, and his vision extended beyond the lake and to the hilltop. there was not a spot of black to meet his eyes; every rock was hidden; the trees hung silent and lifeless under their heavy mantles and even their trunks were beaten white with the clinging volleys of the storm. there came to him then a thought of the wild things in this seemingly uninhabitable desolation. how could they live in this endless desert of snow? what could they find to eat? where could they find water to drink? he asked wabi these questions after they had returned to the cabin. "just now, if you traveled from here to the end of this storm zone you wouldn't find a living four-legged creature," said wabigoon. "every moose in this country, every deer and caribou, every fox and wolf, is buried in the snow. and as the snow falls deeper about them the warmer and more comfortable do they become, so that even as the blizzard increases in fury the kind creator makes it easier for them to bear. when the storm ceases the wilderness will awaken into life again. the moose and deer and caribou will rise from their snow-beds and begin to eat the boughs of trees and saplings; a crust will have formed on the snow, and all the smaller animals, like foxes, lynx and wolves, will begin to travel again, and to prey upon others for food. until they find running water again snow and ice take the place of liquid drink; warm caverns dug in the snow give refuge in place of thick swamp moss and brush and leaves. all the big animals, like moose, deer and caribou, will soon make 'yards' for themselves by trampling down large areas of snow, and in these yards they will gather in big herds, eating their way through the forests, fighting the wolves and waiting for spring. oh, life isn't altogether bad for the animals in a deep winter like this!" until noon the hunters were busy cleaning away the snow from the cabin door. as the day advanced the blizzard increased in its fury, until, with the approach of night, it became impossible for the hunters to expose themselves to it. for three days the storm continued with only intermittent lulls, but with the dawn of the fourth day the sky was again cloudless, and the sun rose with a blinding effulgence. rod now found himself suffering from that sure affliction of every tenderfoot in the far north--snow-blindness. for only a few minutes at a time could he stand the dazzling reflections of the snow-waste where nothing but white, flashing, scintillating white, seemingly a vast sea of burning electric points in the sunlight, met his aching eyes. on the second day after the storm, while wabi was still inuring rod to the changed world and teaching him how to accustom his eyes to it gradually, mukoki left the cabin to follow the chasm in his search for the first waterfall. that same day wabi began his work of digging out and resetting the traps, but it was not until the day following that rod's eyes would allow him to assist. the task was a most difficult one; rocks and other landmarks were completely hidden, and the lost traps averaged one out of four. it was not until the end of the second day after mukoki's departure that the young hunters finished the mountain trap-line, and when they turned their faces toward camp just at the beginning of dusk it was with the expectant hope that they would find the old indian awaiting them. but mukoki had not returned. the next day came and passed, and a fourth dawned without his arrival. hope now gave way to fear. in three days mukoki could travel nearly a hundred miles. was it possible that something had happened to him? many times there recurred to rod a thought of the woonga in the chasm. had the mysterious spy, or some of his people, waylaid and killed him? neither of the hunters had a desire to leave camp during the fourth day. trapping was exceptionally good now on account of the scarcity of animal food and since the big storm they had captured a wolf, two lynx, a red fox and eight mink. but as mukoki's absence lengthened their enthusiasm grew less. in the afternoon, as they were watching, they saw a figure climb wearily to the summit of the hill. it was mukoki. with shouts of greeting both youths hurried through the snow toward him, not taking time to strap on their snow-shoes. the old indian was at their side a couple of minutes later. he smiled in a tired good-natured way, and answered the eagerness in their eyes with a nod of his head. "found fall. fift' mile down mountain." once in the cabin he dropped into a chair, exhausted, and both rod and wabigoon joined in relieving him of his boots and outer garments. it was evident that mukoki had been traveling hard, for only once or twice before in his life had wabi seen him so completely fatigued. quickly the young indian had a huge steak broiling over the fire, and rod put an extra handful of coffee in the pot. "fifty miles!" ejaculated wabi for the twentieth time. "it was an awful jaunt, wasn't it, muky?" "rough--rough like devil th'ough mountains," replied mukoki. "not like that!" he swung an arm in the direction of the chasm. rod stood silent, open-eyed with wonder. was it possible that the old warrior had discovered a wilder country than that through which he had passed in the chasm? "she little fall," went on mukoki, brightening as the odor of coffee and meat filled his nostrils. "no bigger than--that!" he pointed to the roof of the cabin. rod was figuring on the table. soon he looked up. "according to mukoki and the map we are at least two hundred and fifty miles from the third fall," he said. mukoki shrugged his shoulders and his face was crinkled in a suggestive grimace. "hudson bay," he grunted. wabi turned from his steak in sudden astonishment. "doesn't the chasm continue east?" he almost shouted. "no. she turn--straight north." rod could not understand the change that came over wabi's face. "boys," he said finally, "if that is the case i can tell you where the gold is. if the stream in the chasm turns northward it is bound for just one place--the albany river, and the albany river empties into james bay! the third waterfall, where our treasure in gold is waiting for us, is in the very heart of the wildest and most savage wilderness in north america. it is safe. no other man has ever found it. but to get it means one of the longest and most adventurous expeditions we ever planned in all our lives!" "hurrah!" shouted rod. "hurrah--" he had leaped to his feet, forgetful of everything but that their gold was safe, and that their search for it would lead them even to the last fastnesses of the snow-bound and romantic north. "next spring, wabi!" he held out his hand and the two boys joined their pledge in a hearty grip. "next spring!" reiterated wabi. "and we go in canoe," joined mukoki. "creek grow bigger. we make birch-bark canoe at first fall." "that is better still," added wabi. "it will be a glorious trip! we'll take a little vacation at the third fall and run up to james bay." "james bay is practically the same as hudson bay, isn't it?" asked rod. "yes. i could never see a good reason for calling it james bay. it is in reality the lower end, or tail, of hudson bay." there was no thought of visiting any of the traps that day, and the next morning mukoki insisted upon going with rod, in spite of his four days of hard travel. if he remained in camp his joints would get stiff, he said, and wabigoon thought he was right. this left the young indian to care for the trap-line leading into the north. two weeks of ideal trapping weather now followed. it had been more than two months since the hunters had left wabinosh house, and rod now began to count the days before they would turn back over the homeward trail. wabi had estimated that they had sixteen hundred dollars' worth of furs and scalps and two hundred dollars in gold, and the white youth was satisfied to return to his mother with his share of six hundred dollars, which was as much as he would have earned in a year at his old position in the city. neither did he attempt to conceal from wabi his desire to see minnetaki; and his indian friend, thoroughly pleased at rod's liking for his sister, took much pleasure in frequent good-natured banter on the subject. in fact, rod possessed a secret hope that he might induce the princess mother to allow her daughter to accompany himself and wabi to detroit, where he knew that his own mother would immediately fall in love with the beautiful little maiden from the north. in the third week after the great storm rod and mukoki had gone over the mountain trap-line, leaving wabi in camp. they had decided that the following week would see them headed for wabinosh house, where they would arrive about the first of february, and roderick was in high spirits. on this day they had started toward camp early in the afternoon, and soon after they had passed through the swamp rod expressed his intention of ascending the ridge, hoping to get a shot at game somewhere along the mountain trail home. mukoki, however, decided not to accompany him, but to take the nearer and easier route. on the top of the mountain rod paused to take a survey of the country about him. he could see mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward-- instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp. instantly the expectant light went out of his face. he gave an involuntary cry of horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for mukoki. over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of smoke. the sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that followed his piercing cry for mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound of rifle-shots. "mukoki! mukoki!" he shouted. the old indian was beyond hearing. quickly it occurred to rod that early in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in rapid succession. he threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the air; once, twice--and then three times as fast as he could press the trigger. as he watched mukoki he reloaded. he saw the indian pause, turn about and look back toward the mountain. again the thrilling signals for help went echoing over the plains. in a few seconds the sounds had reached mukoki's ears and the old warrior came swinging back at running speed. rod darted along the ridge to meet him, firing a single shot now and then to let him know where he was, and in fifteen minutes mukoki came panting up the mountain. "the woongas!" shouted rod. "they've attacked the camp! see!" he pointed to the cloud of smoke. "i heard shots--i heard shots--" for an instant the grim pathfinder gazed in the direction of the burning camp, and then without a word he started at terrific speed down the mountain. the half-hour race that followed was one of the most exciting experiences of rod's life. how he kept up with mukoki was more than he ever could explain afterward. but from the time they struck the old trail he was close at the indian's heels. when they reached the hill that sheltered the dip his face was scratched and bleeding from contact with swinging bushes; his heart seemed ready to burst from its tremendous exertion; his breath came in an audible hissing, rattling sound, and he could not speak. but up the hill he plunged behind mukoki, his rifle cocked and ready. at the top they paused. the camp was a smoldering mass of ruins. not a sign of life was about it. but-- with a gasping, wordless cry rod caught mukoki's arm and pointed to an object lying in the snow a dozen yards from where the cabin had been. the warrior had seen it. he turned one look upon the white youth, and it was a look that rod had never thought could come into the face of a human being. if that was wabi down there--if wabi had been killed--what would mukoki's vengeance be! his companion was no longer mukoki--as he had known him; he was the savage. there was no mercy, no human instinct, no suggestion of the human soul in that one terrible look. if it was wabi-- they plunged down the hill, into the dip, across the lake, and mukoki was on his knees beside the figure in the snow. he turned it over--and rose without a sound, his battle-glaring eyes peering into the smoking ruins. rod looked, and shuddered. the figure in the snow was not wabi. it was a strange, terrible-looking object--a giant indian, distorted in death--and a half of his head was shot away! when he again looked at mukoki the old indian was in the midst of the hot ruins, kicking about with his booted feet and poking with the butt of his rifle. chapter xiv the rescue of wabigoon rod had sunk into the snow close to the dead man. his endurance was gone and he was as weak as a child. he watched every movement mukoki made; saw every start, every glance, and became almost sick with fear whenever the warrior bent down to examine some object. was wabi dead--and burned in those ruins? foot by foot mukoki searched. his feet became hot; the smell of burning leather filled his nostrils; glowing coals burned through to his feet. but the old indian was beyond pain. only two things filled his soul. one of these was love for minnetaki; the other was love for wabigoon. and there was only one other thing that could take the place of these, and that was merciless, undying, savage passion--passion at any wrong or injury that might be done to them. the woongas had sneaked upon wabi. he knew that. they had caught him unaware, like cowards; and perhaps he was dead--and in those ruins! he searched until his feet were scorched and burned in a score of places, and then he came out, smoke-blackened, but with some of the terrible look gone out of his face. "he no there!" he said, speaking for the first time. again he crouched beside the dead man, and grimaced at rod with a triumphant, gloating chuckle. "much dead!" he grinned. in a moment the grimace had gone from his face, and while rod still rested he continued his examination of the camp. close around it the snow was beaten down with human tracks. mukoki saw where the outlaws had stolen up behind the cabin from the forest and he saw where they had gone away after the attack. five had come down from the cedars, only four had gone away! where was wabi? if he had been captured, and taken with the indians, there would have been five trails. rod understood this as well as mukoki, and he also understood why his companion went back to make another investigation of the smoldering ruins. this second search, however, convinced the indian that wabi's body had not been thrown into the fire. there was only one conclusion to draw. the youth had made a desperate fight, had killed one of the outlaws, and after being wounded in the conflict had been carried off bodily. wabi and his captors could not be more than two or three miles away. a quick pursuit would probably overtake them within an hour. mukoki came to rod's side. "me follow--kill!" he said. "me kill so many quick!" he pointed toward the four trails. "you stay--" rod clambered to his feet. "you mean we'll kill 'em, muky," he broke in. "i can follow you again. set the pace!" there came the click of the safety on mukoki's rifle, and rod, following suit, cocked his own. "much quiet," whispered the indian when they had come to the farther side of the dip. "no noise--come up still--shoot!" the snow-shoe trail of the outlaws turned from the dip into the timbered bottoms to the north, and mukoki, partly crouched, his rifle always to the front, followed swiftly. they had not progressed a hundred yards into the plain when the old hunter stopped, a puzzled look in his face. he pointed to one of the snow-shoe trails which was much deeper than the others. "heem carry wabi," he spoke softly. "but--" his eyes gleamed in sudden excitement. "they go slow! they no hurry! walk very slow! take much time!" rod now observed for the first time that the individual tracks made by the outlaws were much shorter than their own, showing that instead of being in haste they were traveling quite slowly. this was a mystery which was not easy to explain. did the woongas not fear pursuit? was it possible that they believed the hunters would not hasten to give them battle? or were they relying upon the strength of their numbers, or, perhaps, planning some kind of ambush? mukoki's advance now became slower and more cautious. his keen eyes took in every tree and clump of bushes ahead. only when he could see the trail leading straight away for a considerable distance did he hasten the pursuit. never for an instant did he turn his head to rod. but suddenly he caught sight of something that brought from him a guttural sound of astonishment. a fifth track had joined the trail! without questioning rod knew what it meant. wabi had been lowered from the back of his captor and was now walking. he was on snow-shoes and his strides were quite even and of equal length with the others. evidently he was not badly wounded. half a mile ahead of them was a high hill and between them and this hill was a dense growth of cedar, filled with tangled windfalls. it was an ideal place for an ambush, but the old warrior did not hesitate. the woongas had followed a moose trail, with which they were apparently well acquainted, and in this traveling was easy. but rod gave an involuntary shudder as he gazed ahead into the chaotic tangle through which it led. at any moment he expected to hear the sharp crack of a rifle and to see mukoki tumble forward upon his face. or there might be a fusillade of shots and he himself might feel the burning sting that comes with rifle death. at the distance from which they would shoot the outlaws could not miss. did not mukoki realize this? maddened by the thought that his beloved wabi was in the hands of merciless enemies, was the old pathfinder becoming reckless? but when he looked into his companion's face and saw the cool deadly resolution glittering in his eyes, the youth's confidence was restored. for some reason mukoki knew that there would not be an ambush. over the moose-run the two traveled more swiftly and soon they came to the foot of the high hill. up this the woongas had gone, their trail clearly defined and unswerving in its direction. mukoki now paused with a warning gesture to rod, and pointed down at one of the snow-shoe tracks. the snow was still crumbling and falling about the edges of this imprint. "ver' close!" whispered the indian. it was not the light of the game hunt in mukoki's eyes now; there was a trembling, terrible tenseness in his whispered words. he crept up the hill with rod so near that he could have touched him. at the summit of that hill he dragged himself up like an animal, and then, crouching, ran swiftly to the opposite side, his rifle within six inches of his shoulder. in the plain below them was unfolded to their eyes a scene which, despite his companion's warning, wrung an exclamation of dismay from roderick's lips. [illustration: the leader stopped in his snow-shoes] plainly visible to them in the edge of the plain were the outlaw woongas and their captive. they were in single file, with wabi following the leader, and the hunters perceived that their comrade's arms were tied behind him. but it was another sight that caused rod's dismay. from an opening beside a small lake half a mile beyond the indians below there rose the smoke of two camp-fires, and mukoki and he could make out at least a score of figures about these fires. within rifle-shot of them, almost within shouting distance, there was not only the small war party that had attacked the camp, but a third of the fighting men of the woonga tribe! rod understood their terrible predicament. to attack the outlaws in an effort to rescue wabi meant that an overwhelming force would be upon them within a few minutes; to allow wabi to remain a captive meant--he shuddered at the thought of what it might mean, for he knew of the merciless vengeance of the woongas upon the house of wabinosh. and while he was thinking of these things the faithful old warrior beside him had already formed his plan of attack. he would die with wabi, gladly--a fighting, terrible slave to devotion to the last; but he would not see wabi die alone. a whispered word, a last look at his rifle, and mukoki hurried down into the plains. at the foot of the hill he abandoned the outlaw trail and rod realized that his plan was to sweep swiftly in a semicircle, surprising the woongas from the front or side instead of approaching from the rear. again he was taxed to his utmost to keep pace with the avenging mukoki. less than ten minutes later the indian peered cautiously from behind a clump of hazel, and then looked back at rod, a smile of satisfaction on his face. "they come," he breathed, just loud enough to hear. "they come!" rod peered over his shoulder, and his heart smote mightily within him. unconscious of their peril the woongas were approaching two hundred yards away. mukoki gazed into his companion's face and his eyes were almost pleading as he laid a bronzed crinkled hand upon the white boy's arm. "you take front man--ahead of wabi," he whispered. "i take other t'ree. see that tree--heem birch, with bark off? shoot heem there. you no tremble? you no miss?" "no," replied rod. he gripped the red hand in his own. "i'll kill, mukoki. i'll kill him dead--in one shot!" they could hear the voices of the outlaws now, and soon they saw that wabi's face was disfigured with blood. step by step, slowly and carelessly, the woongas approached. they were fifty yards from the marked birch now--forty--thirty--now only ten. roderick's rifle was at his shoulder. already it held a deadly bead on the breast of the leader. five yards more-- the outlaw passed behind the tree; he came out, and the young hunter pressed the trigger. the leader stopped in his snow-shoes. even before he had crumpled down into a lifeless heap in the snow a furious volley of shots spat forth from mukoki's gun, and when rod swung his own rifle to join again in the fray he found that only one of the four was standing, and he with his hands to his breast as he tottered about to fall. but from some one of those who had fallen there had gone out a wild, terrible cry, and even as rod and makoki rushed out to free wabigoon there came an answering yell from the direction of the woonga camp. mukoki's knife was in his hand by the time he reached wabi, and with one or two slashes he had released his hands. "you hurt--bad?" he asked. "no--no!" replied wabi. "i knew you'd come, boys--dear old friends!" as he spoke he turned to the fallen leader and rod saw him take possession of the rifle and revolver which he had lost in their fight with the woongas weeks before. mukoki had already spied their precious pack of furs on one of the outlaw's backs, and he flung it over his own. "you saw the camp?" queried wabi excitedly. "yes." "they will be upon us in a minute! which way, mukoki?" "the chasm!" half shouted rod. "the chasm! if we can reach the chasm--" "the chasm!" reiterated wabigoon. mukoki had fallen behind and motioned for wabi and rod to take the lead. even now he was determined to take the brunt of danger by bringing up the rear. there was no time for argument and wabigoon set off at a rapid pace. from behind there came the click of shells as the indian loaded his rifle on the run. while the other two had been busy at the scene of the ambush rod had replaced his empty shell, and now, as he led, wabi examined the armament that had been stolen from them by the outlaws. "how many shells have you got, rod?" he asked over his shoulder. "forty-nine." "there's only four left in this belt besides five in the gun," called back the indian youth. "give me--some." without halting rod plucked a dozen cartridges from his belt and passed them on. now they had reached the hill. at its summit they paused to recover their breath and take a look at the camp. the fires were deserted. a quarter of a mile out on the plain they saw half a dozen of their pursuers speeding toward the hill. the rest were already concealed in the nearer thickets of the bottom. "we must beat them to the chasm!" said the young indian. as he spoke wabi turned and led the way again. rod's heart fell like a lump within him. we must beat them to the chasm! those words of wabi's brought him to the terrible realization that his own powers of endurance were rapidly ebbing. his race behind mukoki to the burning cabin had seemed to rob the life from the muscles of his limbs, and each step now added to his weakness. and the chasm was a mile beyond the dip, and the entrance into that chasm still two miles farther. three miles! could he hold out? he heard mukoki thumping along behind him; ahead of him wabi was unconsciously widening the distance between them. he made a powerful effort to close the breach, but it was futile. then from close in his rear there came a warning halloo from the old indian, and wabi turned. "he run t'ree mile to burning cabin," said mukoki. "he no make chasm!" rod was deathly white and breathing so hard that he could not speak. the quick-witted wabi at once realized their situation. "there is just one thing for us to do, muky. we must stop the woongas at the dip. we'll fire down upon them from the top of the hill beyond the lake. we can drop three or four of them and they won't dare to come straight after us then. they will think we are going to fight them from there and will take time to sneak around us. meanwhile we'll get a good lead in the direction of the chasm." he led off again, this time a little slower. three minutes later they entered into the dip, crossed it safely, and were already at the foot of the hill, when from the opposite side of the hollow there came a triumphant blood-curdling yell. "hurry!" shouted wabi. "they see us!" even as he spoke there came the crack of a rifle. bzzzzzzz-inggggg! for the first time in his life rod heard that terrible death-song of a bullet close to his head and saw the snow fly up a dozen feet beyond the young indian. for an interval of twenty seconds there was silence; then there came another shot, and after that three others in quick succession. wabi stumbled. "not hit!" he called, scrambling to his feet. "confound--that rock!" he rose to the hilltop with rod close behind him, and from the opposite side of the lake there came a fusillade of half a dozen shots. instinctively rod dropped upon his face. and in that instant, as he lay in the snow, he heard the sickening thud of a bullet and a sharp sudden cry of pain from mukoki. but the old warrior came up beside him and they passed into the shelter of the hilltop together. "is it bad? is it bad, mukoki? is it bad--" wabi was almost sobbing as he turned and threw an arm around the old indian. "are you hit--bad?" mukoki staggered, but caught himself. "in here," he said, putting a hand to his left shoulder. "she--no--bad." he smiled, courage gleaming with pain in his eyes, and swung off the light pack of furs. "we give 'em--devil--here!" crouching, they peered over the edge of the hill. half a dozen woongas had already left the cedars and were following swiftly across the open. others broke from the cover, and wabi saw that a number of them were without snow-shoes. he exultantly drew mukoki's attention to this fact, but the latter did not lift his eyes. in a few moments he spoke. "now we give 'em--devil!" eight pursuers on snow-shoes were in the open of the dip. six of them had reached the lake. rod held his fire. he knew that it was now more important for him to recover his wind than to fight, and he drew great drafts of air into his lungs while his two comrades leveled their rifles. he could fire after they were done if it was necessary. there was slow deadly deliberation in the way mukoki and wabigoon sighted along their rifle-barrels. mukoki fired first; one shot, two--with a second's interval between--and an outlaw half-way across the lake pitched forward into the snow. as he fell, wabi fired once, and there came to their ears shriek after shriek of agony as a second pursuer fell with a shattered leg. at the cries and shots of battle the hot blood rushed through rod's veins, and with an excited shout of defiance he brought his rifle to his shoulder and in unison the three guns sent fire and death into the dip below. only three of the eight woongas remained and they had turned and were running toward the shelter of the cedars. "hurrah!" shouted rod. in his excitement he got upon his feet and sent his fifth and last shot after the fleeing outlaws. "hurrah! wow! let's go after 'em!" "get down!" commanded wabi. "load in a hurry!" clink--clink--clink sounded the new shells as mukoki and wabigoon thrust them into their magazines. five seconds more and they were sending a terrific fusillade of shots into the edge of the cedars--ten in all--and by the time he had reloaded his own gun rod could see nothing to shoot at. "that will hold them for a while," spoke wabi. "most of them came in too big a hurry, and without their snow-shoes, muky. we'll beat them to the chasm--easy!" he put an arm around the shoulders of the old indian, who was still lying upon his face in the snow. "let me see, muky--let me see--" "chasm first," replied mukoki. "she no bad. no hit bone. no bleed--much." from behind rod could see that mukoki's coat was showing a growing blotch of red. "are you sure--you can reach the chasm?" "yes." in proof of his assertion the wounded indian rose to his feet and approached the pack of furs. wabi was ahead of him, and placed it upon his own shoulders. "you and rod lead the way," he said. "you two know where to find the opening into the chasm. i've never been there." mukoki started down the hill, and rod, close behind, could hear him breathing heavily; there was no longer fear for himself in his soul, but for that grim faithful warrior ahead, who would die in his tracks without a murmur and with a smile of triumph and fearlessness on his lips. chapter xv roderick holds the woongas at bay they traveled more slowly now and rod found his strength returning. when they reached the second ridge he took mukoki by the arm and assisted him up, and the old indian made no demur. this spoke more strongly of his hurt than words. there was still no sign of their enemies behind. from the top of the second ridge they could look back upon a quarter of a mile of the valley below, and it was here that rod suggested that he remain on watch for a few minutes while wabigoon went on with mukoki. the young hunters could see that the indian was becoming weaker at every step, and mukoki could no longer conceal this weakness in spite of the tremendous efforts he made to appear natural. "i believe it is bad," whispered wabi to rod, his face strangely white. "i believe it is worse than we think. he is bleeding hard. your idea is a good one. watch here, and if the woongas show up in the valley open fire on them. i'll leave you my gun, too, so they'll think we are going to give them another fight. that will keep them back for a time. i'm going to stop muky up here a little way and dress his wound. he will bleed to death if i don't." "and then go on," added rod. "don't stop if you hear me fire, but hurry on to the chasm. i know the way and will join you. i'm as strong as i ever was now, and can catch up with you easily with mukoki traveling as slowly as he does." during this brief conversation mukoki had continued his way along the ridge and wabi hurried to overtake him. meanwhile rod concealed himself behind a rock, from which vantage-point he could see the whole of that part of the valley across which they had come. he looked at his watch and in tense anxiety counted every minute after that. he allowed ten minutes for the dressing of mukoki's wound. every second gained from then on would be priceless. for a quarter of an hour he kept his eyes with ceaseless vigilance upon their back trail. surely the woongas had secured their snow-shoes by this time! was it possible that they had given up the pursuit--that their terrible experience in the dip had made them afraid of further battle? rod answered this question in the negative. he was sure that the woongas knew that wabi was the son of the factor of wabinosh house. therefore they would make every effort to recapture him, even though they had to follow far and a dozen lives were lost before that feat was accomplished. a movement in the snow across the valley caught rod's eyes. he straightened himself, and his breath came quickly. two figures had appeared in the open. another followed close behind, and after that there came others, until the waiting youth had counted sixteen. they were all on snow-shoes, following swiftly over the trail of the fugitives. the young hunter looked at his watch again. twenty-five minutes had passed. mukoki and wabigoon had secured a good start. if he could only hold the outlaws in the valley for a quarter of an hour more--just fifteen short minutes--they would almost have reached the entrance into the chasm. alone, with his own life and those of his comrades depending upon him, the boy was cool. there was no tremble in his hands to destroy the accuracy of his rifle-fire, no blurring excitement or fear in his brain to trouble his judgment of distance and range. he made up his mind that he would not fire until they had come within four hundred yards. between that distance and three hundred he was sure he could drop at least one or two of them. he measured his range by a jackpine stub, and when two of the woongas had reached and passed that stub he fired. he saw the snow thrown up six feet in front of the leader. he fired again, and again, and one of the shots, a little high, struck the second outlaw. the leader had darted back to the shelter of the stub and rod sent another bullet whizzing past his ears. his fifth he turned into the main body of the pursuers, and then, catching up wabi's rifle, he poured a hail of five bullets among them in as many seconds. the effect was instantaneous. the outlaws scattered in retreat and rod saw that a second figure was lying motionless in the snow. he began to reload his rifles and by the time he had finished the woongas had separated and were running to the right and the left of him. for the last time he looked at his watch. wabi and mukoki had been gone thirty-five minutes. the boy crept back from his rock, straightened himself, and followed in their trail. he mentally calculated that it would be ten minutes before the woongas, coming up from the sides and rear, would discover his flight, and by that time he would have nearly a mile the start of them. he saw, without stopping, where wabi had dressed mukoki's wound. there were spots of blood and a red rag upon the snow. half a mile farther on the two had paused again, and this time he knew that mukoki had stopped to rest. from now on they had rested every quarter of a mile or so, and soon roderick saw them toiling slowly through the snow ahead of him. he ran up, panting, anxious. "how--" he began. wabi looked at him grimly. "how much farther, rod?" he asked. "not more than half a mile." wabi motioned for him to take mukoki's other arm. "he has bled a good deal," he said. there was a hardness in his voice that made rod shudder, and he caught his breath as wabi shot him a meaning glance behind the old warrior's doubled shoulders. they went faster now, almost carrying their wounded comrade between them. suddenly, wabi paused, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. a few yards ahead a huge white rabbit kicked in his death struggles in the snow. "if we do reach the chasm mukoki must have something to eat," he said. "we'll reach it!" gasped rod. "we'll reach it! there's the woods. we go down there!" they almost ran, with mukoki's snow-shod feet dragging between them, and five minutes later they were carrying the half-unconscious indian down the steep side of the mountain. at its foot wabi turned, and his eyes flashed with vengeful hatred. "now, you devils!" he shouted up defiantly. "now!" mukoki aroused himself for a few moments and rod helped him back to the shelter of the chasm wall. he found a nook between great masses of rock, almost clear of snow, and left him there while he hurried back to wabigoon. "you stand on guard here, rod," said the latter. "we must cook that rabbit and get some life back into mukoki. i think he has stopped bleeding, but i am going to look again. the wound isn't fatal, but it has weakened him. if we can get something hot into him i believe he will be able to walk again. did you have anything left over from your dinner on the trail to-day?" rod unstrapped the small pack in which the hunters carried their food while on the trail, and which had been upon his shoulders since noon. "there is a double handful of coffee, a cupful of tea, plenty of salt and a little bread," he said. "good! few enough supplies for three people in this kind of a wilderness--but they'll save mukoki!" wabi went back, while rod, sheltered behind a rock, watched the narrow incline into the chasm. he almost hoped the woongas would dare to attempt a descent, for he was sure that he and wabi would have them at a terrible disadvantage and with their revolvers and three rifles could inflict a decisive blow upon them before they reached the bottom. but he saw no sign of their enemies. he heard no sound from above, yet he knew that the outlaws were very near--only waiting for the protecting darkness of night. he heard the crackling of wabi's fire and the odor of coffee came to him; and wabi, assured that their presence was known to the woongas, began whistling cheerily. in a few minutes he rejoined rod behind the rock. "they will attack us as soon as it gets good and dark," he said coolly. "that is, if they can find us. as soon as they are no longer able to see down into the chasm we will find some kind of a hiding-place. mukoki will be able to travel then." a memory of the cleft in the chasm wall came to rod and he quickly described it to his companion. it was an ideal hiding-place at night, and if mukoki was strong enough they could steal up out of the chasm and secure a long start into the south before the woongas discovered their flight in the morning. there was just one chance of failure. if the spy whose trail had revealed the break in the mountain to rod was not among the outlaws' wounded or dead the cleft might be guarded, or the woongas themselves might employ it in making a descent upon them. "it's worth the risk anyway," said wabi. "the chances are even that your outlaw ran across the fissure by accident and that his companions are not aware of its existence. and they'll not follow our trail down the chasm to-night, i'll wager. in the cover of darkness they will steal down among the rocks and then wait for daylight. meanwhile we can be traveling southward and when they catch up with us we will give them another fight if they want it." "we can start pretty soon?" "within an hour." for some time the two stood in silent watchfulness. suddenly rod asked: "where is wolf?" wabi laughed, softly, exultantly. "gone back to his people, rod. he will be crying in the wild hunt-pack to-night. good old wolf!" the laugh left his lips and there was a tremble of regret in his voice. "the woongas came from the back of the cabin--took me by surprise--and we had it hot and heavy for a few minutes. we fell back where wolf was tied and just as i knew they'd got me sure i cut his babeesh with the knife i had in my hand." "didn't he show fight?" "for a minute. then one of the indians shot, at him and he hiked off into the woods." "queer they didn't wait for mukoki and me," mused rod. "why didn't they ambush us?" "because they didn't want you, and they were sure they'd reach their camp before you took up the trail. i was their prize. with me in their power they figured on communicating with you and mukoki and sending you back to the post with their terms. they would have bled father to his last cent--and then killed me. oh, they talked pretty plainly to me when they thought they had me!" there came a noise from above them and the young hunters held their rifles in readiness. nearer and nearer came the crashing sound, until a small boulder shot past them into the chasm. "they're up there," grinned wabi, lowering his gun. "that was an accident, but you'd better keep your eyes open. i'll bet the whole tribe feel like murdering the fellow who rolled over that stone!" he crept cautiously back to mukoki, and rod crouched with his face to the narrow trail leading down from the top of the mountain. deep shadows were beginning to lurk among the trees and he was determined that any movement there would draw his fire. fifteen minutes later wabi returned, eating ravenously at a big hind quarter of broiled rabbit. "i've had my coffee," he greeted. "go back and eat and drink, and build the fire up high. don't mind me when i shoot. i am going to fire just to let the woongas know we are on guard, and after that we'll hustle for that break in the mountain." rod found mukoki with a chunk of rabbit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. the wounded indian smiled with something like the old light in his eyes and a mighty load was lifted from rod's heart. "you're better?" he asked. "fine!" replied mukoki. "no much hurt. good fight some more. wabi say, 'no, you stay.'" his face became a map of grimaces to show his disapproval of wabi's command. rod helped himself to the meat and coffee. he was hungry, but after he was done there remained some of the rabbit and a biscuit and these he placed in his pack for further use. soon after this there came two shots from the rock and before the echoes had died away down the chasm wabi approached through the gathering gloom. it was easy for the hunters to steal along the concealment of the mountain wall, and even if there had been prying eyes on the opposite ridge they could not have penetrated the thickening darkness in the bottom of the gulch. for some time the flight was continued with extreme caution, no sound being made to arouse the suspicion of any outlaw who might be patrolling the edge of the precipice. at the end of half an hour mukoki, who was in the lead that he might set a pace according to his strength, quickened his steps. rod was close beside him now, his eyes ceaselessly searching the chasm wall for signs that would tell him when they were nearing the rift. suddenly wabi halted in his tracks and gave a low hiss that stopped them. "it's snowing!" he whispered. mukoki lifted his face. great solitary flakes of snow fell upon it. "she snow hard--soon. mebby cover snow-shoe trails!" "and if it does--we're safe!" there was a vibrant joy in wabi's voice. for a full minute mukoki held his face to the sky. "hear small wind over chasm," he said. "she come from south. she snow hard--now--up there!" they went on, stirred by new hope. rod could feel that the flakes were coming thicker. the three now kept close to the chasm wall in their search for the rift. how changed all things were at night! rod's heart throbbed now with hope, now with doubt, now with actual fear. was it possible that he could not find it? had they passed it among some of the black shadows behind? he saw no rock that he recognized, no overhanging crag, no sign to guide him. he stopped, and his voice betrayed his uneasiness as he asked: "how far do you think we have come?" mukoki had gone a few steps ahead, and before wabi answered he called softly to them from close up against the chasm wall. they hurried to him and found him standing beside the rift. "here!" wabi handed his rifle to rod. "i'm going up first," he announced. "if the coast is clear i'll whistle down." for a few moments mukoki and rod could hear him as he crawled up the fissure. then all was silent. a quarter of an hour passed, and a low whistle came to their ears. another ten minutes and the three stood together at the top of the mountain, rod and the wounded mukoki breathing hard from their exertions. for a time the three sat down in the snow and waited, watched, listened; and from rod's heart there went up something that was almost a prayer, for it was snowing--snowing hard, and it seemed to him that the storm was something which god had specially directed should fall in their path that it might shield them and bring them safely home. and when he rose to his feet wabi was still silent, and the three gripped hands in mute thankfulness at their deliverance. still speechless, they turned instinctively for a moment back to the dark desolation beyond the chasm--the great, white wilderness in which they had passed so many adventurous yet happy weeks; and as they gazed into the chaos beyond the second mountain there came to them the lonely, wailing howl of a wolf. "i wonder," said wabi softly. "i wonder--if that--is wolf?" and then, indian file, they trailed into the south. chapter xvi the surprise at the post from the moment that the adventurers turned their backs upon the woonga country mukoki was in command. with the storm in their favor everything else now depended upon the craft of the old pathfinder. there was neither moon nor wind to guide them, and even wabi felt that he was not competent to strike a straight trail in a strange country and a night storm. but mukoki, still a savage in the ways of the wilderness, seemed possessed of that mysterious sixth sense which is known as the sense of orientation--that almost supernatural instinct which guides the carrier pigeon as straight as a die to its home-cote hundreds of miles away. again and again during that thrilling night's flight wabi or rod would ask the indian where wabinosh house lay, and he would point out its direction to them without hesitation. and each time it seemed to the city youth that he pointed a different way, and it proved to him how easy it was to become hopelessly lost in the wilderness. not until midnight did they pause to rest. they had traveled slowly but steadily and wabi figured that they had covered fifteen miles. five miles behind them their trail was completely obliterated by the falling snow. morning would betray to the woongas no sign of the direction taken by the fugitives. "they will believe that we have struck directly westward for the post," said wabi. "to-morrow night we'll be fifty miles apart." during this stop a small fire was built behind a fallen log and the hunters refreshed themselves with a pot of strong coffee and what little remained of the rabbit and biscuits. the march was then resumed. it seemed to rod that they had climbed an interminable number of ridges and had picked their way through an interminable number of swampy bottoms between them, and he, even more than mukoki, was relieved when they struck the easier traveling of open plains. in fact, mukoki seemed scarcely to give a thought to his wound and roderick was almost ready to drop in his tracks by the time a halt was called an hour before dawn. the old warrior was confident that they were now well out of danger and a rousing camp-fire was built in the shelter of a thick growth of spruce. "spruce partridge in mornin'," affirmed mukoki. "plenty here for breakfast." "how do you know?" asked rod, whose hunger was ravenous. "fine thick spruce, all in shelter of dip," explained the indian. "birds winter here." wabi had unpacked the furs, and the larger of these, including six lynx and three especially fine wolf skins, he divided into three piles. "they'll make mighty comfortable beds if you keep close enough to the fire," he explained. "get a few spruce boughs, rod, and cover them over with one of the wolf skins. the two lynx pelts will make the warmest blankets you ever had." rod quickly availed himself of this idea, and within half an hour he was sleeping soundly. mukoki and wabigoon, more inured to the hardships of the wilderness, took only brief snatches of slumber, one or both awakening now and then to replenish the fire. as soon as it was light enough the two indians went quietly out into the spruce with their guns, and their shots a little later awakened rod. when they returned they brought three partridges with them. "there are dozens of them among the spruce," said wabi, "but just now we do not want to shoot any oftener than is absolutely necessary. have you noticed our last night's trail?" rod rubbed his eyes, thus confessing that as yet he had not been out from between his furs. "well, if you go out there in the open for a hundred yards you won't find it," finished his comrade. "the snow has covered it completely." although they lacked everything but meat, this breakfast in the spruce thicket was one of the happiest of the entire trip, and when the three hunters were done each had eaten of his partridge until only the bones were left. there was now little cause for fear, for it was still snowing and their enemies were twenty-five miles to the north of them. this fact did not deter the adventurers from securing an early start, however, and they traveled southward through the storm until noon, when they built a camp of spruce and made preparations to rest until the following day. "we must be somewhere near the kenogami trail," wabi remarked to mukoki. "we may have passed it." "no pass it," replied mukoki. "she off there." he pointed to the south. "you see the kenogami trail is a sled trail leading from the little town of nipigon, on the railroad, to kenogami house, which is a hudson bay post at the upper end of long lake," explained wabi to his white companion. "the factor of kenogami is a great friend of ours and we have visited back and forth often, but i've been over the kenogami trail only once. mukoki has traveled it many times." several rabbits were killed before dinner. no other hunting was done during the afternoon, most of which was passed in sleep by the exhausted adventurers. when rod awoke he found that it had stopped snowing and was nearly dark. mukoki's wound was beginning to trouble him again, and it was decided that at least a part of the next day should be passed in camp, and that both rod and wabigoon should make an effort to kill some animal that would furnish them with the proper kind of oil to dress it with, the fat of almost any species of animal except mink or rabbit being valuable for this purpose. with dawn the two started out, while mukoki, much against his will, was induced to remain in camp. a short distance away the hunters separated, rod striking to the eastward and wabi into the south. for an hour roderick continued without seeing game, though there were plenty of signs of deer and caribou about him. at last he determined to strike for a ridge a mile to the south, from the top of which he was more likely to get a shot than in the thick growth of the plains. he had not traversed more than a half of the distance when much to his surprise he came upon a well-beaten trail running slightly diagonally with his own, almost due north. two dog-teams had passed since yesterday's storm, and on either side of the sleds were the snow-shoe trails of men. rod saw that there were three of these, and at least a dozen dogs in the two teams. it at once occurred to him that this was the kenogami trail, and impelled by nothing more than curiosity he began to follow it. half a mile farther on he found where the party had stopped to cook a meal. the remains of their camp-fire lay beside a huge log, which was partly burned away, and about it were scattered bones and bits of bread. but what most attracted rod's attention were other tracks which joined those of the three people on snow-shoes. he was sure that these tracks had been made by women, for the footprints made by one of them were unusually small. close to the log he found a single impression in the snow that caused his heart to give a sudden unexpected thump within him. in this spot the snow had been packed by one of the snow-shoes, and in this comparatively hard surface the footprint was clearly defined. it had been made by a moccasin. rod knew that. and the moccasin wore a slight heel! he remembered, now, that thrilling day in the forest near wabinosh house when he had stopped to look at minnetaki's footprints in the soft earth through which she had been driven by her woonga abductors, and he remembered, too, that she was the only person at the post who wore heels on her moccasins. it was a queer coincidence! could minnetaki have been here? had she made that footprint in the snow? impossible, declared the young hunter's better sense. and yet his blood ran a little faster as he touched the delicate impression with his bare fingers. it reminded him of minnetaki, anyway; her foot would have made just such a trail, and he wondered if the girl who had stepped there was as pretty as she. he followed now a little faster than before, and ten minutes later he came to where a dozen snow-shoe trails had come in from the north and had joined the three. after meeting, the two parties had evidently joined forces and had departed over the trail made by those who had appeared from the direction of the post. "friends from kenogami house came down to meet them," mused rod, and as he turned back in the direction of the camp he formed a picture of that meeting in the heart of the wilderness, of the glad embraces of husband and wife, and the joy of the pretty girl with the tiny feet as she kissed her father, and perhaps her big brother; for no girl could possess feet just like minnetaki's and not be pretty! he found that wabi had preceded him when he returned. the young indian had shot a small doe, and that noon witnessed a feast in camp. for his lack of luck rod had his story to tell of the people on the trail. the passing of this party formed the chief topic of conversation during the rest of the day, for after weeks of isolation in the wilderness even this momentary nearness of living civilized men and women was a great event to them. but there was one fact which rod dwelt but slightly upon. he did not emphasize the similarity of the pretty footprint and that made by minnetaki's moccasin, for he knew that a betrayal of his knowledge and admiration of the indian maiden's feet would furnish wabi with fun-making ammunition for a week. he did say, however, that the footprint in the snow struck him as being just about the size that minnetaki would make. all that day and night the hunters remained in camp, sleeping, eating and taking care of mukoki's wound, but the next morning saw them ready for their homeward journey with the coming of dawn. they struck due westward now, satisfied that they were well beyond the range of the outlaw woongas. as the boys talked over their adventure on the long journey back toward the post, wabi thought with regret of the moose head which he had left buried in the "indian ice-box," and even wished, for a moment, to go home by the northern trail, despite the danger from the hostile woongas, in order to recover the valuable antlers. but mukoki shook his head. "woonga make good fight. what for go again into wolf trap?" and so they reluctantly gave up the notion of carrying the big head of the bull moose back to the post. a little before noon of the second day they saw lake nipigon from the top of a hill. columbus when he first stepped upon the shore of his newly discovered land was not a whit happier than roderick drew when that joyous youth, running out upon the snow-covered ice, attempted to turn a somersault with his snow-shoes on! just over there, thought rod--just over there--a hundred miles or so, is minnetaki and the post! happy visions filled his mind all that afternoon as they traveled across the foot of the lake. three weeks more and he would see his mother--and home. and wabi was going with him! he seemed tireless; his spirits were never exhausted; he laughed, whistled, even attempted to sing. he wondered if minnetaki would be very glad to see him. he knew that she would be glad--but how glad? two days more were spent in circling the lower end of the lake. then their trail turned northward, and on the second evening after this, as the cold red sun was sinking in all that heatless glory of the great north's day-end, they came out upon a forest-clad ridge and looked down upon the house of wabinosh. and as they looked--and as the burning disk of the sun, falling down and down behind forest, mountain and plain, bade its last adieu to the land of the wild, there came to them, strangely clear and beautiful, the notes of a bugle. and wabi, listening, grew rigid with wonder. as the last notes died away the cheers that had been close to his lips gave way to the question, "what does that mean?" "a bugle!" said rod. as he spoke there came to their ears the heavy, reverberating boom of a big gun. "if i'm not mistaken," he added, "that is a sunset salute. i didn't know you had--soldiers--at the post!" "we haven't," replied the indian youth. "by george, what do you suppose it means?" he hurried down the ridge, the others close behind him. fifteen minutes later they trailed out into the open near the post. a strange change had occurred since rod and his companions had last seen wabinosh house. in the open half a dozen rude log shelters had been erected, and about these were scores of soldiers in the uniform of his majesty, the king of england. shouts of greeting died on the hunters' lips. they hastened to the dwelling of the factor, and while wabi rushed in to meet his mother and father rod cut across to the company's store. he had often found minnetaki there. but his present hope was shattered, and after looking in he turned back to the house. by the time he had reached the steps a second time the princess mother, with wabi close behind her, came out to welcome him. wabi's face was flushed with excitement. his eyes sparkled. "rod, what do you think!" he exclaimed, after his mother had gone back to see to the preparation of their supper. "the government has declared war on the woongas and has sent up a company of regulars to wipe 'em out! they have been murdering and robbing as never before during the last two months. the regulars start after them to-morrow!" he was breathing hard and excitedly. "can't you stay--and join in the campaign?" he pleaded. "i can't," replied rod. "i can't, wabi; i've got to go home. you know that. and you're going with me. the regulars can get along without you. go back to detroit with me--and get your mother to let minnetaki go with us." "not now, rod," said the indian youth, taking his friend's hand. "i won't be able to go--now. nor minnetaki either. they have been having such desperate times here that father has sent her away. he wanted mother to go, but she wouldn't." "sent minnetaki away?" gasped rod. "yes. she started for kenogami house four days ago in company with an indian woman and three guides. that was undoubtedly their trail you found." "and the footprint--" "was hers," laughed wabi, putting an arm affectionately around his chum's shoulders. "won't you stay, rod?" "it is impossible." he went to his old room, and until suppertime sat alone in silent dejection. two great disappointments had fallen upon him. wabi could not go home with him--and he had missed minnetaki. the young girl had left a note in her mother's care for him, and he read it again and again. she had written it believing that she would return to wabinosh house before the hunters, but at the end she had added a paragraph in which she said that if she did not do this rod must make the post a second visit very soon, and bring his mother with him. at supper the princess mother several times pressed minnetaki's invitation upon the young hunter. she read to him parts of certain letters which she had received from mrs. drew during the winter, and rod was overjoyed to find that his mother was not only in good health, but that she had given her promise to visit wabinosh house the following summer. wabi broke all table etiquette by giving vent to a warlike whoop of joy at this announcement, and once more rod's spirits rose high above his temporary disappointments. that night the furs were appraised and purchased by the factor for his company, and rod's share, including his third of the gold, was nearly seven hundred dollars. the next morning the bi-monthly sled party, was leaving for civilization, and he prepared to go with it, after writing a long letter to minnetaki, which was to be carried to her by the faithful mukoki. most of that night wabi and his friend sat up and talked, and made plans. it was believed that the campaign against the woongas would be a short and decisive one. by spring all trouble would be over. "and you'll come back as soon as you can?" pleaded wabi for the hundredth time. "you'll come back by the time the ice breaks up?" "if i am alive!" pledged the city youth. "and you'll bring your mother?" "she has promised." "and then--for the gold!" "for the gold!" wabi held out his hand and the two gripped heartily. "and minnetaki will be here then--i swear it!" said the indian youth, laughing. rod blushed. and that night alone he slipped quietly out into the still, white night; and he looked, longingly, far into the southeast where he had found the footprint in the snow; and he turned to the north, and the east, and the west, and lastly to the south, and his eyes seemed to travel through the distance of a thousand miles to where a home and a mother lay sleeping in a great city. and as he turned back to the house of wabinosh, where all the lights were out, he spoke softly to himself: "it's home--to-morrow!" and then he added: "but you bet i'll be back by the time the ice breaks up!" the end dusty star by olaf baker author of "shasta of the wolves." illustrated by paul bransom new york dodd, mead and company copyright, . by dodd, mead and company, inc. printed in u. s. a. [illustration: five times more the mother made the long double journey] contents i carboona's secret ii why "dusty star" was iii running wolf moves iv kiopo finds an enemy v "sitting-always" vi the medicine-making vii how the wolves sang viii how kiopo came back ix sitting-always speaks her mind x "baltook" the silver fox xi why the foxes trusted dusty star xii goshmeelee xiii "new bed-fellows" xiv the "yellow dogs" xv the taking of dusty star xvi "the grizzly" xvii the swimming of kiopo xviii how kiopo fought the lynx xix the pursuit xx the terror of the carboona xxi how dusty star met the terror xxii the moon when things walk xxiii lone chief goes west xxiv evil days xxv how dusty star danced with the wolves xxvi how the wolves closed in xxvii carboona's call illustrations five times more the mother made the long double journey the arrival of kiopo was now known to every husky in the camp, and each husky hated him from the bottom of his husky heart her look said as plainly as possible, "what are you going to do?" on came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side dusty star part i chapter i carboona's secret in an old badger-hole among a maze of bramble-brakes and ancient thickets of thorn and juniper covering the foot of one of carboona's eastern spurs, one morning very early, as little-sweet-voice, the white-throated sparrow, was singing his earliest song, a great event took place. it was twilight in the badger-hole, and only persons accustomed to odds and ends of day-light could have seen what was going on. not that it mattered. the only person to whom it could have mattered was a grey mother-wolf, and she did not need the light. the badger-hole had been enlarged, and specially arranged for the event, without the badgers having been consulted. this wasn't as rude as it sounds, for the simple reason that there hadn't been any badgers to consult. long before the mother-wolf and her mate had gone apartment-hunting, the badgers had moved deeper into carboona, leaving no address. now that it was more roomy and better aired, it was a pleasant place enough so long as you didn't stub your nose against a jagged stump of pine root that pierced the northern wall. true it was a little damp in places, and got noticeably stuffier as you went further in; but it was a good wolf stuffiness, and helped to give the true home smell that warned strangers that all interfering noses had best keep out of the way. before little-sweet-voice, at the tip of his fir-branch high over the hole, had come to the end of his song, seven baby wolves had got themselves born. * * * * * seven little blind, hairless, helpless things that hadn't an inch of beauty between them; seven little flabby uglinesses that could do nothing but wriggle and suck. but such as they were, the old wolf loved her ugly babies with all her wolfish heart. for a long time no one--not even the father wolf--saw them but herself. a better place for being secret than the hole among the bramble-brakes she could not have chosen. the great old thorn-trees, with their twisty stems and thorny branches which had been growing twistier and thornier through countless moons, stretched their gnarled limbs high above the den and guarded endless secrecies as countless as the moons. and the brambles reached their twisted tangles this way and that in a bewildering labyrinth of thorns. while, dotting all the upper slopes, the junipers, large and little, stood up in dusk battalions above the lonely land. none but the wild furred feet of the wilderness ever went that way. in all its mazy length the print of human moccasins had never slurred the undergrowth trails. even the wild creatures themselves did not greatly frequent it, by reason of its mighty growth of thorns, so that even among the long solitudes of carboona, it was a loneliness apart. it was some time before the little wolves got any idea of the outside thorniness and brambleness which hid them from the public gaze. all they knew of the world was the good smell and the good gloom of the badger-hole, where, as soon as their eyes were opened after the nine days, they could make out the immense grey mass of their mother, who came and went mysteriously, a mountain of warmth and food. and here, in the perpetual twilight, they slept and sucked, and sprawled and tumbled, and occasionally went tremendous expeditions, and stubbed their noses against the pine root that struck like a savage promontory into the abyss. not until they were several weeks old, and were really getting very troublesome in the den, did the patient old mother allow them their first glimpse of the world; and then only after she had taken every possible precaution to safeguard against anything, bird, beast and human, being on the watch. the first coming out of the cubs into the sunlight was a wonderful affair. the old mother, having first scoured the country on all sides to see that no danger was lurking near, put her nose into the mouth of the den, and made a low noise in her throat. instantly there was a hollow thumping and scurrying and scrambling and yelping, and then the badger-hole became a miniature volcano that shot seven small wolf-bodies into the light. out they tumbled, seven little furry fatnesses, with pointed noses, and pricked ears, and tiny black eyes that blinked nervously in the sun. and there they sat for a while in unspeakable amazement, and stared and blinked, and blinked and stared, and wondered where they were. the first to move was a cub the merest trifle larger than the rest. he ran a few steps in an uncertain wobbling manner, stubbed his nose against a stone, yelped, backed almost as fast as he had gone forward, lost his balance on an old mole-hill, and rolled over on his back. and this was his first experience of the unevenness of the world. after that he lay and kicked, struggling with all his baby might to get right side up again. and his six brothers and sisters observed him from their superior elevation of six inches, and never offered to help; till, all of a sudden, it occurred to them what a glorious opportunity his upside-downness presented to them, and rolled down upon him in a body. during the scuffle which followed, the old mother sat and watched with admiring love. when the babies rolled over on their backs, or came to mimic disaster with roots or stones, she let them recover themselves as best they could, and learn by experience what were the hard things in the world and what the soft. and when she considered they had been long enough out of doors, she packed them back to bed again, and went off to hunt. the cubs had played out of doors many times, and had grown quite used to the look of the bramble-brakes and the great thorns, and that immense hot roundness that went dazzling down behind the western peaks, when, one evening, the wolf-mother came upon a strange trail. of all the creatures upon carboona there was not one with whose body-scent and foot-scent she was not familiar. when the merest ghosts of scent came wafting along the tides of the summer air, her nose disentangled them delicately and never gave the right smell to the wrong owner. but the smell of the strange trail puzzled her. it belonged to neither bear, badger, fox, wolf, lynx nor caribou. it was buckskin, and yet not wholly buckskin; it was buckskin with something inside it which certainly was not buck. the strange trail did not cross the brakes. that was fortunate, but it came dangerously near their northern extremity, and then turned east. the wolf followed it for a long distance till it passed out of her home range, and then slowly retraced it through the darkening spruce woods, sniffing suspiciously as she went. a week later she hit upon the trail again. this time the smell was fainter, but the trail itself was more disturbing: it actually touched the upper slopes where the junipers went black against the moon. three nights later carboona's watching eyes saw an unaccustomed sight. they saw a gaunt grey shape pass silently and swiftly between the junipers in the light of the setting moon. from the jaws of the shape, a wolf-cub hung, very limp--swaying a little as its bearer trotted. past the junipers, past the beds of wild raspberries, over the granite-covered shoulder of the hill, deep into the black heart of the spruce woods, the old wolf went. she knew her way, though her eyes saw no trail. she had passed that way before, during the days and nights when her heart misgave her, because of the strange trail, and the knowledge that a new presence had come into the woods. she had no fear of the forest, so long as it lay far from the trail, and the thing she distrusted. for all that, the great secrecy that was upon her made her shun the open places where the moonlight glared, and keep rather to the good grey glooms where her body melted among the shadows, and seemed itself a shade. and the little furry fatness hanging helpless from her jaws gave itself up limply to its mother's will, and to the vast movement of the night. the new den she had chosen as a refuge for her cubs lay among the innermost recesses of carboona, below the granite peaks. no brakes here, no watching junipers: a waste of rock and scrub, scored by deep ravines and dried beds of water-courses that thundered in the thaw. but black and inhospitable though the region was, it possessed the one thing dear to uneasy motherhood--absolute loneliness. she had dug the den herself, enlarging a natural hollow beside an enormous rock. not even the father wolf himself knew as yet where the new den was; for by the unwritten law of wolf-life he was banished from the home during the infancy of the cubs. here the old wolf deposited her baby, leaving it in shivering loneliness to grow used to the new home as best it might till its brothers and sisters were brought to join it. five times more the mother made the long double journey, each time carrying a cub. as she returned to the old den on the sixth and last time, the sun was already high above the eastern hills. the last cub was not in a happy frame of mind. one by one, its brothers and sisters had been taken away from it, which meant that, as each hairy little bundle of warmth went out under the moon, the warmth in the den was that much the less. and when the fifth had followed the way of the others, the remaining cub felt solitary indeed. at first he lay perfectly still, for that was his mother's command, though she had not put it into words. the deep mother-wisdom that warms the wits of the wild creatures has its own mysterious ways of conveying its meaning. "lie still!" is one of the very first lessons a mother teaches her young. "run home!" follows close upon it. to disobey either may mean death. it grew colder in the den and lonelier. the last cub didn't want to disobey and he really did try to go to sleep; but cold and loneliness are uneasy bed-fellows, and he had a sort of feeling that perhaps if he went to the den door, he might find out where the rest of the family were. the little fat body lay curled up close, and, in spite of the warmth the family had left behind, tiny shivers shook it every now and then. it was no use any longer pretending to go to sleep. the small bright eyes opened wide, and stared into the shadow that glimmered with the moon. and suddenly, out of the shadow, fear came, and the cub shivered with something worse than cold. he had never been frightened before. it was a new and terrible experience. it was in his head; it was in his stomach; the thing was all over him; the very den was full. he lay for a long time, trembling, and whimpering in a small smothered way. he hoped his mother might hear him, and come back; yet he did not dare to cry too loud lest other ears might catch the sound and lead some prowling enemy to the den. dawn was just beginning to break when at length he could bear it no longer, and, in spite of his mother's strict command, he crawled to the mouth of the den. with wide-open, frightened eyes, he stared out into the world. on the bramble-sprays the dew lay thickly. dew was grey on the grass round the trodden doorway of the den. it was a damp world that glimmered in the yellow gleam of the dawn. beyond the brambles lay the trees, beyond the trees, the rocky peaks; beyond the utmost peak, the blue vastness where the eagles have their trails. it all made the cub feel dreadfully small, dreadfully alone. yet somewhere out there, in the wet grey world of the dawn, his mother and the family were to be found. he put his baby nose to the ground and sniffed. the family smell was plain all about the doorway. a faint trail of it seemed to lead off towards the junipers, but when he took a step or two in that direction the trail was drowned in dew. he went back to the den-door, paused to sniff again, and set off in the opposite direction. why he went that way, he could not tell. once he had started, he did not think of turning back. to return meant the den again. he had a distrust of the den. it was in the den that he had first known fear. he went on for what seemed to him an endless distance among enormous jungles of bramble and fern. no sign of his mother, or the other cubs, nor any faintest whiff of the heavy family smell! once a rabbit, leaping past, scared him out of his wits; and once--how his heart thumped with terror as he pressed himself close to the ground!--a great dog-fox went slinking to windward, spilling the musk of his murderous self into the telltale air. for some time after the fox had disappeared, the cub crouched where he was, too terrified to stir. then, bit by bit, his courage came to him again, and he went cautiously on his way. he had just reached the end of the thickets, where the forest proper began, and was plucking up heart to enter the shade of the giant trees, when a new terror presented itself, and he crouched low as before. but this time it was no fox, lynx, or other four-footed enemy that threatened him. it was a creature that stood on two hind feet, with its fore-paws by its side, and an eagle feather in its hair. the cub narrowed his eyes till they were as good as shut, with only the tiniest slit between their lids through which it could see the strange adornments the creature wore on its feet. he hoped, if he lay as motionless as a stone, that the creature would not notice him. when hunting was afoot, absolute stillness would often serve to hide you as effectually as a cover of leaves. in his utter ignorance of the world, he could have no idea of an indian's piercing sight. there was a swift movement, noiseless as the swoop of an owl's wing, and before he could open his eyes, he felt himself seized by the back of the neck and swung into the air. when the mother-wolf reached the den for the sixth and last time, her fine sense told her in an instant that something was wrong. she entered the den with misgiving. as she feared, it was empty. her nose found the trail immediately; but it was growing a little stale, for the sun was high now, and it had been made in the dawn dew. nevertheless, the mother-passion within her sharpened the keenness of her scent, and off she went at a swift trot. every time the cub had stopped, she sniffed eagerly, as if to drink his very body through her nose. when she took up the fainter trail of his movement, an uneasy light glittered in her eyes. woe to the creature, whatever it was, which had dared to harm him, if she should find a second trail! where the maze of the thickets ended and the forest began she stopped dead, her hair bristling, her eyes alight. here was the spot of the cub's capture! here was the second trail! as she sniffed, and learnt the record told in smell, her anger rose. but with the anger went misgiving, and the uneasiness of fear; for here she recognized again the trail of the new presence upon carboona, the dread of which had caused her to seek another den. the trail went straight into the forest, in a south-easterly direction. with the utmost caution the mother-wolf took it up, in a swift, noiseless lope, passing deeper and deeper into the vast wilderness of spruce and pine that went descending, always descending, towards the basin of the world. but long before it reached the lowest levels, the trail turned due east through the mighty gorge that sucks the prairie wind into carboona's bosom like an enormous throat. through the gorge went the old wolf, sniffing, peering, listening--every sense strained to the utmost, for now the buckskin scent was strong upon the ground, and the trail was very new. just where the gorge began to deepen at its western extremity, the wolf caught sight of a creature moving, the like of which she had never seen before. it was like a wolf that went upon its hind legs, and yet it was certainly not a wolf. its gait was slow, yet certain, with a free, elastic movement that seemed to drink the wind. the wolf slackened her pace, crouching so low as she went that the longer hairs on her belly swept the ground. nearer and nearer she drew in her soundless progress, and as the distance lessened between her and her mysterious foe, the green fire in her eyes glittered more dangerously, for now her senses told her what her heart and brain had already guessed. _she saw the little shape that lay in the indian's arm!_ and in spite of the unseen danger slowly but surely drawing upon him down the dark throat of the gorge, the indian's elastic stride never faltered, as he proceeded towards the spot where he had hobbled his pony beside the camp of the evening before. and yet, before it was too late, the warning came. he heard nothing; he saw nothing. that strange sense which seems to belong to the wild creatures, and the wild people, only, woke in the dark places of his brain. he turned his head quickly over his shoulder, sweeping the gorge with a piercing glance. he saw the fir-trees bracing themselves in the clefts of the precipice; he saw the tangled curtains of clematis and vine; he saw the ancient tree-trunks that went on dropping to decay through a thousand moons. one thing only he missed--the gaunt grey shadow where two points of light smouldered dully in the shelter of a rock. having satisfied himself that nothing living was in sight, he continued on his way. as for the wolf-cub, he had long given up all attempts to escape. the continuous movement, together with the warmth of his captor's body, produced a soothing effect upon him, and he made no fresh effort to regain his freedom. suddenly, part of a rock on the indian's right seemed to split and launch itself into the air, with a rasping, tearing noise between a growl and a snarl. quick as a weazel, the indian leaped aside. the long fangs, intended for his throat, missed their mark by half an inch, but struck his shoulder with a clash of meeting bone. instantly he whipped out his knife, and stabbed fiercely at his foe. as he did so, the wolf leaped away. she, in her turn, was the fraction of a second too late. she snarled as she felt the blade. at the sound of his mother's unexpected voice, the cub gave a bleating cry. the noise seemed to send a wave of fury through her. once more she sprang with eyeballs that blazed. but this time the indian was prepared. he met her savage leap with an equally savage blow. and as he struck, he let loose the ringing war cry of his tribe. with a yelp of pain and baffled fury, the she-wolf bounded aside. the knife had done its deadly work. the searching man-cry had completed it. bewildered, terrified, utterly cowed, the great wolf went bounding up the gorge, bedabbling the ground with blood. not till late the following day, weakened with loss of blood and moving heavily, did she drag herself back to the cubs in the new den. but the fibres of the mother-heart were firmly-knit within her, and the fibres of the wolf-race tough. day by day her strength came back to her; and day by day the father-wolf, having discovered the new home and seeming to realize what had happened, brought freshly-killed game to the door of the den. he did not dare to enter. but the grand old mother dragged her body painfully to the meat, and the cubs never wanted for a meal. and within earshot of the new den, as of the old, little-sweet-voice, the white-throated sparrow, sang his heart out into the sun. chapter ii why "dusty star" was they called him "dusty star" because he happened in the night. all over the prairies of the immense west you might find here and there, in the old buffalo times before the white men ploughed, those little circles of puff-balls that weren't there yesterday and which began under the stars. "dusty stars" the red men called them, in their strange prairie tongue. the name, like other indian names, was very ancient. it was a word that went walking in the beginning of the world. dusty star, unlike his name, was very young. but he was big--very big for his nine years. even in the star-time he must have done a lot of growing, for when the morning light crept into the tepee, he was seen to be a considerable-sized baby--extra large for a papoose. and the thoughts in his head were like the bones in his body--big, very big! he soon grew tired of lying in his little beaver-skin hammock, slung so cunningly from one lodge pole to another, and listening to the prairie larks as they sang in the blue morning. he did such tremendous things with his fat arms that the lodge-poles creaked. and he screamed with the sheer force of being alive. when he fell out of the hammock and all but broke his neck, his mother thought he would be safer if she let him crawl. even in his crawling days, he learnt a lot about the world. he learnt how grasshoppers jump and prairie mice run. he wanted to crawl right out along the prairie into the middle west. his mother caught him just in time. after that, she fastened a deer-thong round his middle. it wasn't fair, and stopped him being one of the greatest explorers--for his age--which the world has ever seen. but it probably saved his life. after that he grew up as all prairie children grow, with a great deal of play by day, and a huge deal of sleep by night. and the sun and the wind were great companions, and meant very much to him; and the sun baked him to a fine redness, and the wind searched him, and seemed somehow to send gusts along his blood. and often and often he would fall asleep, listening to the eerie whisper and whack of it, when the poles creaked and the lodge-ears tapped; or to the long sobbing chorus of the coyotes, far out where the prairie humped itself to blackness against an orange-coloured sky, and the east began to be hollow for the rising of the moon. and where the wind ran, and the moon walked, and the coyotes chorused, was to him a magical country, with edges as sharp as the prairie ridges, that girdled all his dreams. on the day that he was nine years old, dusty star sat outside the tepee, blinking in the sun. from where he sat he could look far across the prairies, and so observe anything that might be moving over its immense expanse. for a long time he saw nothing at all. that was not strange, since in that vast apparent flatness there were thousands of hollows where all manner of four-footed cunningnesses could go about their business and never show so much as the tip of an ear to any human eye. it was the middle of the afternoon, and many of the prairie people were not yet risen from their noon-day sleep. presently, over the high butte to the north, he saw a buzzard on wide motionless wings, "sitting" in the blue. the circles he made were so immensely wide and slow that he scarcely seemed to move in that high watch-tower of the air where he scanned the world for carrion. next, a pair of hawks came into sight, skimming above the clumps of sage and bunch-grass. and now dusty star knew by their busy flight that the smaller prairie folk had begun to follow the runways in their eager search for food. then, as he watched, came a flash between the sage bushes, as a jack-rabbit dashed to feed on the juicy leaves that grew under the alder thicket by the stream. after that, nothing happened for some time, until suddenly he saw something very far off that was like the figure of a horseman riding over a swell. it was only visible, for a moment or two before it disappeared, but dusty star's piercing eyes had seen it long enough to make him sure that it was running wolf, his father, returning from the chase. the boy looked eagerly for his father's reappearance. he had been gone for some time. whenever running wolf returned from good hunting he always brought much game with him, and there was feasting many days. when running wolf came into sight again, he was so close home that dusty star could make out quite clearly the form of a buck lying across the pony's shoulders. also, his father carried something small and dark that cuddled against his left side. when running wolf had reached the tepee and dusty star had seen what it was that he had brought home, and when he had finally realized that the little wolf-cub was to be his very own, there were no bounds to his delight. to be the owner of a cub that would one day be a grown-up wolf--_this_ was a thing beyond his wildest dreams! henceforward the cub was the centre of his little world. he called it kiopo, because that was a name that meant for him all sorts of wolfish things, which he could not otherwise express and which he could never have explained to anyone grown-up; which, indeed, he could not explain even to kiopo himself. he talked to kiopo a good deal, and when he was not telling him of matters of the highest importance, he was plying him with questions. it did not discourage him in the least that kiopo received the information with the utmost unconcern, and never answered one of the questions. dusty star concluded that baby wolves were like that. they might indeed be full of wisdom, but they expressed it solely by means of their teeth. kiopo left the marks of his teeth upon everything that he could bite. when dusty star's mother, nikana, found them upon one of her best bead moccasins, so that many of the beads were missing, she gave him a tap with the moccasin that made him yelp with pain. but when blue wings, dusty star's baby sister, was, one fine day, found lying carelessly about on the floor of the tepee, to kiopo's intense delight, and began to be treated like the beads, nikana, roused by her screaming, gave kiopo such a shaking, and such a cuffing between the shakes, that he really thought his last hour had come, and yelled as piercingly as blue wings herself. not that he wanted to hurt things for the sake of hurting. he merely wanted to worry them, and to bite and bite, and bite. it was all very strange after the old life in the carboona, where the blue jays made such loud remarks to each other from thicket to thicket, and whoever hadn't got wings, went upon four feet. but here the tall, human creatures went always upon two only, and it was only the little dusty star that understood stomach-walking on all fours, and making companionable noises in the throat. as for blue wings--the cub that yelled when you bit her--she was a poor imitation of a human, though possibly with a high food value, if only they would let you try. one of the hardest things to get used to was the tepee itself, with its peculiar indian smells, so utterly different to the badger-hole where the only scent was the good home smell of the family, or perhaps of some fine old bone that had had many teeth at work upon it, and was trying hard to be dead. it was some time before kiopo grew accustomed to the new smells, so as to be able to sort them out as belonging to the various objects which gave them. and when night had fallen, it was a dismal experience to wake up and see the inside of the tepee full of unfamiliar shapes in the glimmer of the moon. and then a great fear would take him, and he would lift the thin pipe of his cub voice and yelp aloud, because he wanted his mother, and because there lay at the back of his head a dim idea that there were ears upon carboona that would catch the sound, and send a gaunt hairy body loping to the rescue. but the listeners upon carboona were too remote to catch that wailing cry, and those that were close at hand were not disposed to be sympathetic. when running wolf shouted at him, he was all the more terrified, and yelped the louder, and when the angry indian seized him and shook him into silence, his little heart was fit to break. under cover of the darkness, dusty star stole across to where the wolf-cub lay cowering, and gathered the little shivering body into his arms. and then he made him a lair in the buffalo robe that covered his own bed. and when kiopo felt the warmth and good neighbourhood of the human brother's body, he cuddled himself against it with a sigh and whimpered himself to sleep. in the day-time it was not so lonely because there were many things to sniff at and to watch. besides there was always the big brother ready to play with him, and to come down on all fours from the great heights of the hind-leg-walking world, or to tickle him in the ribs when he rolled over on his back and exposed the round bulge that was his stomach to the public. it was wonderful how much kiopo managed to cram into that bulge, and how his body grew in proportion to the bulge. his appetite never seemed to be satisfied. bits of buffalo meat, old bones, odds and ends of waste, shreds of pemmican, or gollops of stew--the bulge took them all and still had room for more. by the end of the second moon after his arrival, he was already far advanced in cub-hood, and showed signs of extraordinary development when he should be fully grown. and always he was learning new things. with dusty star for his constant companion and teacher he was learning very fast. and what he learnt, he never forgot, so that his knowledge was of the utmost service to him afterwards when the time came to fight his own battles far out along the world. his love and reverence for the little man-brother were unbounded. what the man-brother said and did were for him the great, important, splendid things. in a surprisingly short time, he had forgotten to think about his wolf-kindred, far away upon carboona. yet though he did not know it, the wisdom of his wolf-ancestors lay deep down within him in the secret lair of memory where the wild things never forget. he was immensely curious about the outer world. there was the willow-copse by the stream where the brown water talked with a wet tongue. it was crossed by tiny trails of wood and water folk that had furtive scurrying movements and were very hard to catch. kiopo's small wolf-eyes had the keenest possible sight, and what his eyes did not tell him about the little furtive folk, he found out by experiments with his paws, mouth and nose. sometimes his curiosity got him into trouble, as upon the day when, pouncing upon an immense green grasshopper close to the water's edge, he lost his balance, and rolled head-over-heels into the stream. fortunately the water was shallow, but the scrambling and spluttering and yelping were so tremendous that the commotion brought the big brother racing to the rescue. after that experience kiopo learnt the lesson that however tempting game may be, it is best to look beyond it before you make your spring. it was not long before he became a mighty hunter of mice. between the grass bents and the stalks of the prairie plants, their runways ran like little roads down which they scurried in the early morning or late afternoon, doing a hundred miles of mouse geography to their watering-places at the stream. no cunning wolf-mother taught kiopo to nose these narrow water-trails, and lie down beside them very craftily, with his head between his paws. yet the ancient hunting-craft of wolf ancestors who had made their kills years beyond memory in the grey backwards of the moons, woke in his blood when the time arrived and showed him what to do. and dusty star, observing how, after countless failures, his cub gained mastery over the mice, admired his tireless perseverance, and loved the little hunter with all his indian heart. chapter iii running wolf moves running wolf was like his name. he was always on the move. ever since dusty star could remember anything at all, his father had been going and coming, disappearing without warning, and re-appearing unexpectedly, as if the feet of many wolves went hunting in his blood. it was in the red moon, the moon of the harvest, that he now made up his mind to pay a visit to his tribe, and see how the world wagged itself where great chiefs and medicine-men smoked the medicine-pipe together in the wonderful painted lodges very far south. but as the journey was a long one, and the cold weather would follow the geese, before he could return, he decided that the whole family should travel with him, and take up their winter quarters with the tribe. once running wolf had made up his mind, there was not a moment to lose. almost before you could have believed it possible, osikomix, the piebald pony, had the lodge-poles fastened to his back, and the entire family--nikana, dusty star, blue wings and kiopo--were on their way, following the direction the wild geese would take when they left the vast northern waters when the call came from the south. their way lay at first through the meadows of high bunch-grass that lay beside the stream, where the alders were tinged with faint purple, and all the willow thickets shone a fine clear red. kiopo badly wanted to stop and hunt mice, but dusty star made him clearly understand that no loitering by the runways was possible now, and that he must keep in his place in the procession behind osikomix and running wolf. after a while they came to the country of the cottonwoods, where the trees were turning yellow, and where the sarvis berries were scarlet like flame. and they reached the borders of the great southern prairies where the low roll of the ridges seemed to have no end. dusty star was very excited. he had never travelled so far on the prairies before, nor imagined that the world could be so tremendously big. and he knew that somewhere out in that always increasing bigness lay the great camp for which they were bound. he had never seen such a camp, but his mother had told him stories. he knew it was full of people--braves, squaws, papooses--very many papooses, like the baby-sister which nikana was now carrying on her back. and there was feasting and dancing, and pony-racing, and being religious, though the last was not at all tiresome, being full of buffalo dances, and wolf songs, and generally ending in a sarvis-berry stew. what nikana omitted to mention, were the huskies: so dusty star did not know that every indian camp swarmed with huskies--dogs that were half-wolves, always hungry, always quarrelling, always ready for a fight; and--what was even more important--_kiopo did not know_. at sundown, running wolf made his camp. the spot he had chosen was at the foot of a low cliff, under which ran a river, which would have to be forded before they could proceed on their journey. running wolf attended to osikomix. dusty star helped his mother to collect brushwood for a fire. kiopo went hunting along the river bank to get an evening meal. blue wings was the only person who remained idle. yet even she sucked her thumb with unceasing perseverance, and made soft glug-glugging noises in her little indian throat. that night when dusty star had lain down in his buffalo-robe bed, with kiopo curled at his feet, he stayed awake a long time. he listened to the voices that seem born of the darkness--the hoot of the little grey owl from the swamp across the river, the evening call of coyotes among the prairie bluffs and those other small mysterious sounds that creep about the silence without paws or walking feet. and overhead was the night--the enormous indian night, with all its glittering fires--stretched like a huge tepee from horizon to horizon, though the stars upon its sides were anything but dusty, and if the great spirit walked there, he was careful that his moccasins should not crush the tiny stars. and when at length dusty star fell asleep, he dreamed of a great hunting across the windy places of the sky, where the buffaloes clashed their horns against the cliffs of heaven, and the wolf-pack woke the echoes in the hollows of the moon. the fording of the river next morning was a great delight. dusty star rode on his father's back, and blue wings went on her mother's. osikomix, splashed grandly across, taking the water up to his belly. but when the party had reached the opposite shore, dusty star found that kiopo was left behind. there he stood looking anxiously at the water, and enquiringly at his owners, as if asking which of them was coming back to fetch him. but as it was soon made plain to him that no one intended to do so, and that the party was preparing to continue on its way, he put his courage into all his paws and plunged into the stream. it was the very first time he had taken to the water, but his instinct taught him what to do, and he swam bravely across, dragging himself up the opposite bank, a little half-drowned caricature of a wolf, panting with excitement and pride. after that, there were no more adventures for the day. at night, they camped as before, and again dusty star dreamed of the great hunting that swept between the stars. it was in the afternoon of the nineteenth day's travel that they came at last within sight of the camp. when dusty star saw the great number of tepees crowded together, his eyes grew big with amazement. he had not thought there could have been so many lodges in all the world. to him it was a huge prairie city, whose houses were built of buffalo, with doors of buckskin at which no one ever knocked. if dusty star's eyes were filled with wonder at the sight of so many tepees, kiopo's nose was tickled with amazement at the quantity of smells. every bush, every stone, every clump of grass he came to, told him of a dog. it might have been expected that fresh scents would greet him in a land of many trails. but so much smell (in, other words, so much _dog_) at once, was overpowering, and disturbed his peace of mind. nothing could have been quieter or more orderly than the manner in which the travellers approached the camp. it is true that kiopo was a little in advance, and that his hair was bristling uneasily between his shoulders, but that was only to be expected with so much smell in the air. suddenly, without a moment's warning, a large hairy body sprang with a snarl from a clump of bunch-grass, and rushed savagely upon him. now for all his dog training with his indian friends, kiopo was, in the mind of him, as well as in the muscle, a genuine wolf. so, when the husky rushed, kiopo leaped aside, as the wolves leap. before his enemy charged again, the long wolf fangs glittered; there was a lighting plunge of the whole body, and down the husky's haunch went a long clean rip. the husky turned in fury, and his teeth shut like a trap. they closed--but not on the little wolf. they clashed on an inch of clear atmosphere which lay to the west of kiopo's hairy neck. and in almost the same moment, the husky got a second slash. but alas for kiopo! wolf-like though his tactics were, he was not yet old or powerful enough to fight with more than one foe at once. his enemy's attack was a signal to all the huskies on that side of the camp. the moment before, hardly another husky was to be seen. now they seemed to spring from every tepee and clump of grass. at least a dozen bore down on the combatants in a yelping, snarling pack. in an instant, and before dusty star could do anything to save him, kiopo had disappeared from sight under a mass of writhing bodies, legs, and tails. dusty star was desperate, and cried wildly to his father and mother to save his little wolf. fortunately it was not the first time that running wolf and nikana had had to disperse a mob of indian dogs. with loud yells and violent kicks they charged the rolling heap. several indians, hearing the commotion, came running to their aid. dusty star himself was foremost in the attack, yelling, kicking, pulling, pounding with all his might, utterly regardless as to whether he might be bitten or not. wild with fury against the huskies, and his deadly fear lest kiopo should be killed, he hurled himself on the pack like a little demon. mercifully for kiopo, the very number of his enemies saved him from serious harm, for he was so completely covered by them that only a few could reach him with their teeth, and many of the bites that should have been for him fell to the share of a husky; so that, while half the pack appeared to be worrying kiopo, they were in reality falling foul of each other to his decided advantage. kiopo, on the other hand, never ceased for an instant to use his powerful teeth. no need for _him_ to watch for a chance to bite. he had simply to work his jaws like a piece of perfect machinery. he fought with all the desperation of an animal caught in a trap. what roused him to fury was not so much the combined attack, as the being pinned down by numbers so that he was powerless to escape. every muscle in his strong young body was contracted to the utmost. not even a fully-grown wolf could have fought with more determination and pluck. at last the huskies, beaten and kicked on all sides lost heart and were driven off. what was left on the ground was an extremely mauled and tumbled specimen of what less than five minutes before had been a very trim little wolf. instantly dusty star was on his knees beside his pet. kiopo was bleeding in various places, and panting hard. dusty star put his arms round him, and besought him not to die. to die, however, was one of the last things kiopo intended to do. exhausted he might be, and wanting to get his breath, but his body was sound and his spirit unbroken. in the eyes that looked up gratefully into those of his big brother, there shone a clear, unconquerable light. very soon he was able to get up and shake himself. then, keeping a wary eye on all sides, he walked forward with his party, and so entered the camp. although his reappearance alive, when, according to all husky calculations, he ought to have been dead, was the occasion for many growls, and a threatening show of teeth, his enemies did not venture to attack him again. unwelcome though he was, it was plain that he had come among them under the protection of powerful friends. an unprotected stranger would have indeed led "a dog's life," and sooner or later, died a dog's death, unpitied to the last. but into their hard husky intelligence, this fact had embedded itself like a stone: what the lord-humans protect, it is dangerous to attack. chapter iv kiopo finds an enemy after this stormy introduction to the camp, the family settled down quietly enough. running wolf's long absence from the tribe had made no difference to his membership or position in it. half-an-hour after his arrival, his tepee was set up in the place appointed for it by the head chief, and in two days' time the family were living the life of the camp as if they had never left it. to be quite truthful, running wolf, nikana, and blue wings were living it. with dusty star it was different. the number of people of all ages, from newly-born papooses, up to braves and old squaws--some of them so wrinkled and bony that it almost seemed as if they had forgotten to be dead; the constant coming and going, the pony-racing, the chanting of medicine songs and the beating of drums;--all these things were so utterly strange and bewildering that, after the long day's experiences, he was almost too excited to sleep. as for kiopo, if an animal could have spent the whole of its puppyhood in the moon, and then, one slippery night, have all at once fallen off into the middle of the earth, it could not possibly have felt more an unwelcome intruder than kiopo in his new surroundings. the fact of his arrival was now known to every husky in the camp, and each husky hated him from the bottom of his husky heart. for the most part they lived on the worst possible terms with each other. this individual dislike did not stand in the way of a combined attack upon a common enemy when opportunity offered. left to themselves to arrange matters, kiopo would not have had the ghost of a grasshopper's chance. there were two great obstacles to his immediate destruction. one was his owner, dusty star, who kept a pile of stones and a heavy stick, always ready for instant use; and the other was kiopo himself. [illustration: the arrival of kiopo was now known to every husky in the camp, and each husky hated him from the bottom of his husky heart] kiopo was now three parts grown, and was considerably larger than the ordinary wolf of his age. for the average full-grown dog, he was more than a match. the few that had ventured to fight him singly had learnt that to their cost. but against a combined attack of the whole husky rabble, he was naturally powerless. and owing to the peculiar make-up of the general husky mind, you never could tell from one moment to another when the rabble would unite. he knew himself surrounded by enemies. go where he would, hackles were raised, lips curled back, and glaring eyes were fastened upon him. it was small wonder if, as week after week went by, he became nervous, irritable, and depressed. among all his foes, the one of whom he stood most in dread, was a big dog called stickchi. he was a surly, sour-tempered, evil-eyed brute whom none of the other huskies dared to face, but whom they nevertheless regarded as one of the leaders of the pack. stealing, fighting, and bullying were accomplishments which had earned for stickchi this position of authority, and he took a constant delight in showing his power. it was he who had led the attack on kiopo's arrival in the camp, and now he hated him with a murderous hatred. kiopo returned the hate in full, though he stood too much in awe of the great bully to venture to attack him when they met. the principal thing that enraged stickchi was that, while the other huskies at once got out of his way as their acknowledged master, kiopo only avoided him at the last possible moment after he had fully expressed his feelings by drawing back his lips from his dangerous teeth in a defiant snarl. then, when infuriated beyond measure by this open defiance of his authority, the bully charged his foe, kiopo, leaping lightly aside, would seem to send his supple body floating through the air, and land a dozen feet away, only to crouch for a new spring, and bare those evil-looking teeth as before. yet in spite of his defiance, kiopo harboured a great uneasiness at the back of his mind, for his keen wolf-intelligence told him that sooner or later, the day must come when the contest for mastery could be no longer postponed, and that the struggle would be a fight to the death. dusty star, for all his vigilance, did not fully understand. he could not think why it was that kiopo generally kept so close to the tepee, and rarely ventured any distance away unless he went with him. this was because stickchi was as cunning as he was cowardly. whenever he saw kiopo with any one of the family he did not attempt to attack him, but contented himself with growling deep in his hairy chest, and looking very ugly. like many other bullies, he was easily frightened, and he never forgot one particular experience when kiopo had been busily gnawing an elkbone behind the tepee. stickchi had made up his mind to have the bone. believing that no one saw him, he had crouched on his stomach in his most cunning manner, and had begun a stealthy game of stalking. if kiopo had not been so engrossed in his bone no amount of stickchi's artfulness could have caught him unawares. but the treasure had such flavoury bits of very high meat attaching to it that, for once, he was completely off his guard. so, bit by bit, kiopo blissfully gnawed, and, bit by bit, stickchi's stomach drew nearer. there is nothing much more exciting than to stalk something that is already stalking something else. and so, when dusty star, returning from the other side of the camp, came up quietly and saw the game that was being played, he joined in with delight. inch by inch the artful stickchi's stomach trailed elaborately over the ground, and, inch by inch, dusty star gained upon him. at last there was only a tuft of wild turnip between stickchi and his prey, and then open country for at least six feet. hardly daring to breathe, dusty star gathered his body together very tightly. in his right hand was a heavy stick. stickchi also was making himself very tight, preparing for the final rush. he wriggled his body slightly, bracing his hind feet firmly against the ground. there was a second's pause before he uncoiled the powerful spring that was himself, and hurled his body on his unprepared victim. in that momentary pause a human whirlwind loosed itself on him from behind, and a heavy blow descended on his head. with a yelp of fear and pain he bounded aside, twisting half round as he did so, to see what had attacked him. quick as lightning, dusty star struck again, this time in the very middle of the husky's back. the bully did not wait for another blow. yelping with terror, he turned with his tail between his legs, and fled across the camp for his life. after this lesson he observed running wolf's tepee from a respectful distance. but it only served to increase his enmity towards kiopo, and he nursed black revenge at the bottom of his evil heart. chapter v "sitting-always" among the many odd and unexpected things which dusty star found in the new life in the camp, one of the most peculiar and unaccountable was a grandmother, whose name was sitting-always. up to the present, a grandmother had been entirely wanting in the arrangement he called the world. that there was a great spirit called the sun, he knew. he also knew that there was another less great one called the moon. and there were the stars. these also were spirits. they sat about in the sky and generally had a good time. if you watched them carefully against the tops of the lodge-poles, you could see that they gradually did their sitting a little higher up, or a little lower down; and sometimes, especially in the mad moon, they actually _ran_. to watch a star run swiftly down a steep place in the sky and disappear, made your heart jump. when the running stars which did not fall off into the dark reached the prairie, they turned into the puff-balls the indians called "dusty-stars." but a grandmother, it appeared, though neither a spirit nor a star, was a great power to be reckoned with. there were days when she painted her face bright yellow. these were solemn occasions. if you made a noise or got in her way, she would wrinkle her skin till the paint cracked. if you continued the annoyance, she would smack. as a painted curiosity dusty star observed her with awe. his first introduction to her was not on one of her painted days. without wanting to be rude he thought her face looked more like raw buffalo hide than anything else he had yet met. her hands also seemed of that material, and did not feel pleasant when they felt his arms and legs. dusty star objected to being mauled, even by a great power; but he bore it as well as he could, because his mother told him to stand still; only from that day onwards his grandmother's hands were the part of her body he most thoroughly distrusted. the second time he saw her was when she came to the tepee on her way to take part in a medicine-bundle ceremony. she was very grandly dressed in a beaded buckskin robe, and her face was thickly coated with the famous yellow paint. dusty star was squatting with kiopo at the back of the tepee, watching his mother making pemmican, when this yellow vision peered in upon them through the opening. he stared at it with astonishment. he was not afraid, but it made him feel uncomfortable. it was as if his grandmother's face, like the maple leaves, had gone yellow with the fall. and from the middle of the yellow, her sunken eyes glared blackly in the hollows of her head. kiopo also disapproved of the vision. that was very plain by the way his hair bristled along his back, and his upper lip curled back to show his fangs while he snarled. the yellow face of sitting-always scowled between the eyes, and made the paint crack. she declared she would not enter the tepee unless the husky was first driven out. when nikana explained that kiopo was not a husky but a true wild wolf, and that when he snarled through his teeth it was best to let him be, sitting-always was more displeased than ever. like most old indians she firmly believed that the wolves had a "medicine," and by a "medicine" she meant a power that was stronger than either wolves or men. she herself was a great believer in "medicine." half the things with which her tepee was stuffed were supposed to possess a medicine of one kind or another. only she infinitely preferred tame medicine--the sort you stored in painted parfleches--to the wild kind on four legs that bared its fangs and snarled. so when she had shot out a few biting remarks about beasts and boys in general, she took her yellow face out of the opening and stalked angrily away. after that dusty star saw her quite often when nikana took him with her on visits to her tepee, and the yellow maple-leaf face had given way to the buffalo-hide one, and her teeth were the only yellow things she had in her head. by degrees, his awe of her wore away, till one day when she presented him with a rich plateful of sarvis-berry stew, he arrived at the conclusion that, after all, a grandmother, like the buffalo, could have her uses, and be very nearly pleasant when she did not paint her face. kiopo, however, never changed his mind. not even the richest stew could have made any difference. with or without her paint, his deep wolf wisdom taught him that here was an enemy, and whenever she came near him, he always showed his teeth. it was in the moon that the indians call the mad moon, or, as we call it, november, that kiopo began to take on strange ways, and to stay away, for days together. when he returned from these mysterious absences, he was in the habit of sneaking back into camp under cover of the darkness. in the morning, when dusty star spoke to him very plainly, and asked him where he had been, kiopo would turn his head away with an uncomfortable expression in his eyes. dusty star began to watch the wolf's movements, growing more and more anxious to find out where he went. and the closer the human brother watched, the deeper grew the wolf-brother's cunning day by day. neither going, nor returning, did kiopo let himself be seen. dusty star grew afraid lest he should disappear once for all, and never return. his fear was so torturing that he tied him with a raw-hide thong, and fastened it to one of the lodge-poles. there was a high wind that night, and the poles strained and creaked; but it was not entirely owing to the wind; and, in the morning, kiopo had gone. those were the evenings when dusty star, lying awake in the tepee, could hear the coyotes raise that eerie song of theirs which they love to sing after sunset on the high buttes. it always began in the same way, with a succession of short barks, growing gradually louder and higher, and always ending with a long-drawn, squalling howl. and as the boy caught the high-pitched, yowling cries ringing out in the dusky air, he knew that god's dog, as the indians called him, was at his medicine-making again, making medicine with his voice. through enormous spaces of the twilight, these uncanny cries set his brain spinning. the cries ceased to be mere coyote notes; they became voices crying the names of unfamiliar, yet unforgettable things; until at last, when the unearthly chorus became too piercing to be borne, he pulled the buffalo robe over his head, to deaden the terrible sound. if the coyote cries affected dusty star so powerfully, they affected kiopo equally, though in a different way. at times they made him angry, at others, wholly miserable. when kiopo felt upset, he always wanted to get hold of something to worry with his teeth. so the raw-hide thong came in very useful, and after gnawing for half the night, kiopo was free. once his own master again, he did not waste valuable time sitting down to think. softly as a trail of mist, he drifted out of camp, and not a husky of them all winded him or saw him go. the very morning after kiopo's departure, sitting-always was taken ill. she lay on her couch of antelope skins and moaned with pain. while nikana went to summon the medicine-man, little fish, dusty star was left to watch his grandmother. he had never seen any one ill before, and the noises she uttered made him feel uncomfortable. when he asked her if the pain was in her chest, she said it was lower down. dusty star nodded his head wisely. he had suffered pain in that part himself. it was the place that made you wish you had not eaten berries before they were ripe. he observed his grandmother gravely for some time. suddenly without warning, he doubled up his fist and thumped her on the spot where she complained of the pain. this he did, because he knew that if you hit things, they sometimes went away. he hoped that if he could hit his grandmother's pain right in the middle, it might drive it out. sitting-always uttered a loud cry. mistaking it for a shout of triumph, dusty star struck her again. this was more than she could bear, and she uttered such a piercing scream that the boy was startled. still it seemed to prove that the thumping was taking effect. he was preparing to smite her for the third time when his mother came hurrying into the tepee. with groans of pain and anger, sitting-always explained what had happened. naturally nikana was very angry. she could hardly believe that the boy could have dared to take advantage of his grandmother's helplessness to play her so evil a trick. without waiting to hear his own account of the matter, she gave him a sound cuff or two, and ordered him to go at once and fetch lone chief, the medicine-man, since little fish had said he could not come. only too glad to escape, dusty star rushed indignantly out of the tepee. lone chief's tepee lay at some distance from the camp, round the north-west corner of eagle bluff. he was understood to be a great medicine-man. his medicine, or supernatural power, was very strong, though it was not always that he could be prevailed upon to put it to the test. among the many mysterious things about lone chief was that no one could ever say with certainty where he was to be found. wandering across vast spaces or journeying to the edge of the world, had got into his feet. hunters from the far west would bring tidings of his camp on the shore of the mighty lake that washes the feet of the rockies for half-a-hundred miles. deep in the north, on the lonely barrens where the wolves howled at sundown, and the red-fringed pools were a-glimmer in an unearthly light, his slightly drooping figure might be seen moving soundlessly in the windy twilight along the deep-worn trails of the caribou. or in the torrid south lands where the salt lakes were caked with brine, and the antelopes, startled by the solitary figure, floated across the desert like vapours carried by the air, lone chief travelled till he filled his head with the roar of the gulf of mexico. to the tepee of this extraordinary, and much-travelled person, dusty star went with a reluctant tread, and a feeling, which, if it was not exactly fear, was certainly one of awe. when he came at last within sight of the camp, he saw that lone chief was at home, smoking his pipe in the doorway of his tepee. dusty star advanced slowly. when he reached the tepee he sat down in front of the medicine-man. neither of them spoke for some time, although no one had told the boy that this was the politest way of beginning a conversation, when it is not necessary to talk about the weather. so lone chief gazed politely beyond dusty star's head, and dusty star stared politely at lone chief's moccasins, while now and then a maple leaf drifted down beside them. when the fourth leaf had fallen, dusty star explained the reason of his visit. lone chief waited a little before he replied, because of his habit of being very sure about his thoughts before he made words to fit them. and while lone chief made his words, his gaze struck into his visitor's face with the edge of a tomahawk. dusty star returned the look without flinching and noted the way in which lone chief painted his face. and indeed it was something to observe, for across his forehead and down his cheeks went bars of black and yellow and red, as if his face were a cage to keep his eyes from rushing out. "my grandmother has a pain here," dusty star began abruptly, indicating the place. he did not say any more then, knowing that lone chief would know quite well why he had come, so that any further explanation would be merely throwing words away. "when did it begin?" the medicine man asked. "she made many noises this morning," dusty star answered. "she is making them all the time when she does not like herself inside." lone chief remained silent. "have they made any medicine for her?" he asked presently, with a shade of suspicion in his voice. it was an awkward question. dusty star wished to be quite truthful. at the same time, he did not want to confess what he had done. he had intended the thumping for medicine, though it was hardly the same thing as the grown-up people made, particularly as he had performed it without saying any medicine-words with it. it was his grandmother who had said the words, and they differed considerably from what the medicine-men used. "no," he said at last. "they have not used any medicine." he could not find courage to add. "but i thumped." after which nothing was said by either of them for a long time. and the maple leaves went on falling. at length dusty star thought it was time that lone chief should begin to make preparations to start, if he intended to visit his grandmother. so he looked into the painted face and said. "the shadows grow longer." lone chief understood. "yes," he answered solemnly. "when the sun goes towards his lodge, it is what the shadows are accustomed to do." it was not the words themselves which told dusty star what was going on in the medicine-man's mind, but that unspoken knowledge which flashes, none knows how, from one prairie-dweller to another along the invisible trail. in an instant he realized that lone chief did not intend to come. slowly rising to his feet, he gazed straight into the medicine-man's face. then with a clear, ringing tone, he spoke in a voice that was almost a cry. "i am sent to bid you to come to my grandmother sitting-always, who is not happy with herself inside. if you do not come, the pain will drive her along the wolf-trail; but she does not wish to go." he ended abruptly, his body held very stiff, like a young larch-tree when there is no wind. and in his eyes, fixed upon the medicine-man's face with an unblinking stare, a spark glimmered as if his mind were set ablaze. lone chief looked at him in astonishment. in the many thousand leagues his moccasins had travelled, he had never met anything like this. that a mere boy--hardly more than a child--should find the daring to address _him_, lone chief, the famous medicine-man, words which were like a command uttered by a full-grown man, was an astounding thing. in spite of himself, he felt uneasy. what was it, he asked himself, which made this boy so strangely different from other boys? the cunning eyes, practised to read the faintest signs on all faces and all trails, employed their utmost skill now to read the secret hidden in the boy. but that strange glitter in the boy's eyes baffled him; and when, after a long gaze, he looked away into the distance, he had a curious feeling that he had been questioning the eyeballs of a wolf. he moved his hand in the direction of the sun, now almost touching the rim of the western hills, saying as he did so: "when the sun has entered his lodge, i will come." with a glow of triumph, dusty star knew that he had won. he also knew that lone chief would waste no more words. he simply bowed, to acknowledge his gratitude; then turned, and ran swiftly towards the trees. as he ran, the lithe movements of his body caught the medicine-man's eye. "that way the wolves run, with their whole body," he murmured approvingly. "there is medicine in his feet." chapter vi the medicine-making when lone chief arrived that evening, an hour after sundown, sitting-always was worse. in spite of that, her spirit was not sufficiently broken to be pleased that lone chief should attend her. however, as little fish had refused to come, and lone chief was too great a person to offend, she had to disguise her dislike and fear of the medicine-man as well as she could. the tepee was so crowded with people that any one not acquainted with indian customs might have thought that sitting-always had fallen ill in order to give a party. dusty star was there, of course, because his grandmother's sickness was a very splendid entertainment, not to be missed; but he had taken care to keep well hidden behind a couple of parfleches, so that the sight of him might not exasperate the patient. lone chief's arrival made nikana very nervous. she wished she had not invited three other medicine-men to attend, without first waiting to see if lone chief would come. it would be so extremely awkward if they arrived in the very middle of his medicine-making. he might not mind. on the other hand, he might object, and be very angry. she devoutly hoped they would not come. hardly taking any notice of his patient, lone chief began his preparations immediately. first he placed four round stones in the fire to get hot. while they were heating, he remained seated, looking at nobody, with his eyes half closed. when he considered the stones were hot enough, he uncovered his medicine drum, and held it over the fire. dusty star, craning his neck round the parfleches, gazed at the drum with wonder. it was painted yellow to represent a cloudless sky. in the middle, a bright red ball indicated the sun. he wondered if lone chief intended to put it on his grandmother's head, for a hat. when the drum was sufficiently warmed, lone chief looked round on the company and declared that he could not begin his medicine till every one except nikana went out. there was no use in arguing about it, because a great medicine-man's word is law. one by one, the visitors reluctantly withdrew. dusty star, in the deep shadow behind the parfleches, made himself as small as possible, humped upon the ground. as soon as lone chief had seen the last visitor, as he believed, depart, he raised the drum, and began to sing a medicine-song, beating time, as he sang, upon the drum. it was a very peculiar song about buffaloes, wolves, and thunder, and at the end of every verse, lone chief barked like a coyote. when he had finished the song, he took an ember from the fire, and placed some dried sweet pine upon it. as the smoke rose, he held his hands in it, and prayed to the spirits of the sun, and of the buffalo, that he might have power to find out with his hands the spot where sitting-always was ill. he then rose, and went across to the patient. dusty star watched his movements with such excitement, that it seemed as if his eyes would fall out of his head. it was when lone chief was in the very middle of his examination that the event which nikana dreaded took place. no fewer than four other medicine men stalked into the tepee. all were heavily painted, beaded and feathered, and each carried a drum. dusty star shrank, if possible into a smaller space than before. without uttering a word, the four sat down in a half-circle about the fire, and began to smoke their medicine pipes. lone chief continued to move his hands over his patient's body as if nothing extraordinary had taken place. he was annoyed at the intrusion of his rivals, but was too dignified to show it. he fully believed his power to be far greater than theirs, and was prepared to treat them with contempt. sitting-always was relieved in her mind now that the other medicine-men had come. if it annoyed lone chief, so much the better. it would make him exert his medicine to the utmost. when lone chief had finished his examination, he lifted his drum again, and re-commenced his song, sitting with his back to the newcomers, as if they were not there. as each one of them enjoyed great importance in his own eyes, lone chief's action made them determined to perform their medicine as loudly as possible. first one and then another drew his pipe from his mouth, and lifted his drum. the first to do so was kattowa-iski. his doctoring power came from the beaver. kokopotamix followed him. his medicine was from the grizzly bear. apotumenee came third. he took his medicine from the buffalo, and had two buffalo horns fastened to his head. the last to begin drumming was ohisiksim. the thunder-bird had given him his medicine, which was very much sought after when the tribe was short of rain. at first the drumming was slow and soft, growing louder by degrees. then kattowa-iski got up and began to dance, striking his drum in imitation of the beavers when they hit the water with their tails. kokopotamix then rose and imitated a grizzly bear when he walks on his hind legs. apotumenee and ohisiksim began their performances at the same time. apotumenee crouched with his head lowered, and dug his horns into the ground to imitate buffaloes digging wallows in the fall, while ohisiksim blew out a spray of water from his mouth to suggest a thunder shower. all this time lone chief went on drumming as if nothing else was going on. and now the noise of the drums, louder than ever, made the tepee throb with sound. it maddened sitting-always who screamed out again and again that it was driving the pain into her head; but as no one paid the slightest heed to her cries, she put her hands over her ears, and moaned in despair. and now the medicine-men, as if excited by their own drumming, grew wilder in their movements. kokopotamix's walk became a dance in which he clawed the air like a grizzly sharpening his claws upon a tree. kattowa-iski banged his drum like a beaver with a hundred tails. apomumenee made terrible roarings and bellowings in his throat, like a bull buffalo; while ohisiksim sprayed his thunder-showers so far from his mouth that they moistened sitting-always in her bed. dusty star, looking out upon it all from his hiding-place, felt a strange excitement growing within him. to him, the antics of the medicine-men became so life-like that, more and more, they seemed to grow like the things they represented; and in the flicker of the fire, on which, from time to time, nikana put more fuel, the shadows on the sides of the tepee danced and balanced, as if they also were alive. he did not understand the new feeling; only it seemed to have to do with kiopo; almost as if kiopo himself were crouching by his side. and the wolf that was in kiopo seemed to urge the wolf that was in dusty star so that he felt that he must shoot his body in amongst the dancers, and make, with kiopo, the medicine of the wolves. the movements became wilder, and the drumming louder. the figures swaying round the fire, appeared to have lost themselves in the medicine and to feel nothing but the dance. it was not kokopotamix only who was there, or kattowa-iski, or apotumenee, or ohisiksim; nor even a grizzly bear, a beaver, a buffalo, or a thunder bird; but all the spirits, and the beasts, and the birds, of the lonely places, and the great silences of the enormous west. either it was the tepee which had expanded into the prairie, or the prairie which had crowded into the tepee. dusty star crouching behind the parfleches could not tell which. all he knew was that the wild dance of the prairie was tingling in his feet, and the voices of the prairie calling in his head. suddenly, with a ringing cry, he leaped from his hiding-place, and landed on hands and knees in the middle of the tepee. then, with head thrown back, and eyes glittering, he gave the hunting-call of the wolves. if the thunder-bird itself had suddenly alit with flapping wings in their midst, the medicine-men could not have been more utterly taken by surprise. the dance came to an abrupt stand-still. even lone chief stopped his drumming, and stared in astonishment. sitting-always, not being able to see clearly, because of her position, thought a wolf had entered the tepee, and screamed aloud with fear. before any one could move, dusty star, now barking like a coyote, began to run on hands and feet round the fire. quicker and quicker he went, barking and leaping up and down as if all the madness of the mad moon were in his blood, and he were forgetting to be indian, and remembering to be wolf. if lone chief had given the order, nikana would have seized her son; but lone chief was disturbed. dusty star as the grandson of his patient was one thing, but dusty star as this leaping madness crying like a wolf, was totally another. he did not approve; yet he did not dare to interfere. what he had felt vaguely in the afternoon, he knew for a certainty now. there was medicine in the boy. it was the true medicine--the medicine of the lonely barrens; of the lairs in the glooms of the spruce forest; and of the wolfish crags where the air throbbed with the thunder of the streams. great medicine-man though he was, it was a power he would have given many buffalo robes to possess. he knew himself to be in the presence of a medicine more mighty than his own. and because he knew it, he did not dare to answer the expectancy of his companions by ordering that dusty star should be turned out of the tepee. as for dusty star himself, he knew nothing at all about possessing "medicine." all he knew was that he felt very splendidly mad, with an uncontrollable desire to throw his body in the air, and cry wolf calls with his throat. and the fact that none of these important medicine-men, nor even his mother, made any effort to stop him, encouraged him to an adventure of great antics which he would not have believed possible in his most tremendous dreams. moment by moment, a wilder spirit of mischief seemed to enter into him. the occupants of the tepee looked on in amazement, as the lithe crazy shape, leaped and crouched, howled, barked and sang. rising suddenly to his full height, he took a flying jump and landed close beside his grandmother's couch. sitting-always terrified, out of her wits, uttered a piercing cry. up to the present, nikana had sat rigidly still as if mesmerised by her son's madness. but her mother's cry of fear broke the spell, and she darted forward to seize him. but dusty star was too quick for her. springing back across the fire, he gave, with a full throat, the hunting cry of the wolves. then, before any one could stop him, he tore back the door-flap and fled laughing from the tepee. chapter vii how the wolves sang next day, sitting-always had recovered. the awkward part of it was that no one could tell which of the medicine-makers had brought about the cure. dusty star went about with an uncomfortable sense that, sooner or later, he would be punished for his share in the performance. it had been a splendid piece of frolic; and when you had enjoyed yourself in an extra special way, it generally happened that the grown-up people would come down heavily upon you. yet as the day went on and nothing happened, he felt more and more bewildered. he had often been punished for naughtiness far less daring. now, when he had set everybody at defiance, no one said a word. but there were eyes. he could not hide the fact that people looked at him in a strange way as he went about the camp. even in the home tepee his father and mother observed him curiously, and he felt their eyes upon him even when he pretended not to know. gradually, as the days went by, the impression faded. there was a more important thing that haunted his mind continually. _kiopo did not come back._ the weather grew colder. there was much business in the upper sky. by day it took the form of a great arrow-head of wings, driving from the north; by night it was a voice. and as the harsh honking cry fell from the roof of the world, dusty star knew that the vast waters of the north were giving up their geese. and when the last arrow-head had winged, and the last _honk_ fallen, the night-breeze that came sighing along a thousand miles of prairie was barbed with early frost. one night, the strange restlessness that was in the hearts of the coyotes, making the prairie ridges clamorous with their choruses, disturbed dusty star so strongly that it brought him trouble in his dreams. he woke with a sense that something was calling him. as he listened, he recognized the familiar and yet always uncanny way in which the coyotes arrange their evening chorus--the short barks of the opening bars, which grow louder and more acute, till they change to the final howl. they were singing to-night as coyotes had chorused it a million times before. yet to-night there seemed to dusty star to be something special in the cry, as if it were an invitation to him from the prairie folk to go out and do something, or be something, which he had neither done nor been before. without waiting to question what the thing might be, he got up softly, and crept out of the tepee. outside, the camp lay very still. most of the inhabitants had gone to bed. only here and there a lodge glimmered with the light of an inside fire which had not yet died down. dusty star looked carefully round on every side to see if anything moved, and then glided away into the darkness. the coyote calls had died away now, but he fancied that they had come from the direction of look-out bluff. the bluff was known to be a bad place. the thunder-bird (so they said) visited it in the moon when the grass is green, and darkened it with his wings. old ahitopee, moreover, who had gone upon the wolf trail many moons ago, was reported to make evil medicine there, and to hob-a-nob with the prairie wolves. nevertheless, dusty star took his courage in both hands, and went towards the bluff. he was about half-way there, when he caught, far out upon the prairies, a faint, but carrying note. he stopped, listening intently, but it did not come again. for all that, dusty star was certain that he had heard the hunting call of a wolf. he went on. overhead, in the black sky, the stars glittered like arrow-heads of white fire. but, under his moccasins, the prairie seemed blacker than the sky. it was dead, dark, motionless. yet the darkness seemed to have movement in it, as of a furtive travelling which you could not see. _things walked!_ at the foot of the bluff, dusty star stopped. if old ahitopee were making medicine, it might be as well to avoid that side of the bluff. those who went upon the wolf trail did not like to be disturbed. he listened very carefully. the huge quiet of the prairies seemed filled with thread-like sounds as from that stealthy travelling which you could not see. only the medicine of ahitopee was not audible. it seemed safe to go on. but now he had the fancy that, towards the north, a shadowy shape kept pace with him as he advanced. when he stopped there was no shadow, but when he moved, it was there. at the summit of the bluff, he sat down to wait. he did not know what he was waiting for. that did not matter. the prairies knew. they had the great wisdom; the wisdom of the wolves. suddenly, to the north, he saw a pair of glowing eyes that watched him less than a dozen yards away, as motionless as if suspended in the air. dusty star did not move an eyelid. he was not frightened. but he knew now that things were beginning to happen, and it made him feel a little strange. and beyond the eyes, further to the east, a pale light glimmered, which he knew would be the twilight that goes before the moon. by degrees, as the glimmer grew, dusty star saw a shape that gathered about the eyes. it crouched a little, like a coyote. it looked bigger than a fox. and then he became gradually aware as the light increased, that he and the eyes were not alone. he counted one, two, three, four more pairs of eyes with shadows darkening about them east, west, and south. and beyond them there was an outer circle of similar shadows in the likeness of prairie wolves. the light grew stronger. the moon rose. dusty star found himself the centre of a circle of coyotes who sat motionless on their haunches as if waiting for some signal. then, from a neighbouring ridge, there broke, clear and ringing, the long voice of a wolf. the coyotes stiffened with attention. then, first one, and then another, lifted its head and began to bark. the barking became louder. by degrees, the separate voices began to blend together in a wild, unequal chorus. and now and then some hunched shape; upon an outer ring would become a voice to swell the clamour till it rang echoing from ridge to ridge. more and more, as the sound drove in upon him, dusty star felt a strange sense take hold of him; and as each separate set of barks changed to the combined roar of the final squawl, his entire body shivered to the thrill. he felt the creatures all about him now. and yet they were not strange. the coyote world, the fox world, the world of the wolves and of the other prairie folk, was closing in upon him in narrower and narrower circles, hemming him in with a roar of sound. he did not know what the chorus meant, nor what wild impulse urged the coyotes to sing. nor could he tell why he himself should feel so strangely a part of it all. in the moonlight everything was very clear. for prairie eyes, it was not likely to make mistakes as to what one saw. yet suddenly dusty star stared as if his eyes were starting out of his head. right in front of him, with its back to the moon, a great form, larger than a coyote, seemed to have risen out of the ground. as he looked, the creature, lifting its head, let out a long melancholy howl. dusty star held his breath. _could_ it be?--was it _possible_?--_kiopo at last?_ he was too excited to wait in order to be sure. springing to his feet, he darted forward with a cry. the wolf leaped swiftly aside, and was gone. the creature's disappearance seemed a signal. there was a general movement on the butte. the next moment dusky bodies melted soundlessly down its furrows into the grey vastness of the prairies, and dusty star found himself alone. he was bitterly disappointed. now, when it was too late, he knew that he done the wrong thing. all his wisdom of prairie-craft and wood-craft had left him in one fatal moment: he had moved at the very instant when he should have remained still. now he would never know if he had been face to face with kiopo or not. a sob rose in his throat; a mist swam over the moon: he could hardly see for tears, as he went recklessly down the hill. chapter viii how kiopo came back one night, when all the camp was in deep sleep, and nothing could be heard but the gentle flapping of the lodge-ears in the breeze, or the occasional bark of a hunting coyote, dusty star woke suddenly. what was it? he raised himself on his elbow, and peered about in the glimmer of the dying fire. the tepee was full of shapes of things that were somehow stranger than the things themselves. there were dark, heaped-up objects which made companionable sounds in their noses, and could be explained. but there were others which did not explain themselves, that made no sound at all. dusty star looked at them suspiciously in case they might have moved. as he looked, and listened, there came from the direction of look-out bluff a long-drawn, ringing, call. it was no coyote voice. it was deeper, more resonant in tone. some peculiar quality in it thrilled dusty star to the very marrow of his bones. it was the very soul of a wolf that went walking through the wandering spaces of the night: one of the thirsty prairie voices that go hunting down the wind. again the cry came. this time it was louder, as if the creature were drawing nearer. the boy's pulses began to beat more wildly. then there came a long silence, in which the lodge-ears ceased to flap and the wind itself seemed to have died away. was it going to be nothing at all, dusty star asked himself--nothing but a bodiless voice that went by on a windy trail? hark, what was that? there was a breathing snuffing sound, as of some creature sniffing at the bottom of the tepee. then, something scratched. as dusty star left the buffalo-robes, and crept stealthily across the tepee in dreadful fear lest either of his parents should wake, his body burned like a flame. with the utmost care he unfastened the calf-skin flap and passed out. there was no moon, but the sky was deep with stars. in their clear-shining, he saw a wolf crouching on the ground. dusty star did not take any risk by rashly stepping forward. he stood absolutely still, yet so anxious lest his wild hope should be vain, that he hardly dared to breathe. he saw the wolf rise, depress its body slightly and then leap upon him. he felt the weight of the heavy body against his chest, struggled to keep his balance, and fell without a sound. and then the night and the stars, and the whole world were blotted out by a great hairy wolf-body, and a tongue that licked and slobbered, and slobbered and licked. _kiopo at last!_ dusty star did not struggle. he knew if he attempted to rise, kiopo would only knock him down again, at the risk of rousing the sleepers in the tepee. even as it was, he dreaded lest his father might hear, and come out to see what was going on; for kiopo, in his wild delight, could not content himself with action only, but must keep up a continual whining and growling, broken every now and then by smothered barks. it was some time before kiopo's excitement had cooled enough for him to let dusty star get up. every time the boy seemed inclined to rise, the wolf, planting a fore-paw firmly upon his chest, bared his shining teeth, and growled. it was as much as if he said: "i ran away from you once, little brother, because it was necessary, but now i am going to see that you don't escape from _me_!" when kiopo was calm enough to behave more reasonably, dusty star sat up. he put his arms round his neck, and began to talk to him in a low, gurgling flow of quaint indian words. and indeed the words seemed to be sweet with the juice of sarvis berries and wild pears, and to have the wind in them over a thousand miles of prairie, and the wet sound of great waters, and syllables borrowed from beasts and birds since the beginning of the earth. if kiopo did not understand the words in the very exact shape of them as they ran from dusty star's mouth, he had a sense of what he was trying to tell him, because he understood the great nature-language that is deeper than the dictionaries, and lies broad along the world. beyond a low whine occasionally, or a gurgle in his throat, kiopo did not reply. yet his very silence was an answer. his whole body gave it. _his silence bulged with himself._ chapter ix sitting-always speaks her mind the news of kiopo's return ran swiftly through the camp. they spoke of it in the tepees as something to be reckoned with. it might mean evil, or it might mean good. whether good or evil, it was very strange. as for the huskies, they had but one feeling about it: the wolf's return was bad. all that day, and the days that followed, stickchi's eyes had a wicked glitter; and not a husky of them all but knew that mischief was brewing. but what the huskies felt did not cause kiopo any serious discomfort. he was a half-grown cub no longer. the long winter had made a wolf of him. his chest had deepened, his limbs lengthened. he was a creature to be feared. when dusty star went through the camp, kiopo close at his heels, he had reason to be proud of his wolf. the boy held his head high, because of the great pride and gladness that was in his heart. now that he had kiopo once more, his heart soared like a hawk. the joy that was in him shone clear in his eyes. he gave a bold look into the faces of every one he met. but when he and kiopo passed out on to the prairie, suspicious glances followed them, and watched keenly where they went. nothing happened that day, or the next; but upon the third day after kiopo's return, dusty star became uneasy. he could not have definitely said what was the matter. but things were in the air. something new was in the camp. it had not declared itself, but it was none the less there. beneath the painted coverings of the tepees, he felt that the secret grew. on the evening of the third day, just after sundown, he was returning from the prairie, after driving his father's ponies in for the night. the camp fires were burning brightly and in the deepening twilight dusky figures were passing to and fro. he noticed that round the tepee of spotted owl a small group of people had collected. inside, a drum was beating softly and very slowly, as if some medicine ceremony were beginning. dusty star lingered a little to watch, and then passed on. when he reached the home tepee he found his supper ready. but after he had finished, he did not go immediately to bed as usual. instead, he went out again into the camp. the night had fallen now. it was cloudy and very dark. but the glow of the camp fires made a sort of twilight in the camp itself; a twilight that wandered as the fires rose or fell. while he stood intently on the watch, he saw a figure come out from the doorway of his grandmother's tepee. the figure stood quite still, as if it, too, were on the watch. it was muffled in a robe, from head to foot, so that its actual shape was hidden. dusty star was surprised. it was not his grandmother's habit to stir abroad after nightfall. she had grave misgivings in the dark. but if it were a late visitor why then was it so carefully covered? the figure moved and glided away into the darkness. dusty star, keeping well within the deepest shadows, followed swiftly in the figure's track. it did not stop till it reached little owl's tepee. dusty star watched it enter, and then crept close to the back of the lodge. the soft beating of the drum was still audible, but soon after the entrance of the newcomer it ceased. then a voice spoke. dusty star, crouching close against the bottom of the tepee could hear every word distinctly. the speaker was spotted owl. "the wolf has returned to running wolf's lodge," he said. "it is five moons now since he went away. he may have brought back much medicine with him. it may be good medicine. lone chief thinks it is a strong medicine--very good, perhaps, if we sent a war party against the yellow dogs. but he must be watched." the voice ceased. apparently, for the moment, spotted owl had nothing more to say. then another voice spoke. "the wolf is always with the boy. they go out upon the prairies together. if the wolf has medicine, he shares it with the boy. the boy knows many things about the wolves." several other speakers expressed an opinion that it would be wise to advise running wolf to send the wolf away. it was clear that the general feeling of the meeting was that kiopo should not be injured, and that if he were driven away, no one must attempt it but running wolf. at this point another voice broke in which dusty star recognized only too well. the person was no other than sitting-always herself. she spoke quickly and with great earnestness. "the wolf is bad," she said. "nothing has gone well since he came to the camp. the boy also is bad. he and the wolf are always making medicine. that is why they go alone upon the prairies that they may make medicine together out of sight of the tepees. it will not be sufficient to drive the wolf away. as long as the boy is here, the wolf will come back. he is teaching the boy the wolf medicine. when the boy has learnt it fully, it will be a madness to send war parties against the gros ventres. if you destroy the wolf, you will destroy the medicine, and the boy will lose his power. he is indian now, but there is something in him that is wolf. either he will carry his medicine to our enemies, the gros ventres, or he will go back to the wolves. you must kill the wolf, even if you do not touch the boy. you must kill, kill, _kill_!" as sitting-always finished her speech, her voice rose to a shrillness that was almost a shout. in the yellow desert of her face her sunken eyes glittered with passion. it was plain to all who saw her that she was very greatly moved. to the one person who heard, but did not see her, it was as if a poisoned arrow had plunged into his heart. after she had ceased speaking, a low murmur of voices filled the tepee. the passionate words of the old squaw had roused the indians to a feeling that something must be done. spotted owl's next speech showed this very clearly. he did not commit himself so far as to say that the wolf must be killed; but he allowed his hearers to draw their own conclusions. once the wolf was out of the way, the boy could be dealt with as the tribe should decide. when sitting-always heard the concluding words of the speech, a look of evil triumph glimmered in her face. dusty star did not wait to hear any more. whatever plan his enemies might adopt, there was no time to lose. the secret was out now--the dark, unspoken thing which his sense had warned him was walking in the camp. as he crept away from the tepee, hatred, fear, and anger made his heart feel as if it would burst. yet it was not so much for himself, as for kiopo, that his passions were fully roused. he did not doubt that his father and mother would devise some means to protect him from any serious harm, as soon as they realized the threatened danger. but if kiopo were the cause of that danger, his instinct warned him that neither of them would hesitate a moment to sacrifice the wolf. in all the vast world, he knew that the only friend kiopo could rely on was himself. when he got back to the tepee, he saw with alarm that kiopo was not there. his mother scolded him for staying out so late. his father, already under his buffalo robe, muttered drowsily of a beating in the morning. dusty star had his own ideas connected with the morning. his brain was thick with the dust of a great plan. his mother's angry words were like fireflies that darted but did not sting. dusty star went immediately to bed. his mother, having eased her mind, did likewise. blue wings and the father were already fast asleep. very soon the only person still awake in the tepee was dusty star himself. and the night deepened. out there, in the awful hush of the prairies, you could almost hear the deepening of it from the roots of the camass flowers right up to the very roots of the stars! in the camp itself only one sound was audible--the low persistent throbbing of a drum. as the boy listened, the beating of his heart became another drumming; for his instinct told him that it was the medicine-making that would surely send kiopo to his death. it was impossible to stay longer in bed. out there, in the night, things were happening. the evil thing that sitting-always had planned, was hatching. when it was fully hatched, kiopo would be doomed. dusty star felt there was not any time to lose. if kiopo did not return immediately, he might not come back till the dawn. and if he delayed till then, it might be too late to warn him. his enemies might wait for him in ambush and kill him as he returned. dusty star made up his mind. if kiopo did not come back to him, he must go out to find kiopo; there was no other way. he got up softly, took his bow and arrows, and a strip of pemmican that was handy, and passed stealthily out of the tepee. the night was starlight. dusty star saw the world in a vast glimmer. it was the twilight of the stars. he paused a moment, embracing the camp in one swift, sweeping glance that missed out nothing that was important to be seen. all was one deep shadow in which the tepees were lesser shadows that stood up gaunt and black. dusty star was not afraid of the shadows. what he dreaded were eyes. you could see the shadows, but the eyes that might lurk in them you could not see. and the eyes you did not see might watch you as you went. he was very anxious. why of all nights should kiopo have chosen this one to be out? if they were to escape, it must be to-night. to-morrow it might be too late. ah! what was that? surely it was a man's form, black against the glimmer of the prairies! and it moved! it was coming nearer! to his horror dusty star saw another form, and then another, moving the direction of the tepee. he cast a fearful glance behind him. again he distinguished moving figures. there was no mistaking it. a ring of indians was closing in upon the tepee. he crept to the back of it, in the hope that he might not be seen, for a time, at least, till there was an opportunity to make a dash for freedom. as he crouched on the ground behind the tepee, a cold nose was thrust against his face. kiopo!... unknown to him, the wolf had returned after the tepee had been secured for the night, and had lain down to sleep against it. dusty star shivered in an agony of fear. if they were discovered it seemed as if some terrible fate had ordered that kiopo should return just when he had. the one lucky thing was that they were not inside the tepee. yet even so, the chances of escape were small indeed with that ring of pitiless enemies steadily closing in. kiopo saw them too. more than that, his unfailing instinct warned him what the danger was. he gave a low, rumbling growl. dusty star, with his arm tightly about him, whispered to him to keep still. as he looked up, he could see the heads of the approaching indians black against the stars. they were terribly close now. then he heard a slight noise at the front of the tepee, and knew that some one was trying to unfasten the calf-skin flap. he held his breath, dreading from moment to moment that they would be discovered. kiopo had ceased to growl, because he had realized that absolute silence was necessary for their safety; but dusty star could feel how the wolf's heart was throbbing, while his whole body shivered as if ready to spring upon his foes at the slightest hint. suddenly it seemed to dusty star as if one of the nearer indians bent forward to look more closely at the back of the tepee. if that were indeed so, they were discovered. there was no time to make sure. an instant's delay might be fatal. he leapt to his feet and made a blind rush, calling to kiopo as he did so. the indians were taken by surprise. before they realized what had happened, both boy and wolf were clear of the enclosing ring. the prairie! to reach that was dusty star's one hope. once out upon that he would trust to his speed and the darkness of the night. he shot forward at a headlong pace, urged by a frenzied fear. behind him he heard the swish and thud of racing moccasins. also there were cries. the cries struck terror into him as much as the feet. and they were terribly close. on he sped, kiopo running at his side. the fact that they were together seemed to lend him extra speed. he knew without a doubt that they were running for their lives. had not sitting-always cried "_kill! kill!_"? it was fortunate that his constant going to and fro upon the prairie had made him completely familiar with the lie of the land. if he continued in the same direction as he was going, he knew that he would reach broken ground where it would be impossible to keep up the pace, and not risk a fall. he swerved to the north. to swerve was to lose ground, but he dared not take the risk. the sound of moccasins drew nearer. it seemed plain that some, at least, of his pursuers had discovered the alteration in his course. with every muscle and nerve strained to the utmost, dusty star fled desperately on. from the sound behind, he judged that the indian who was gaining was in advance of his companions. kiopo made the same judgment with even greater exactitude as to actual distance. for a moment or two, the wolf dropped a little behind. before dusty star had grasped what was happening, there was a snarling growl, a noise as of a falling body, and the sound of the moccasins ceased. a second or two afterwards, kiopo was again running at his side. after that the sounds of pursuit died gradually away. but for a long time dusty star continued his flight. when he felt that he could run no further, he let himself sink to the ground, and lay for a long time, grasping for breath. when at last his breathing became regular, he felt the dewy vastness of the prairie night cover him as with a robe. the darkness, the quiet, above all, the sense of immense relief after the danger escaped, lulled him, and he slept. as dawn broke, he was on his feet, for he dared not risk remaining in the open during the day. by that mysterious means through which the wild creatures convey ideas to each other, dusty star made it plain to kiopo that they must go and hide. kiopo understood hiding. half his life long he had either been going into hiding, or coming out. directly they came upon a deep gully with a thicket at the head of it, both the boy and the wolf knew they had found the place to lie in till the dark. it did not take kiopo long to make himself a lair in the centre of the thicket. it was a thorny covert, not too comfortable, but it was safe from prying eyes. as the sun rose higher, the air grew warm. the air was full of a drowsy silence in which tiny noises hummed. first the wolf, and then the boy, settled themselves to sleep. towards the middle of the afternoon, kiopo began to be restless. in other words, his stomach reminded him that it was time to stop feeling empty. he crept cautiously to the edge of the thicket and looked out. down the gully on one side, far over the prairies on the other, there was nothing moving to be seen. either the indians had not started on their search, or else they had not come in this direction. true to his lifelong training, kiopo examined the country carefully on every quarter before venturing to leave the thicket in search of game. apparently his observations satisfied him that nothing dangerous was afoot, for dusty star, who was now awake, watched him quit the shelter of the bushes and drop over the edge of the gully as quietly as a cloud-shadow floats. about half-way down the gully a large buck rabbit was washing itself in the sun. the instant kiopo sighted it, he flattened himself to the ground, and never blinked an eye. the rabbit, utterly unconscious of the threatened danger, went on licking its paws and drawing them down its face, as if the only important thing in life was to be sure of being clean. and, as it did so, inch by inch and foot by foot, the grey flatness that was kiopo moved very slowly towards it, and hardly seemed to breathe. while dusty star watched the lithe wolf-body working its way down the gully, creeping nearer and nearer to its kill, he became aware of another similar shape approaching the same spot, but from a different direction and much higher up the further side. the wolfishness of its appearance was made all the greater by the fact that, like kiopo, it kept very close to the ground in its stealthy onward movement, taking advantage of every bush, and rock, to screen its advance. as dusty star watched the two animals approaching the same point from different directions, it seemed almost impossible that neither of them should be conscious of the other's presence. yet it only needed a few moments' observation to convince him of the fact. he grew more and more excited. which of the two stalking animals would be the first to catch sight of the other? and what would happen when it did? nearer to the prey crept kiopo; and still nearer to kiopo crept the other wolf. _was_ it a wolf? as it glided over an open piece of ground from bush to bush, dusty star started. in the animal's shape and movements there was something strangely familiar. the next moment, he knew in a flash that the supposed wolf was a big husky, and that, moreover, the husky was none other but stickchi himself. if he had been excited before, he was doubly excited now. when the moment came that kiopo found himself face to face with his hated enemy, dusty star knew that it must be a fight to the finish. by this time stickchi had reached the point where he must come into open view of the lower part of the gully along which kiopo was travelling. all at once, dusty star saw him stop dead, and stiffen into attention. he was too far off to note the sudden rising of the hackles between his massive shoulders or to catch the smothered growl that was rumbling in his throat. but, even at that distance, he could read perfectly what had happened. _stickchi had seen!_ and still kiopo kept moving on, utterly unconscious of the danger in his rear. instantly stickchi altered his tactics. hitherto he had only watched the game. now he had a more absorbing interest--kiopo himself! dusty star watched him slightly change his course, and then move forward again with redoubled caution. from this onward, the advantage, what ever might happen afterwards, lay entirely with the husky. dusty star's heart began to beat wildly. a lump rose in his throat. suppose kiopo should be taken unawares? a wild desire to warn his friend surged through him. but how to convey that warning? if he shouted, his voice might reach other ears than those for whom it was intended, and bring some indian to the spot. he ran the same risk if he ventured out into the open and tried to warn kiopo by signs. there seemed nothing to be done but to wait, and let things take their course. all this time the rabbit had continued washing itself in total unconcern of the two deadly foes advancing upon it from different points, and it was not until kiopo was close up to it that it realized its danger. in an instant the white tail flashed in the sunlight as it turned to run. it was an instant too late. in two tremendous bounds, the wolf was upon it, and the great jaws snapped. if kiopo had started upon his meal at once, it is probable that his enemy might have been able to stalk him to a closer point before he made his rush; but in kiopo's mind there was a clear idea that the kill must be shared with dusty star. if the little brother disdained the raw meat, it could not be helped. kiopo would have behaved in the brotherly manner, and he could not be expected to do any more. he turned therefore with the rabbit in his mouth, to retrace his steps to the thicket. as he did so, the bush to his left opened in its middle and seemed to _explode_ upon him in a hairy mass, with a snarl that was like a roar. it was not easy to stalk kiopo, but stickchi's tactics had been so carefully performed that, for once, the wolf was taken off his guard. dusty star, from his look-out, watched the husky leap clean on kiopo's back, and then saw both animals roll over together. there was a couple of moments of furious struggle and then kiopo tore himself free. the sudden attack, the rolling over, the taste of the husky's teeth, had done kiopo good; it had aroused his fighting instincts to their utmost pitch. besides, he had been attacked while in possession of his just-killed meat--an unpardonable offence in the law of the wilderness, in which to kill is to possess, and to possess is to make your kill a part of yourself by devouring it! the instant he had wrenched himself free, he launched his counter attack; that is, he launched the entire weight of his hundred and forty-pound body through the air straight at the husky. stickchi tried to evade the onset, but he was not quite so nimble as the wolf. kiopo's charge struck him full on the shoulder, and carried him off his legs. but a husky down is not by any means a husky beaten, and stickchi showed that, although a bully and sometimes a coward, he could, when necessary, show a fighting spirit that was not easily cowed. from the point at which dusty star stood it was not very easy to follow each movement of the struggle, partly because of the distance, partly owing to the fact that now and then the fighters were so mixed up with each other that it seemed hardly so much like a dog and a wolf fighting with two separate bodies, and sets of legs, as of one wildly-whirling, tumbling mass of bodies, legs, and tails. the excitement was too great to be borne, so throwing all caution to the winds, he ran down into the gully till he was within half-a-dozen yards of the fight. by this time both animals were bleeding freely, but they fought on in apparent unconsciousness of their wounds. at a glance it was easy to see that their methods of fighting were plainly different; for while the husky's main object seemed to be to close with the wolf and, if possible, to hold him down by sheer force, kiopo fought in true wolf fashion, springing away after each lashing stroke of his deadly fangs, and returning to the charge in a series of leaps that bewildered his foe by their lightning rapidity. the end of the fight came more quickly than might have been expected, considering how powerful both animals were. in the most furious whirlwind of struggle, kiopo's mind had never lost sight of one possibility. he knew, as all wolves know, that the hamstring, or tendon at the back of the leg, is one of the most vital spots in the whole fighting machine. if once that can be cut the result of the fight is only a question of time. at last, the opportunity, so long looked-for, came. there was a tremendous snap of kiopo's terrible jaws, and stickchi was disabled. after that, the husky's powers of resistance were speedily exhausted, and the bully stickchi would bully no more. after this second kill, kiopo retired to the thicket to lick his wounds, and dusty star went with him. part ii chapter x "baltook" the silver fox news upon the prairie travels fast and far. that of the disappearance of dusty star and his wolf into the west, was no exception. after travelling many leagues, it reached at last the people of the yellow dogs, whose hunting-grounds extend from the comanache country to the great lakes in the north. it was the famous spy double runner who carried the news. double runner was a true yellow dog; very fast and cunning. also like all other true yellow dogs he hated the comanaches with a bitter hatred. the comanaches and the yellow dogs had been enemies so long that nobody knew what the original quarrel had been about. however, that didn't matter in the least so long as the hatred, which was older than history, wasn't allowed to die down. when the yellow dogs heard double runner's news, they put their heads together in a great pow-wow. if it were true what rumour and double runner said, that dusty star and his wolf had a strong medicine, it would be a splendid thing if they could capture or kill them, and get the medicine for themselves. and even if they failed in that, at least dusty star belonged to their ancient enemies, and it would be one more comanache out of the way. now many moons before, a band of yellow dogs had gone into the west, and settled down by the river that flowed out of the chetawa lake. if double runner could find their camp and carry his news, it might happen that they could put him in the way of finding a trail. and if double runner found a trail, many buffalo robes and ponies would be his on his return. so that was how it came about that, one shining morning, in the moon of roses, double runner disappeared into the west. at the foot of a great boulder, high up on carboona, baltook, the silver fox, had his den. it was a wonderful look-out place from which to observe the world, and baltook was a first-class observer. what his piercing eyes didn't see, or his sharp ears detect, was caught by the amazing keenness of his nose. when the forest people glided softly from the good green gloom of the trees, baltook marked them the moment they appeared. below the level of his den went the runways of half the lower world. deer, badger, mink, hare, opossum, took their ways delicately along the trails, and, all unconsciously to themselves, were instantly noted by baltook's gleaming eyes. but whatever fine housings of hair or fur they wore, they paled before the splendour of baltook in his wonderful black robe powdered with silver hairs. no other fox on all carboona had such a coat as he. even in shadow it was beautiful; and when the fine machinery of his muscles moved beneath it in the sun, it rippled silver lights. and baltook was as splendid as his coat. certainly, his mate, boola; the cunning one, was convinced that he was lord of all the foxes; and as for the cubs, _they_ would have been equally convinced, if it had not been for a drawback which they couldn't help, and that was, they were too young to have any views about it at all. besides, up to the present, they had had to do chiefly with their mother, and it was only recently that their father had appeared to be a person of great importance as the bringer of choice food, which they were allowed to worry and chew and swallow like the shameless little greedinesses they were. and when they had finished a meal, they simply went to sleep, and slept and slept and slept, till they seemed to be furry lumps of warm fat sleep, all neatly rolled up with their noses under their tails. one day, baltook was sitting on his favourite look-out place on carboona about a dozen yards from his den, gazing down into the green and golden depths of the drowsy afternoon. to all outward appearances, the world looked pretty much as it had done for the last ten thousand years. so had the hemlocks looked, so had the spruces, ever since the first fox had made his earth upon carboona, and the world of the foxes had clashed with, that of the lynxes, and the old hatred began. but baltook was not thinking of lynxes today, not indeed of anything else in particular. he had just feasted off a very plump rabbit, and inside the den, the family was busy wrangling over the bones. so the possibilities of other game did not tickle his brain, although his nose kept up a series of fine wrinklings, just from force of habit, to find what sort of folk might be walking down the wind. yet in spite of everything looking so thousands-of-years-the-same, something very important _was_ happening, after which carboona would be never quite the same. _there were strangers walking in the wind!_ if baltook did not scent them, that was no fault of his nose. if you sit very high up you cannot expect your nose to tell you what is happening very far down. it is along the level of the runways that the nose does its business; and baltook's nose forgot to be very busy, even where he sat. down, down, down, through the vast forests of spruce and fir, with here and there a sycamore, or some huge hemlock that seemed to have hugged five hundred winters to its old black heart, the strange folk came journeying on scarcely-sounding feet. the forest was so thick, and the ground so springy with fir-needles, that baltook's eyes and ears gave him no more warning than his nose. yet a vague murmur of softly-padding feet was audible,--to ears near enough to catch it--the ears of the little peoples that live close along the ground. at the doorways of little underground dwellings between the twisted fir-roots, small furry bodies, with long tails, and eyes like sparkles of black dew, crouched quivering with expectancy, as the murmuring sound went by. to them, it was like the boom of walking thunder, far away, but drawing nearer. and the tiny eyes brightened, and the tiny whiskers twitched as two enormous shapes went glimmering past their doors. and for a long, long time afterwards, the little under-root dwellings were stuffy with uneasy people who comforted themselves together in the good grey gloom. immediately below the spot where baltook sat, the lowest fringe of forest ended in a dried stream-course, filled with boulders. from a spring on the nearer bank, a narrow thread of water trickled into a pool. above the spring the ground was rocky and clear of trees; and between the rocks the grass was short and fine, showing that deer and rabbits found it good grazing ground. (baltook could have told you all about the rabbits, but he did not dare to meddle with the deer.) within this open space, as the silver fox looked dreamily down, there appeared, to his utter amazement, two unexpected shapes. the one, though unexpected, was not altogether strange, being that of a large timber wolf; and in his life on carboona, baltook knew all about wolves. but the other shape was as unfamiliar as it was unexpected--that of a human being. to say that baltook sat up on seeing this unusual sight would not give the right impression, for the single reason that baltook was already sitting up. but if you were to say that inside his springy body every sense he had sat up so violently that he almost jumped, you would be very nearly correct. these astonishing visitors being so very far down in the world below him did not make much difference to baltook's cunning sight. but it did make a difference to his nose. before he could make up his mind about them fully, he must get them put into _smell_; so when, presently the strangers disappeared from view, baltook got up softly and melted down the hill. that evening a great news began to travel in carboona. newcomers had arrived. there was a strange wolf of enormous size: there was a human creature, stranger than the wolf. they were aliens, interlopers, interferers with the ancient habits of carboona which people had got used to since the beginning of the world. the human creature had broken trees and made itself a lair of boughs. the wolf guarded it, spending his time in going up and down the valley as if he were its lord. if once he made that the centre of his range, things would happen upon carboona: nothing would ever be the same. not content with bringing themselves into the borders of carboona, the intruders had brought a third thing with them--fire! the human creature had collected sticks and made a pile. and out of the pile had come strong-smelling mist that stung your nose; and, presently, an awful shining, like the sun and moon gone mad! the great news travelled far and wide. it penetrated even into the damp dullness of the tamarack swamp where old goshmeelee, the black bear, lived with her precious cubs. the little peoples of fur and feather caught the scatterings of it in the air and went uneasy in their minds. but the person who could have given you more information than anybody else, was one who started the news travelling--baltook, the silver fox. chapter xi why the foxes trusted dusty star when dusty star and kiopo, after many long days of journeying came into the valley below the den of the silver fox, they saw that there was water, and a good place for rest. they did not waste any time in discussing its advantages or drawbacks. they simply decided at once that here was the goal of their wandering and that here they would make their camp. that is to say, dusty star would make it. kiopo would look on and, if he approved, would consent to making it his temporary home. if he did _not_ approve, he would show his dislike and uneasiness in so many plain ways that dusty star had no peace until they moved elsewhere. even if the wolf was satisfied that no hidden danger lurked in the neighbourhood, and that they might safely settle down for a time, he could never take kindly to a sitting-down existence. for the great life that he had was always in his feet, so that he must be continually on the move, or going long journeys or short ones, as the case might be, but sooner or later, always coming back. so while dusty star built the tepee, kiopo went exploring up and down the valley, getting every point of it well into his eyes, and every drifting smell it had well up his nose. and more than once, when he tried the wind suspiciously, he caught a faint yet unmistakedly musky odour that suggested a fox. that night they slept soundly; dusty star in the bough-built tepee, kiopo stretched full length across its entrance. and all night long, carboona, the old savage home of countless lives, gloomed darkly above them, though they did not even know its name. still less had either of them the least idea that they had chosen their resting-place within the borders of that very region where kiopo had first drawn breath. next morning dusty star woke up well pleased with his new home. the day passed quietly, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood kept well out of the way. kiopo did his hunting at a distance, and supplied the camp with food. besides that, there was nothing particular to do. that was the joy of living where the world forgot to get civilized. after you had caught your meat and cooked it, the days and nights were very wide, because there were no clocks to make them narrow, and to chop them up into little bits called time. so because there really was nothing particular to do, dusty star on the fourth day after settling down in the new home, thought he would climb up carboona in the climbing afternoon. now the same idea, almost at the same moment happened to come to another dweller upon carboona, and that was the catamount, or great wild cat, which had its lair in a hollow tree less than half-a-mile from the camp, and carried the dull green fire in his cruel eyes to make the leafy shadows a terror to all lesser forest folk. he had slept most of the day in his tree after a good kill the night before, and was not feeling especially hungry. still, to a blood-loving creature like the catamount, there was always a pleasure in tracking fresh meat even if it was not needed. so the great cat set out for a leisurely stroll across carboona to find if any new smells had been spilt along the world since he had gone to sleep. for some time he got nothing that particularly interested his nose. there were smells of course. but some were old, and some were unpleasant, and one or two were really dangerous. among these last, was one of the big wolf which had recently come to harry carboona, as if he were its rightful lord. the catamount's eyes gleamed with an ugly light as he recognised kiopo's hated scent, and went a little more warily on his way. unlike dusty star, he did not immediately seek the upper sunny slopes. the green glooms of the evening shadows pleased him more. as he slunk along, lifting and setting his cushioned feet so delicately that his coming was like that of a piece of drifting thistledown, he looked as evil a presence as could be found abroad in the ending of the day. when he reached the last ravine, above the further side of which the foxes had their den, he paused. a faint, unusual sound reached his ears at irregular intervals. at first it sounded like some small creature in distress. that was the very sort of prey the catamount enjoyed. he began, very cautiously, to make his way across the ravine. when he was half-way up the opposite side, the sound came again. this time he heard not one voice, but several--and the notes were not those of creatures in distress. he was plainly puzzled. he had reached the sunlight now, and partly because of that, partly because every step brought him nearer to possible danger, he went with even greater caution than before. all at once the meaning of the commotion became clear to him. he heard; he smelt; he saw! all this time, dusty star had gone on steadily climbing till he had caught up, as it were, with the very middle of the afternoon. but for all he knew, he mounted alone, and never once got a glimpse of that other stealthy climber who stole up like a furry shadow of the evening itself into the golden places of the afternoon. and the catamount was equally unaware of the neighbourhood of the boy. suddenly dusty star came upon one of the surprises which carboona keeps in its most secret spots. in an open space between a mass of thickets he found a family of fox-cubs playing in the sun. five, fat, funny little bodies, tumbled and sprawled and tussled and rolled in a frenzied frolic which, if you looked closely, was really a furious battle over the leg-bone of a grouse. sometimes they bit the bone; sometimes each other. it really didn't seem to matter, so long as somebody bit _something_. it was the triumphant glory of being able to bite! the fight raged first to one side, then to the other. there were little yelps and squeals, and miniature growls, like fairy thunder. once the tide of battle rolled almost to dusty star's feet. the excitement was so great, and dusty star so still, that the cubs saw nothing and smelt nothing. but for all their seeming unconsciousness, their little ears were keenly alive to sound. for when the mother fox suddenly gave the sharp warning bark which is the signal of approaching danger, four out of the five cubs scurried instantly back to the den. the fifth cub, either because he was more stupid than the others, or more daring, stayed where he was, sitting up on his little haunches and moving his head from side to side as if to assure himself there was no need to hurry home when there was such an unexpected chance of having the grouse-bone all to himself. and dusty star was not the only watcher of the disobedient cub. between him and that other watcher was less than a dozen paces, but as the boy had arrived on the spot a little earlier, and was now as motionless as the tree behind which he peeped, the catamount was still unaware of his presence. screened by a thick bush and a tangle of creepers, the great cat watched its opportunity with a mouth that quivered. his first instinct on seeing the cubs was to retreat immediately with the same caution as he had approached. various unpleasant experiences had already taught him the danger of interfering with young animals whose parents are likely to be within springing distance. but although he looked from side to side with the utmost care, not the merest whisker-tip of any parent was visible. it was precisely at this moment that the mother-fox had uttered her cry of warning. what had startled her neither dusty star nor catamount knew. over the trackless barrens, along the runways of hare, mink, and fisher, down the world-old trails of the journeying caribou, there have always travelled--there still travel--mysterious warnings that convey themselves to the hunted creature neither by sight, sound nor smell. and when the warning comes, all wise creatures seek the cunning of their feet. at the cry, the startled catamount crouched back into the bush; and if the fifth cub had followed the example of his brothers and sisters, the great cat would have retreated as he came; but the sight of that plump, furry little disobedience, that sat there on its little tail impudently defying the world, almost within reach, was too great a temptation to resist. the catamount threw another piercing glance all round the locality. the mother fox gave no sign of her presence. if he wanted the furry disobedience, it was now, or never. he crept forward half a pace and gathered his legs under him for a spring. the movement he made was very slight; but it was sufficient to betray him to dusty star. instantly the boy realized the danger threatening the cub, but before he could do anything, a lightning streak of fur flashed out of the bush, and hurled itself on the cub. no sooner had the catamount made good his hold on its squirming prey, than it turned to flee. to its intense astonishment, it found itself face to face with dusty star! never in its life before had the great cat set eyes on a human being. for one brief moment, it was paralysed with fear. and that moment cost it dear. quick as a hawk, dusty star stooped and struck. the keen blade of his hunting knife flickered in the sun, and then buried itself in the catamount's fur. with a scream of rage and terror, the animal dropped the cub, and turned savagely on its foe. but at that very instant there was a rush and a hoarse squall, and it was knocked clean head over heels by the furious charge of the mother fox. this totally unexpected attack completed the great cat's discomfiture. spitting and squawling, it bounded into the underwood and was instantly out of sight. it might have been expected that the fox, having routed one enemy of her little one, would have turned at once on what she might have well supposed was another. but just as she had quitted the den to look for the missing cub, she had seen dusty star attack the catamount, and her quick senses told her that the action had not meant any injury to her cub. for all that, he was a new experience; and the wisdom of the wilderness is that new experiences had better not be trusted. so while she nosed the cub tenderly, turning it over with her paw, to see if it had been injured, she kept one eye jealously on dusty star to watch his slightest movement. and now that wonderful knowledge of the feelings of wild animals partly taught him by kiopo, which he had been gradually gathering all his life, came to his aid and told him what to do. for while his body remained so absolutely motionless that he hardly seemed to breathe, his mind made itself a finer body, and went out towards the fox; and the fox, receiving the message, learnt that she had nothing to fear. for all that, she was not easy that the cub should be left in the open, so far from the den's mouth. dusty star she had ceased to mistrust; but her instinct told her that, although the catamount had disappeared, he was still in the neighbourhood. so before she allowed herself to find out any more about dusty star, she picked up the cub by the loose skin at the back of its fat little neck, and carried it back to the den. as a matter of fact, the catamount was further than she knew, and now sat in the fork of a red-cedar tree, licking the wound inflicted by dusty star's knife, and making up his mind that if this new monster, with a paw that struck so fiercely was a protector of the foxes, it would be wiser to leave the entire gang severely alone. when baltook returned from his hunting with a plump partridge in his mouth, he was confronted by a strange sight. at the very entrance of their den he saw his mate sitting wholly at her ease, with a _human being_ by her side. in all his life of surprises, baltook had never come upon anything so surprising as that. boola must be crazy--gone clean mad before the time of the mad moon when the wolves and foxes sing. yet boola had no appearance of madness. she just sat and gazed at the human being with extreme calmness as if she had known him all her life. for a moment or two, baltook stood observing this astonishing sight, with one fore foot raised, as if uncertain what to do. then he laid the partridge down quietly in order to get clear of the smell of the kill and so be able to scent the stranger. screened by the bushes, he wrinkled his fine nose, and sniffed, and wrinkled, and wrinkled and sniffed, and still was unable to make up his mind. and there boola sat all the time, as calm as a toadstool and seemed to have neither eyes nor ears except for her new friend. at last baltook could bear the suspense no longer. with his brush held high, and his eyes shining, he stepped warily out into the open. when boola saw her mate approaching, she rose to her feet with a low growl. but the growl was not meant as a sign of anger: it was merely her way of saying "now, here we've got a visitor. mind how you behave." yet behind these words, if she had used them (which she didn't!) her mind was disturbed. a strange creature was close beside her, whom, though he had proved himself friendly, baltook did not know. it was extremely difficult to explain anything at all. because it really was an unheard of thing that an indian boy should sit neighbourly at your front door, and spill his mind out at you in a way you couldn't smell! yet when dusty star did it, it didn't seem odd at all, but as if it were the most natural thing in the world. yet now baltook came, and made it seem all odd again, because he carried with him the _foxiness of things_ which had always remained foxy since the beginning of the world! in this embarrassing situation, there was only one thing to be done, and boola did it. she advanced six paces toward her mate, and touched his nose with hers. among the wild peoples the nose is a most important organ for conveying information. because great persons like the president of the united states and the king of england do not use it for conversational purposes, does not alter the fact. just exactly what boola told baltook by this means, i do not know. whatever it was, baltook was reassured, and came slowly up to the mouth of the den. dusty star never stirred. but again--as he had done with boola--he moved his mind towards baltook, while he kept his body still. and so, while the afternoon climbed still higher, and the evening came softly after it, on its soundless shadow-feet, the three sat on silently together and learnt to know each other, without anything being said. it is like that in the forest-life. you sit in silence, with your mind open; and so you learn to understand. when at last baltook and then boola began to show signs of restlessness, dusty star knew it was time to go. he never said good-bye. there was no need. he just rose to his feet quietly and walked down into the trees. the two foxes carefully smelt the place where he had sat, and then, while boola went back to her cubs, baltook followed the trail. it was very dark when dusty star reached the camp. kiopo, who was out hunting, had not returned. dusty star made a fire by rubbing two sticks together in the indian way, in order to be ready to cook anything which kiopo might bring back. in the gloom of the dark woods, a black shadow having a wrinkling nose sat up and smelt the fire with wonder, and violent disapproval; and when a little later, the figure of an enormous wolf holding a hare in his jaws, glided into the open, the shadow with the wrinkling nose followed the best fox-wisdom and melted back into the trees. although dusty star did not actually tell kiopo where he had been visiting, kiopo smelt foxiness, and learnt a good deal. foxes he did not mind, so long as they behaved themselves. if dusty star had been with them, kiopo was not going to make a fuss. so, dusty star cooked and ate his hare supper, and thought of the little foxes, and wished they had the bones. chapter xii goshmeelee in the deep, damp silence of the ancient forest you could not hear a sound. through the swampy thickets, sodden with old rain, and floored with slime, nothing stirred. the very trees--cedar, tamarack, waterash, and black poplar--seemed to do their growing by stealth, as if afraid of its being found out. even the skunk cabbage--that robust vegetable--spread its broad leaves craftily, as if it covered a world of secrecy, and might at any moment be forced to confess. if any life were gnawing at the roots of this damp silence, or paddling among the slime, its teeth and toes were muffled. the world just here was dreadfully damp, dreadfully secret, and dreadfully old. not a nice nursery for babies, you might imagine. in such a place, if ever a baby were rash enough to get born there, you would think it must be born old, and be damp for the rest of its days. which only shows how deceptive things may be. for--in the very heart of the dampness, and where the ancientness was so old as to have begun falling to pieces--two perfectly new, and (what is perhaps even more surprising) perfectly dry babies were curled up in a hollow scooped out between the roots of a couple of hemlocks growing together on a knoll! neither the dampness, nor the ancientness, nor the silence, nor the gloom, nor any of the other things which would have made ordinary civilized people uncomfortable, had the least effect upon the babies. to be quite truthful, i must here remark that it was partly because they were fast asleep. if you curl yourself up very tight, and sleep very sound, and if, when you wake, you spend a good deal of your spare time in taking in food, it is quite surprising what a snug place the old, damp world may seem; and it would be quite ridiculous to sit up and worry. except very rarely the babies did not sit up. their usual position when awake was a sprawling one on their stomachs, while they pushed their little fore paws into their mother's and sucked and sucked and sucked. and most certainly they never worried; worrying being a disease which grown people seem to catch from each other in places where the sky scrapers go up and scratch the stars. the babies in the tamarack swamp knew nothing about civilization. their umbrella was the hemlock and their mother's body was the stove. and if a raving wind moaned gustily in the poplars, and twisted the tamaracks till they creaked, the umbrella never closed and the stove never burned out. perhaps i ought to be a little more accurate about the stove. it did not burn out, but it sometimes _went_ out. occasionally when the babies woke up, they found that the stove had gone out walking, taking care, however, to leave part of its warmth behind. one day dusty star, on his way across to the opposite side of the valley to dig roots, passed through the spruce wood which skirted the swamp on its eastern side. on the brown, elastic carpet of dead fir needles, he went without paying any special heed to his footsteps, because the travelling was so good. suddenly round the end of a hollow tree, he found himself face to face with a large black she-bear. now dusty star knew nothing about the babies in the tamarack swamp, nor that this great furry blackness was their blessed heating apparatus gone out for a walk. but he knew that a bear as a bear can be an extremely dangerous animal if there is any reason for its being cross. also he knew that, of all the wild creatures, a bear is the most human, and is prepared, at a moment's notice, to do all sorts of unexpected things. goshmeelee gazed at dusty star with disapproval out of her little shining eyes. she had no desire to have people hanging about the borders of the tamarack swamp, whether they had business there or not. they might mean no harm to her babies, even if they found them, which was very unlikely; but she wasn't going to take any risks. what sort of creature this new animal was, she couldn't directly decide. its going on its hind legs was bear-like, but, except on the top of its head, it was very deficient in fur. dusty star remembered that lone-chief once presented to him a piece of very old indian wisdom: "bear won't bother you, if you don't bother bear." but in case you _did_ meet a bear that seemed determined to be bothered, another piece ran: "if bear is angry, make medicine with your mouth." now although dusty star was sure he hadn't done anything to make goshmeelee angry, he was quick enough to see by the glint in her eyes that she was uneasy in her mind. so, he thought it could do no harm if he followed lone-chief's second piece of advice. the "medicine" he made with his mouth was very curious. it consisted of all sorts of indian words the like of which goshmeelee had never heard in all her life before. the sound was very strange, yet she did not find it altogether unpleasant. a creature that could make a noise like this was certainly to be studied. so, in order to study more at her ease goshmeelee sat down in front of dusty star, with her big black paws hanging in front of her, while she held her head first on one side and then on the other, in a comical kind of way. translated into our own language, this is the "medicine" which dusty star made: "i am the little brother. i am the little brother to all the forest folk. but i am the little brother to kiopo first of all. the forest is very big, and has many ranges. if it is big enough for me, it is big enough for you. if i have got into your range, there's no occasion for you to fuss. the bears are a wise folk. they have a strong medicine. when they are among the trees, they are in the middle of their medicine. my folk live a long way back east, where the sun comes up out of the prairies. they have a medicine which they make among the lodges. it is a strong medicine, and many birds and beasts have given it their power. our medicine-men make it in the moon when the thunder-bird claps his wings in heaven. you cannot harm me, even if you wished it. my medicine is stronger than your medicine of the bears." dusty star paused. all the time he had been making his "medicine," goshmeelee, except for turning her head from one side to another in her droll way, had never moved. it is true that she did not understand a single word of what dusty star had said. in spite of that she was impressed. somehow, or other, the power of the "medicine" had spelled itself out of the words and trickled into her head. she knew that this creature that owned the strange medicine was something she must not hurt. she also knew that he would not hurt _her_. but the babies! in her fierce mother-love, they mattered more than herself. on their account she was not quite satisfied. how dusty star became aware that goshmeelee had cubs, is one of the many mysteries. the forest is a place of hidden secrets. yet sometimes the secrets get carried, like thistledown, on fine currents, and are passed from brain to brain. so, gradually, a light dawned on dusty star; and he _knew_. and in the same secret way, goshmeelee knew that he knew, and also was aware that she need have no fear. as her mind was at rest, she allowed her body to be also. and in order to be completely at her ease, she sat down where she was widest, and looked at her new acquaintance with a humorous expression in her little gleaming eyes. "it is a good place for them." dusty star remarked, after he had looked at goshmeelee silently for some time. by "them" he referred, of course, to the cubs. goshmeelee simply blinked. but the blink was as good as if she had said: "i, goshmeelee, am a person of much wisdom. if i choose a place, i know what i am about. my children have everything which they require." naturally dusty star wasn't going to argue as to whether goshmeelee was a suitable parent for her own children. "wolves not wanted," she suddenly remarked. dusty star, looking at her, saw that the humour had gone out of her eyes. she looked almost fierce. kiopo had not been mentioned. but he saw that goshmeelee knew. "i shall tell my wolf," he said quietly. "he will not harm them!" a look shot out of goshmeelee's eyes which there was no mistaking. it said, as plainly as words, that if any wolf was so ill-advised as to attempt to harm any babies he might happen to find in that swamp, she had a claw or two, in a paw or two, which that wolf would devoutly wish had been pulled out when she was born! after that, the conversation, which had never been very fluent, dragged a little, and though goshmeelee didn't cease to be friendly, dusty star felt that perhaps it was time that the interview came to an end. so, letting her understand how glad he was to have made her acquaintance, and again assuring her that neither he nor his wolf were persons to be uneasy about, he moved quietly away. goshmeelee watched him carefully till he was out of sight, and then remarked to herself, that the forest was becoming dreadfully overcrowded, and that she hoped the new carboona neighbours would know how to behave. if she had happened to be at the other end of the swamp, and had seen another human figure working its way stealthily through the underbrush, as if it wished to avoid observation, her feeling about over-crowding would have been even stronger than it was. but fortunately for her peace of mind, she did not see it, and so went back to the lair between the hemlock roots totally unconscious of the fact that a far more objectionable intruder than dusty star had crossed the borders of the forbidden land which swampily surrounded the treasures of her heart. as he returned home, dusty star also was equally unaware of the intruder picking a cautious way through the shadowy stillness on moccasins that seemed to avoid by instinct every fallen twig. he, too, by force of habit, moved silently through the woods. but by this time he had ceased to feel that he was in a strange land, and followed the trail with the certainty of one who knows he is going home. very different, indeed, the passage of that other figure, which seemed to be seeking for something which kept itself in hiding behind the forest screen. and although in his own evil heart, double runner knew full well the object of his search, to the eyes of the wilderness he was a suspicious mystery that followed an unknown quest along an invisible trail. and so along that trail, nearer and nearer to the yellow dog camp by the chetawa river, and little guessing that less than half-a-league divided him at the moment from his unsuspecting prey, double runner, the artful mischief-maker, took his noiseless path. chapter xiii "new bed-fellows" the days in the new home slipped quietly one after the other without anything particular happening, till once again dusty star found himself in the neighbourhood of the tamarack swamp. he was not thinking of goshmeelee; and as the point at which he approached it was a long distance from the spot where they had met, he had not the least idea that he was anywhere near her lair. the thing which occupied his mind was how he could get across the swamp without sticking in the slime. of course he could have avoided it altogether by going round; but that would have meant a long tramp, and he wanted to reach the camp before the evening fell. it was just the hour before the coming-on of dusk when the swamp appeared at its worst for damp, draughtiness and general dismalness. on the surface of its stagnant pools nothing stirred, but if you waited long enough, peering close into the black depths, bubbles would rise slowly, telling you that things lived oozily far down in the fat slime. and for all it was so terribly still, the air, when you stopped to consider it, was full of low breathings, tickings, and watery whispers, that seemed to come from hidden pockets, and tangles in the weeds. every tree, branch and stone had its covering of moss, or lichen. the lichen was grey like very old hair. the moss was green with the greenness of things that are very damp. but here and there in this waste of watery bog, there were knolls of dryness, like islands, where hemlocks or hardwoods lifted their twisted boughs. and it was possible, if you knew the geography of the place, to work your way from one island to another without getting bogged in between. dusty star had reached one of these islands, sheltered by two hemlock trees, when he noticed a deep hollow scooped out between their roots. he stooped down and saw to his astonishment two baby bears curled up together and fast asleep. they looked so beautiful with their little bulgy bodies cuddled close against each other, that he loved them at first sight. he was so much taken up with admiring them that he did not notice a large black body moving quietly but surely along a well-worn trail across the swamp. and it was only when he heard a quick rush and a snort of rage that he realized his danger. it was the mother bear! there was no time to tell her that he was doing no harm to her cubs. there was no time to escape. three tremendous leaps, and she was upon him--almost! then, in the very last fraction of a second, an extraordinary thing happened. it was as if the bear's great body almost twisted itself in the very middle of its spring. even then, it only missed dusty star's body by an inch. "nearly finished you _that_ time!" would have been goshmeelee's comment, if she had put her mind into words. the very instant she landed she knew that dusty star had not touched her cubs. it was because she recognised in a flash that it _was_ dusty star she was attacking, which had made her last fatal spring fall short of its mark. even then, it was a moment or two before she fully recovered from the effect upon her nerves. "don't do it again!" she seemed to say, looking at the boy out of her little glittering eyes. dusty star gave her to understand that far from doing it again, he had never meant to do it once. bear babies he regarded as absolutely untouchable, beautiful and bulgy though they were. somehow or other, goshmeelee believed him. she thrust her great head and shoulders into the hollow, and began to lick the cubs with her enormous tongue. this was not so much for cleaning perhaps, as to comfort herself after her anxiety. the cubs hated being cleaned. one sweep of that great tongue was warranted to spring-clean a cub down all one side from throat to tail. and if the cub objected, a huge paw would deftly turn him over and clean the other side with aggravating thoroughness. it was an added annoyance to the cubs to be washed so late in the day. what they wanted at that hour was food, not washing--extra nourishment, not extra tongue. they squealed and wriggled and gave miniature growls and tried to bite their mother's paw. their behavior was very wicked indeed. goshmeelee, being used to their wickedness, calmly went on cleaning. when she had finished, she backed out of the hollow and sat down to look at dusty star; and her look said as plainly as possible, "what are you going to do?" [illustration: her look said as plainly as possible, "what are you going to do?"] dusty star had not decided upon doing anything, and he let goshmeelee understand that his mind was open to any fresh ideas. as goshmeelee didn't happen to have any fresh ones at the moment, she hadn't any to pass on. dusty star looked away across the swamp. it was growing dark, and the black pools were even blacker than before. unless you knew a path, it would be impossible to find your way across, now that the dusk had fallen. goshmeelee, could have done it, of course, but then she was at home. goshmeelee, however, had no intention of doing any such thing. if persons chose to visit at awkward times, she really couldn't be expected to see them safely home. blackness was in the swamp now: all its pools and bogs and rotting logs seemed breathing out a damp dusk of their own, heavy with decay. dusty star looked at goshmeelee and shivered. _she_ looked dark enough in her black fur, but also warm and _dry_. there was an air of large comfortableness about goshmeelee which was very pleasant to contemplate on a damp night. dusty star contemplated, and had an idea. when the bear turned into her lair, he had made up his mind. he gave her time to settle herself comfortably, and arrange the cubs to her liking, and then boldly crept in after her. to say that goshmeelee was surprised, is putting it very mildly. goshmeelee was thunderstruck. in all her great experience, extending over many moons, such an utterly amazing happening had never before taken place. if any other creature--beast, bird or human-being--had attempted to approach her precious cubs, goshmeelee would have barely given it time to wish it had never been born. but when this small indian boy fearlessly did the quite impossibly monstrous thing--actually pushing himself in beside her as if he were another cub--she had every claw and tooth ready to tear him into little strips, but--she hadn't _the heart_! what it was in dusty star that made him different from every other creature she had ever come across, she didn't in the least know. only she felt that the difference was there. also, she felt quite certain, that, whatever he was, or did, he wouldn't damage the cubs. it was very cosy in the lair, not to say stuffy. also, there was very little room. if you wanted to be thoroughly comfortable, you hadn't to be backward about pushing. the cubs weren't troubled with a feeling of backwardness. first one gave a good shove, and then the other. dusty star, nestling close against goshmeelee's furry side, felt distinctly jostled. when the cubs discovered that a third cub had pushed its way into their proper bed, they grumbled and shoved all the harder. dusty star soon found that there were two sides to his share of the den: one was the soft one against goshmeelee: the other was the hard one against a piece of hemlock root. the more the cubs shoved, the more he felt the root. it was no good saying "don't!" the cubs didn't understand "don't." even when their mother growled at them, they kept on pushing and grumbling and making a fuss, so that _no_ one could be comfortable, or pretend to go to sleep. dusty star made medicine with his voice--much medicine. he also pushed and shoved. he was not very polite; but then when people are sleepy they are not always polite, and the cubs really were very inhospitable. goshmeelee was at her wits end to know what to do. short of cuffing everybody all round, there seemed nothing to be done but growl. so growl she did, till all her body seemed a big thunder-box, with a lid that was always on the point of bursting open. but by degrees the cubs got sleepier and sleepier, and at last forgot to push. and the rumbling in the thunder-box died away. and dusty star, pressed close against the great old thundermaker, slept his first sleep among the bears. when the early morning twilight was stealing into the black places of the swamp, he crept softly out of the warm furry darkness of the lair, and picked his way across the bog. and when he finally reached home, he found that kiopo had not yet returned from his night's hunting, and so would not ask him any awkward questions about his very beary smell. for though you might hide things from kiopo's eyes, and ears, it was dreadfully difficult to conceal them from his nose. chapter xiv the "yellow dogs" one day about a week after dusty star's night in the swamp, he was returning with kiopo from a long excursion in the forest, which they had been exploring to the east, when suddenly a large fox came leaping down a run-way straight in front of them. he stopped dead the moment he caught sight of them. kiopo, who was in front, growled. dusty star expected to see the fox instantly turn tail, and was surprised to see that it stood its ground, though it held one paw suspended, as if for immediate escape. still growling in a threatening manner, kiopo advanced. his hackles were raised, and dusty star saw that he lowered his body slightly in preparation for attack. then, in a flash, he recognised his new acquaintance, the silver fox. at once he grabbed kiopo by the thick mane on his neck, and gave him clearly to understand that this was a friend whom he must not attack. kiopo stopped growling, and stood still, while dusty star stepped quietly forward towards the fox. whatever it was that had startled baltook, it was quite plain that he was in flight, and that the danger behind alarmed him more than that in front. he allowed dusty star to approach to within a few feet, though his wary gaze was fixed upon the wolf, who now came up slowly to dusty star's side. baltook, watching warily, never winked an eyelid; but his unwinking eyes spoke. "danger!" they said, as clearly as if he had put the warning into words. "there is danger coming behind me--coming quickly. there are strangers in the forest. the trees hide them. but they are coming quickly along the trail." and then, as noiselessly as he had come, baltook leaped lightly into the underwood, and disappeared. in spite of the warning the silver fox had given, dusty star was at a loss as to what was best to be done. both the danger, and its direction, were equally vague. in what part of the forest baltook had met it, he had not said. dusty star's senses were keen, but he knew that kiopo's were keener. it was for kiopo to decide. so he contented himself by watching the wolf to see what he would do. at first kiopo did nothing, except to throw his nose into the wind; after waiting a little, dusty star moved forward. a low growl from kiopo checked him. he turned in the opposite direction. kiopo growled again. by this time, the sympathy between them was so close that the slightest hint was enough to say what they wanted. so that whenever kiopo went so far as to growl, dusty star always knew that something was seriously amiss and never failed to take the warning. and now, kiopo began to move in the same direction as that which the fox had taken. moreover he went quickly, as if there was no time to lose. dusty star realized that they were travelling rapidly westward, but not towards the camp. the forest was intensely still. there was no sound save that of their own going, as they brushed against the undergrowth where it was too thick to avoid. yet the further they went, dusty star was aware of an increasing sense of fear. kiopo, too, was plainly growing more and more uneasy. in spite of his anxiety to cover the ground, he went with extreme caution. if it had not been for dusty star, he would have travelled much more quickly. as it was, he kept looking behind, impatiently waiting for the boy to catch up. yet the speed at which they travelled did not seem to carry them out of reach of that mysterious danger threatening them behind. for a long time dusty star had observed that they were travelling uphill; so that when, at last, they reached more open ground and came out on the top of a cliff, at the edge of a deep ravine, he was not surprised. the place was utterly unknown to him; yet kiopo appeared to be on familiar ground. he trotted on down a shelving ledge dividing the upper from the lower part of the cliff, and dusty star followed. at a point where the ledge turned abruptly round an angle of the cliff, kiopo suddenly looked back, stopped, and showed his teeth. dusty star saw an indian come out from the forest almost at the same point at which they themselves had left it, and then turn towards the ledge. a moment afterwards he was followed by several more. without waiting to see if a still larger band now followed, dusty star ran quickly on, with kiopo closely at his heels. as they proceeded, the gorge grew narrower. suddenly the ledge came to an end, so that it was impossible for them to continue any further. above them, rose a precipitous wall of rock. below, the precipice plunged sheer to the bed of the ravine. to return by the way they had come, was to run straight into the arms of their pursuers. one chance only remained: to leap the chasm before them. it was not more than could be cleared by a vigorous jump; but down below was a terrifying depth where the shrunken stream sent up a hollow sound among the stones. if, after jumping you failed to make good foothold, you would go down to almost certain destruction in the black throat of the gorge. dusty star was fully alive to the danger. but he knew that a still greater danger was coming on behind. he pressed himself against the rock at his back, in order to make the most of the few steps possible for a run, drew a deep breath, and then took a flying leap over the chasm. he heard the dull roar of the water, he saw the yawning blackness below, and then found himself clinging for dear life to the roots of a stone pine on the opposite bank. he pulled himself into safety, and looked back, expecting to see kiopo follow him at once; but kiopo did not move. "kiopo!" he called. "kiopo!" the wolf never turned his head. dusty star looked nervously back along the gorge. a few moments afterwards the figure of an indian came quickly around the turn. rigid as the rock against which he crouched, kiopo never stirred. dusty star watched with breathless excitement. he knew that the wolf's stillness meant deadly danger to the unconscious indian. the latter came quickly on. in the intense silence the soft padding of his deer-skin moccasins was plainly audible. from where dusty star crouched, he was invisible to the indian. so also was kiopo hidden by the rock. the boy saw at a glance that the man was not of his own people, but belonged to the dreaded yellow dogs. now the indian had almost reached the rocks. dusty star saw kiopo's powerful haunches quiver, and held his breath. the next instant he saw the wolf's great body hurl itself through the air. quick as lightning, the indian leaped aside. kiopo's terrible fangs missed his throat by a finger's breadth. in a flash, the indian's tomahawk was out. kiopo did not wait, and cleared the chasm with a bound. and now dusty star could see that several more indians were coming down the ledge. when they reached the spot where kiopo had launched his attack they stopped and examined the opposite bank carefully. like dusty star, kiopo had drawn himself out of sight, among the thick mass of brambles, and creepers. the indian who had been attacked could be seen pointing out to his companions the exact point at which the wolf had disappeared. dusty star watched them with a terrible fear growing moment by moment. if their pursuers succeeded in making the crossing, he and kiopo were only two against five. at present, they were in a sort of rude cave formed by the roots of the pine and screened by the hanging foliage; but in order to continue their flight, it would be necessary to come out full in view of their enemies and risk exposure to their deadly arrows. they had not long to wait in suspense. they saw one of the indians prepare to take the leap. close against his side, dusty star could feel kiopo's body shivering with excitement. through the opening in the leaves, he saw an indian lean back against the rock as he himself had done in preparation for the spring. the next instant kiopo dashed through the opening with a snarl of fury. dusty star saw him meet the indian at the moment his feet touched the rock. the body of the wolf and the man seemed to sway together for one agonized moment on the very brink of the precipice. then there was a ringing scream, and both disappeared from view over the edge of the abyss. chapter xv the taking of dusty star for the first few moments after this awful event, dusty star was too terrified to do anything but crouch where he was. through the opening he could see the indians gesticulating wildly on the other side of the chasm, as they gazed down into the gorge. then they disappeared, and peering out from behind the foliage, he saw that they were retreating rapidly along the ledge. he waited a little to allow them to get out of sight; then cautiously climbed down from his hiding place, and, lowering himself by the pine-tree's roots till he hung over the very edge of the precipice, looked down, dreading what he might see. what he saw, was only a mass of shadowy boulders, far below, with the wreck of a pine-tree fallen across the creek. not a sign of kiopo, or of his victim! he listened intently. he heard the hollow wash of waters, rising and falling in a muffled roar, as the flow of the air rushed through the neck of the gorge. there was no other sound. it was not possible to climb down at this point. even if it had been, he dreaded lest the indians might be there before him. nevertheless he could not bear to remain in uncertainty as to what had been the fate of kiopo, who had so nobly defended his life at the risk of his own. he felt that, at all costs, he must find his way down to the depths of that terrible gorge. to do this, owing to the necessity of travelling back along the ravine, took him so long that darkness had fallen before he would reach a place where the descent would be possible. after wandering about for some time, he became completely lost, and it was not till the morning of the following day that he was at length able to make his way back to the camp. during all his wanderings, he was comforted by a vague hope that kiopo might, after all, have miraculously escaped with his life, and have reached the camp before him. but when he came in sight of the familiar landmarks, and arrived at last to find the place wholly deserted, a terrible loneliness settled down upon him. the night passed, and the following day. still there was no sign of kiopo. dusty star did not like to leave the camp, in case the wolf should return in his absence and not find him there to welcome him. he kept hoping against hope that the worst had not happened. the thought that kiopo was killed, that he had seen his faithful companion for the last time, was unthinkable. kiopo _must_ come back! he had told himself that he had been injured in the fall from the precipice, and was in hiding somewhere till his wounds should heal; or that he had lost his way, and was wandering in the forest; or, being hungry, that he had followed the trail of some far-travelling buck, and would not return till he had gorged himself with his kill! any of these things! but not that other unthinkable thing, in the black throat of the gorge! and all round the little valley that now seemed so deserted, the forest stood gigantically silent, as if it _knew_. not far from the camp, grew an immense hemlock. over its dusky summit a thousand moons had waxed and waned. the shadow of its boughs was the darkness that had followed the dead moons. several times, dusty star had seen kiopo re-appear from its gloomy shade after he had been away on some of his long hunting expeditions. now, he found himself continually turning his anxious gaze in its direction. suddenly, as he looked, he thought he saw something move. he was not sure. the space under the tree was very dark. anything might crouch there and be invisible, even at high noon. what was it?--animal or human? he could not tell. the great old tree looked as if it had known no motion within the circle of its shade for a thousand years. yet dusty star was not to be deceived. he _knew_ that he had seen! yet for all his looking at the tree, he saw nothing more. the movement, whatever had made it, had been very slight. he would have thought nothing was there if it had not been for the instinct which continual dwelling among the wild creatures had developed in him: _he felt he was being watched_. for some time, he could not make up his mind what to do. he knew that his smallest movement would not escape the unseen watcher. as the time went on, the suspense became unbearable. he felt he must do something definite. gathering all his courage, he advanced deliberately towards the tree. except his hunting knife, he carried no weapon. but dusty star was no coward. even though his heart was pounding, and his body tingling, he did not falter. without pausing for an instant, he stooped beneath the sweepings boughs, gripping his knife. to his astonishment, there was nothing to be seen. he went round the trunk to the farther side and gazed up into the overhanging gloom. still, nothing! he examined the ground all about with the minutest care. whatever had lurked there a minute before had left small trace of its presence yet slight though the traces were, he detected them. _something had been there._ he remained where he was for a long time. he preferred to be the eyes under the tree rather than allow the tree to get eyes again so that it might keep watch on _him_! he was so very still that a couple of wood-mice went running over his moccasins, and a little black-and-white woodpecker ran up and down the trunk, searching for insects almost within reach of his hand. but these things belonged to the ordinary happenings of the forest. there was neither sight nor sound which gave him any reason to think that the thing which had watched under the hemlock was still lurking in the neighbourhood. after a while he felt he could not stay any longer in the gloom. as he stepped out into the warm current of air, he had a sense of intense relief. yet he did not wish to continue his watch from the camp, because of its nearness to the hemlock, lest there should steal back into its blind gloom the eyes that made it see. so he climbed through the scrub up the mountain-side till he came out upon a grassy slope, two hundred feet above the camp. he was above the tops of the sombre spruce woods now. the slanting sunbeams touched their summits into bronze and ruddy gold. yet always, beneath the gold,--as dusty star well knew--lay the heavy green silence that never stirred even at noon, where the furtive feet padded softly over the brown fir-needles, and the furtive eyes glimmered in the gloom. in the valley beneath nothing moved. from a thousand miles of forest and mountain the silence seemed to be oozing into it, filling it to the brim. and at his back, rose carboona. from all its gorges, precipices and barrens there came not a single sound. the vast world of the afternoon seemed heavily asleep. worn out with all his watching, dusty star also slept. when he awoke, the last ray of sunlight had left the eastern peaks. at his feet the camp lay in deep shadow. ah, why did not the spirit of the wild places come to him now, and tell him not to go down? at various times already during the life the spirit had warned him, he didn't know how. there had been no distinct shape, nor any sound. but the same mysterious warning, that tells moose and caribou when danger threatens, had come to him also, and he had turned aside, or taken another trail. and so, whatever the unknown peril was, it had been escaped. yet now, even though he needed it as never before, the warning did not come. but perhaps the spirit had gone upon a long trail, and had not yet returned? or perhaps it had considered the experience of the hemlock sufficient. whatever was the reason, nothing warned him now as he went into the shadow of the trees. dusty star's mind was filled with one thought--the wild hope that kiopo might have returned: but when he reached the camp the place was empty, and everything desolate as before. he gave a long look up and down the valley into the fast-falling night, and his heart sank. the forest was very dark now. the hemlock was inky black. he went to bed with a heavy heart. he slept uneasily, waking from time to time; but it was only to hear the solemn cry of a horned owl sitting on some dead limb, or rampike; or the long, wailing laughter of a loon from the water-meadows to the south. and once, far off in carboona, he heard the hunting-call of a wolf. even at that remote distance he knew it was not kiopo's deep-toned, vibrating bellow. he was fast asleep when the wolf-call came again. as it rang faintly out, a shadowy form, gliding from under the hemlock, paused to listen. when, receiving no answer, it had died away, the form moved stealthily on. dusty star woke with a start. he knew that something had disturbed him, but could not tell what it was. he listened intently. over the valley he heard the notes of a pair of night-hawks swooping down from the hill; and between the stones, the stream went with a wandering murmur. that was all. he lifted himself on his elbow, and looked towards the doorway. a silvery glimmer showed that the moon had not yet set. as he looked out; a man's shape darkened the entrance of the hut. dusty star held his breath. in the absolute stillness, he could hear his heart thump against his ribs. the man entered the hut. instantly dusty star sprang for the opening. as he did so, he felt arms thrown round him. he struggled frantically, but, in that strong indian grasp, he was powerless, and the next moment he was dragged mercilessly outside the hut. half-a-dozen indians immediately surrounded him; but not a word was spoken. while two of them held him, a third passed a deer-skin thong round his chest, fastening it securely under his arms. the thing had been done so rapidly, that from the moment when the indian's shape darkened the doorway till that when the whole party moved noiselessly down the valley with their captive in their midst, the thin shadow of a rampike falling on the moonlit space in front of the tepee had scarcely shifted its black finger an inch towards the east. in spite of the fact that it was night, the indians travelled quickly, owing to the moonlight. it was only under the trees, or in the shadow of some great rock, that the darkness made it necessary to slacken the pace. as they went, dusty star kept listening backward along the trail. suppose, at the last moment, kiopo should have returned? finding the hut empty, dusty star knew that he would start instantly in pursuit. but suppose he did not come back in time to get the scent before it faded from the trail? even _his_ fine nose would not serve him on a cold trail. once only, when they were nearing the end of the valley, dusty star caught a faint wolf-howl very far behind; but whether this was kiopo's voice or not, it was impossible to say. it was evident that the indians had some idea that the wolf might follow them, for it was plain, by the speed with which they were travelling, that they were anxious to push on with the least possible delay. they were among the spruce woods now, and the air was full of the unmistakable smell of the trees, with that peculiar tang one could never forget. they travelled in single file. even when it was so dark that dusty star could scarcely see his captors before, or behind, the deer-skin thong about his chest was always there to prove their presence as it tightened or slackened according to the pace, or the unevenness of the ground. at dawn, they reached the thin edges of the forest. dusty star's heart sank. if kiopo had caught them up in the thick woods, there would have been some chance of escape under cover of his whirlwind method of attack which would have suggested a pack of wolves rather than one. but now, in the more open country and the growing light, this would not be possible. the indians quickened their pace. in the day-light, dusty star recognised them as belonging to the same tribe as those who had followed him and kiopo a few days earlier; yellow dogs every man of them, under the leadership of double runner. it was near noon before they reached the head of a long lake. dusty star could see the water glimmering far away to the south over the tops of the red indian willows. without pausing for an instant, the indians pushed their way through the thicket, their moccasins sinking deeply in the spongy ground between the willow roots. then they pulled out a slender canoe of birch-bark concealed among the reeds. dusty star had never seen a canoe before. it struck him with astonishment; and when his captors forced him to get in, and he found himself floating on the water, his astonishment was mingled with fear, especially when, urged by the vigorous strokes of the indian paddles, the canoe shot out into the open. once out upon the lake he was utterly amazed. prairie-bred, he had never imagined it possible that so much water could exist. and it was deep, very deep! when you looked down, you could not see any bottom. and the thin sides of the canoe seemed a poor protection from the rippling vastness of that inland sea. the waves struck the bows with a husky noise. dusty star dreaded that at any moment, the canoe might be engulfed. already the willow-thicket where they had embarked seemed a long distance away. a feeling of despair took hold of him. the thicket was the last place where kiopo could find the trail; for, as dusty star knew too well, all trails die out upon the running watery smell. when at last the indians reached the end of their journey, dusty star found himself in a large camp near a stream which flowed into the river down which they had come from the lake. their arrival caused a great deal of excitement among the inhabitants, who came crowding round to examine the captive. it was evident to dusty star that they had already received the news of kiopo's attack upon the indian who had jumped the gorge. as he looked at the hostile faces crowded about him, as if he were some strange wild animal, his heart sank. in spite of his youth, he knew only too well what indian vengeance meant. after he had been sufficiently examined, the deer-skin thong with which he was bound was fastened to one of the lodge-poles, and he knew that, unless a miracle happened, he was a prisoner whose chance of escape was small indeed. when night came on, he was ordered to enter the lodge, which he found he was to share with double runner, and another indian; and, after they were all inside, the door-flap was securely fastened. notwithstanding his long journey and the anxiety of the last few days, he found it difficult to sleep. all night long he kept waking up with a start, and then dropping off again into uneasy slumbers, in which the dread of the uncertain fate in store for him oppressed him with terrible dreams. next morning he was let out again, and the day passed without any sign as to what his enemies intended to do with him. and at night he was imprisoned as before. food was given to him as often as was necessary, and, although he was kept a close prisoner, carefully guarded day and night, he was not subjected to any ill-treatment. day after day passed, and it became evident that the yellow dogs were preparing for some great ceremony. plentiful game of all sorts was brought into camp, and there was much boiling of tongues and other indian dainties, filling the air with a juicy smell. the forest people wrinkled their noses in the tainted breeze, and the word travelled. chapter xvi "the grizzly" it was old kitsomax, the mother of the chief, spotted calf, who first brought the alarming news which spread terror through the camp. among all the inhabitants she was the one person who had showed any kindness towards dusty star. his friendlessness and helplessness had appealed to the old woman's heart. a son of hers had died when he was just dusty star's age, and in the little lonely captive she fancied she saw a resemblance to her own boy. only dread of what the tribe might do, if she were discovered, prevented her from contriving his escape. yet she bided her time. if circumstances should favour her, she knew what she would do. on the day before the ceremony she had gone down late in the evening to bring water from the stream. as she was dipping her bucket, stooping very low, she heard a twig snap. looking up quickly she saw an enormous grizzly come out between the alder bushes on the other side of the stream. she was so terrified, she said, that, for the moment, she could not rise, but kept crouching on the bank hoping the bear had not seen her. but when she heard him growl softly and deeply, she knew that he had scented her. without daring to draw up the bucket, she had sprung to her feet and fled. that same night, dusty star was wakened by a loud breathing sound close to his head, so near that it sounded as if it were in the lodge itself. he was very much frightened, but lay absolutely still. something seemed to brush the outside of the elk-skin covering of the lodge, and then moved heavily away. almost directly afterwards, a great clamour arose among the huskies. it continued some time before all was quiet. but as the huskies were continually making disturbances in the night for very little reason, the indians did not come out. next day, unmistakable signs showed that a large bear had visited the camp. two huskies had been killed, and a third carried off into the woods. it was plain to dusty star that the indians were very much alarmed. this was partly accounted for (as he gathered from their talk) by the fact that there existed a legend in the tribe of a great medicine grizzly which haunted the lower slopes of the mountains, and which was supposed to be the spirit of catawa, a famous chief who had been murdered treacherously many moons ago during one of the tribal feasts. the year before, at the same time of the year, a grizzly had visited their camp on the potamac, and had destroyed one of the tepees. and hunters, coming over the mountains had brought disquieting accounts of a huge grizzly, of ferocious habits, whose range extended from the western slopes of mount hunting-wolf to the northern bank of potamac. this, they firmly believed, was the dreaded catawa. and now, catawa was come again. some said that it would be wise to have a special grizzly-bear dance in the festival in order to make a strong medicine that should drive catawa away; but others were firmly of the opinion, that the bear dance would only infuriate the grizzly, and that it would be wiser to postpone the festival until he had left the neighbourhood. they were still discussing the question, when double runner rushed breathlessly into camp. he said he had gone up the mountains to cut lodge-poles when he had come upon an enormous grizzly feeding among the raspberry bushes on a hill to the northward of the camp. the bear had seen him, and had immediately given chase, and it was only by putting forth his utmost speed that he had been able to escape. this alarming news settled the disputed matter of the festival; and it was decided that it could not be held until the grizzly had either been killed, or driven far away from the neighbourhood of the camp. to do this; it would be necessary that all the able-bodied men, young and old, should form themselves into a strong war-party, and go out to attack the grizzly wherever he might be found. this plan was immediately carried out, and in a very short time, the camp was empty except for the squaws and children and a few of the very oldest men. as usual, dusty star was left fastened surely by the deer-skin thong. the day was very warm, and so he sat just outside the tepee observing the sleepy life of the camp as it went leisurely on through the long passing of the drowsy afternoon. kitsomax sat a few feet away, busily softening a tanned buckskin, which she worked skilfully with her skinny hands. several times, dusty star noticed that her eyes were upon him instead of the buckskin, and that then her gaze wandered uneasily round the camp, as if to see whether any one were watching her. the air was very still. apart from the camp, nothing living could be seen, except a pair of buzzards circling high up in the eastern blue. suddenly kitsomax, after a swift glance all round, leant towards him, speaking rapidly. "they will hold the festival after catawa is driven away. and then they will kill you, because your wolf killed little owl; and because double runner says you belong to the wolves. but i, kitsomax, do not believe you intended to harm us. if they had not followed you, your wolf would not have attacked. if you do as i tell you, you may yet escape before the festival begins. you must ..." here the old squaw broke off suddenly, and bent over her work. turning his head, dusty star saw that a woman had come out from a neighbouring tepee, and was looking in their direction. after that, kitsomax did not say any more, and dusty star went on staring into the forest, where the shadows looked so cool under the trees. the words the squaw had said kept on running in his head. "they will kill you, because your wolf killed little owl." the thing of which the great fear had haunted him since his captivity was true then! the thing kiopo had done was to be avenged by his own death. he shuddered as he thought of the terrible fate in store for him. he knew that indian vengeance could be more cruel than the wolves. he longed to ask kitsomax if she had heard what had happened to the wolf; but whenever he turned to do so, it seemed to him that some one was looking their way. and the thing she had told him was a terror which grew. and although he looked straight into the forest, he saw it merely as a dense green mass. what he saw was the terror--the thing that should happen when the indians returned. but all at once the vacancy of his gaze vanished. from the shadow of the trees, he saw a large form slowly detach itself. it made a few paces towards the camp, and then turned back into the forest. he looked round the camp. no one else seemed to have noticed. the squaws continued their occupations just as before. dusty star kept his eyes continually moving along the line of trees, always returning to the spot where the thing had disappeared. and although he saw nothing more, he was convinced he had not been mistaken. the shape had been that of a bear. a long time had passed when one of the squaws suddenly screamed. looking in the direction of the cry, dusty star saw an enormous grizzly walking slowly towards the tepees. instantly the whole camp was in wild confusion. squaws ran in every direction, snatching up their babies, and screaming at the tops of their voices. several of the more courageous old men advanced towards the grizzly, waving their arms and trying to frighten him back; but when, growling fiercely, he broke into a run towards them, they turned and joined the women in their flight. it was in vain that the huskies circled round him in a snarling, furious ring. he broke the neck of one which had rashly ventured within the range of his deadly fore paw, and wounded another. as he charged the pack, it broke before his murderous onset and fled yelling into the woods. dusty star ran quickly into the tepee and began feverishly to try to unfasten the thong which bound him, while the screaming of the women, and the yelping of the huskies continued. presently, a sharp, rending noise told him that the grizzly had attacked either a tepee, or one of the parfleches in it. the tearing noise continued for some time and then ceased. after that there was silence in the camp, the inhabitants having by this time taken refuge in the woods. and still the thong resisted his utmost efforts to unfasten it. then, just as he was about to peep out to see what was happening, he heard something approaching. instantly he crawled under a buffalo robe, and lay there, shaking from head to foot. something entered the tepee. dusty star did not dare to look. he felt the thong that bound him violently tugged: he heard, or thought he heard, a muffled growl. the next moment, the robe was snatched from his head, and he saw--not the grizzly--but old kitsomax with a hunting knife in her hand. "quick! quick!" she cried. "i have cut the thong. he is coming! he is coming!" dusty star leaped from the couch. as he did so, kitsomax gave a scream. the entrance of the tepee was filled by a huge form. the little red eyes of the grizzly were glaring at them in fury. for a moment the bear seemed to hesitate. then he turned towards kitsomax. instantly dusty star stepped forward, and gave a short bark like a coyote. the grizzly turned savagely in his direction. with a marvelous quickness in one so old, kitsomax darted out of the tepee. in thus turning the bear's attention from the old squaw to himself he was well aware that he had risked his own life. yet he felt he could not have done otherwise, since she had willingly taken the same risk in coming to set him free, instead of escaping with the other squaws while there was yet time. seeing itself balked of one prey, the bear now concentrated his rage upon the other. he made a furious rush. if dusty star had been a fraction of a second too late, the delay would have cost him his life; but even as the furry terror hurled itself upon him, he made one of his swift wolf-leaps to the other side of a pile of skins. the grizzly turned like a flash. it was amazing that so huge a body could move with such terrible ease and quickness. but quick though the bear was, the boy was quicker. he knew that death was hard upon him. a false, or undecided movement, and nothing could save him from those murderous claws. all the muscles of his lithe body were contracted in preparation for the final rush for life. before the grizzly could cut him off, dusty star seemed not so much to run, as to _shoot_ himself out from the lodge. the big paw missed its mark by a hair's breath--no more. only one of the frightful hooked claws touched with its tip the spot where dusty star's buckskin shirt bulged slightly from his back. it rent it as clean as the slash of a tomahawk, but failed to reach the skin. dusty star felt the slash, and bounded for his life. he could see kitsomax's stooping form already half-way towards the forest. if he had made a straight run now, it was probable that the bear would have caught him, owing to the extraordinary speed with which a bear can move over the ground, but as dusty star took a zig-zag course all across the camp, doubling right and left as he darted round the tepees, the grizzly lost ground. from the last tepee to the edge of the forest was less than a dozen yards. dusty star took them at a wild run, hearing the snarling growl of the grizzly as it came wheeling furiously round the last tepee. he swung himself desperately into the nearest tree. with a roar of disappointed rage, the grizzly flung himself against it, tearing savagely at the bark, and stripping it into splinters. then, clasping the trunk with his mighty fore-arms, he hugged it with all his might, wrenching it this way and that in an attempt to break it down. dusty star, on his perch, felt the whole tree shiver beneath him. a tree of smaller growth must have given way at last to the enormous strain, whereas a sapling would have yielded like matchwood. as dusty star was aware, a full-grown grizzly rarely climbs. still, in the present enraged condition of the brute's feelings, there was no telling what he might not attempt to do. so, when he saw that the bear, finding he could not break the tree down by main force, was beginning to climb it, he was more alarmed than surprised. yet even then, as he felt the tree vibrate to the movement of the great body as it came slowly up, he kept his presence of mind. he threw a quick look round him that took in all the details at a glance. in an instant he knew what he must do. when the bear was a third of the way up the trunk, dusty star climbed out along a branch and dropped quickly to the ground. by the time the grizzly had laboriously climbed down backwards, dusty star was out of sight among the trees. when the indians returned that evening, they found the camp a total wreck; for the bear, disappointed in his attempt to seize dusty star, had turned back to vent his rage upon the tepees. here, one was completely torn down; there, another showed wide rents between its lodge-poles. and where one had apparently escaped, it was found, when entered, to have its contents torn and thrown about in all directions. of dusty star himself, they could not see a sign. and the only person who could have thrown a light upon his disappearance, took the wise course of holding her tongue. even the thong which had bound him had likewise disappeared. for when the terrified squaws had crept back one by one to the ruined camp, kitsomax had taken the precaution to bury it under a bush. chapter xvii the swimming of kiopo when kiopo had leaped upon the indian, and had fallen with him over the precipice edge, he had, like his foe, crashed down to almost certain death. the indian, indeed, had been killed instantly, with a broken neck; but the wolf, instead of falling straight upon the boulders at the bottom of the gorge, had turned a somersault in mid-air, and had landed in a thick clump of junipers growing on a slope some thirty feet above the creek bed. probably it was the passionate instinct of self-preservation, when all hope seemed gone, which had made him give his body that violent contortion. apart from that, he owed his life to a miracle which must always remain a mystery unexplained. in spite of the break in his fall, he lay half-stunned among the bushes for some time. and when at length his senses came to him again, he felt sore in every limb. there is an unfailing law among the wild peoples that, when an individual is injured, it creeps into the most secret place it can find, and there rests till it recovers sufficiently to face the world. kiopo had no need to look for a place more secret than the one he had fallen into, so he stayed where he was, and let nature do the rest. for fully two days, he remained in hiding. on the third, he crawled out into the open; on the fourth, was sufficiently recovered to make a kill in the shape of a fat buck rabbit; and, on the evening of the fifth, made his way back to camp. instantly he returned, he knew that something was wrong. he ran anxiously this way and that, scenting and looking. eyes and nose told him the same story. dusty star had gone, and he had not gone alone. kiopo soon found the trail, and immediately started off. the scent was getting a little stale, but, faint though it was, it was sufficient for the wolf's unerring nose. it was the well known indian smell that he had learned to distrust, and as he ran, his hackles rose. he ran on swiftly, growing angrier as he ran, and eating up the distance with his long, loping stride. here the scent was a little fainter, there a little stronger; but always the trail kept going on in the same direction to the south. kiopo knew that he was getting beyond his usual range. he had never penetrated so far into the southern forest country before. he was uneasy, as well as angry. there was a bad smell in the trail. it meant mischief. and mischief towards his beloved little brother was the thing in all the world which kiopo would not stand. under the solemn shadow of the trees the great wolf sped on soundless pads that carried his body like a phantom through the silence of the woods. now and then he would come to a cross trail, where some other animal had lately passed, or the trail itself would be obscured. but kiopo had far too serious a business on hand to waste time upon the cross trails, and when the double trail divided, he followed the fainter, and the human one, as before. of other hunters who, like himself, were abroad in the woods, he saw little, for his eyes rarely wandered from the ground under his nose. and those of the forest-dwellers who caught sight of the great grey shape that went floating through the trees, gave it a wide berth, with that curious forest etiquette which is deeper than politeness, and is close in touch with death. when he emerged from the forest into the open country, kiopo paused to reconnoitre. his eyes became of the utmost importance now, because the world was widening. in the forest you could only see where the trees permitted, but now its place was taken by long grassy swells that rippled under the wind. into it, kiopo swung his nose. it came in a series of soft surges from the south. many faint odours were travelling down it now; scents that were the body of the wilderness lifted into the air. they were subtly mixed, it would take the very finest nose to disentangle them. with his eyes narrowed, and his head raised, kiopo searched the wind. his sensitive nostrils gave little quivers and rapid twists that were like a play of fingers that dabbled delicately in the air. the scents that came were chiefly those of the growing things, grass, flowers and trees. but running through them, in fine streams of odours, there were other scents that were like the flowing souls of birds and beasts, spilt, in spite of themselves, into the wandering world. was some tiny drop of dusty star's body-scent mixed among them--sending out its wordless message through the enormous space? for all the keen searching of kiopo's nostrils, the drop, if it were there, escaped them. but if the trails of the air were lost in the wilderness of the wind, the trails of the earth remained, and still the one he had hitherto followed went plainly through the grass. once again kiopo took it up, following it steadily till at length he came to the spot where the indians had taken to the canoe. in the marshy ground under the willows, he lost it completely. it was as if it was sucked into the marsh. in vain he searched the whole neighbourhood, and ran backwards and forwards in a desperate effort to find some vestige of the broken trail, always returning with the same result to the roots of the willows among the black ooze. now kiopo's faultless wood-craft taught him, without the slightest uncertainty, that there had been no back trail. if, therefore, the trail ended at the water, those who had made it must have gone _through_ the water. there was no other way. once he had made up his mind, kiopo did not hesitate. he plunged into the lake. when once in the water, kiopo, like all wolves, was a powerful swimmer; but he had never before had any experience of such an immense expanse of it. the further he went out, the wider it seemed to become. he swam on and on. as he swam, the shores receded further and further on either side. he found himself out in that whispering vastness, alone in a world of waters, with no sign of any human being, nor the faintest trace of a trail. after a while, he grew disheartened. the great water gave him a sense of loneliness and fear which he had never felt before. in the dark silences of the woods, you could smell the good smells of the travelling folk, hunting or being hunted, which you could not even see. but here there was no hunting, nor good smells; only a wet, uneasy movement, and a watery smell which his growing fear made hateful to his nose. and the sound of its wetness beat unceasingly on his ears like a din of unintelligible voices bewildering his brain. the only living things that he could see were two fish-hawks sailing overhead. in their annoyance at his appearance, they gave piercing cries of disapproval; for they knew well that no fish was likely to come to the surface while this great hulk of wolfishness went churning up the water in that unwieldy way. and if they had only dared, they would have swooped down to strike at him savagely with the terrible talons which made their feet such formidable weapons. at last kiopo grew tired of battling against that vast wetness, with its loneliness, and voices that rang against his head; and so he turned and swam straight towards the shore. the distance was much further than he expected. he found himself swimming more and more slowly. in spite of all his efforts the shore seemed still very far away, while always that great weight of water seemed to push itself continually in between him and the trees, as if it were a living thing which had determined that he should never land. his strength and power of endurance were enormous, even after they had been weakened by his recent injuries; yet for the most powerful wild creature there is a limit to its strength. and now kiopo knew that his capacity was being taxed to the utmost. gradually, but surely, his great strength was ebbing. but he also knew that, unless he could reach the shore before his force gave out, all hope of once more joining the little brother would be for ever lost. his strong fore paws worked valiantly, beating down the water which seemed rising and rising in spite of all his efforts. the trees were nearer now. he could see that, even though his eyes were dimmed by the splashing of the ripples. and yet they seemed so terribly far away for the effort he knew he must put forth, if he were to reach them before his strength was done. he swam more and more slowly, his breath coming in short gasping sobs that quivered through him from head to tail. the fish-hawks, circling above him, came sloping down, with triumph in their shining eyes. they needed no explanation of the tragedy that was taking place beneath them. they knew that the hated intruder was slowly but surely being dragged down to a watery death, and their wild hawk-hearts approved. slowly, and still more slowly! kiopo felt now as if the heavy wetness of the water had developed long tentacles that seized him and sucked him down. his head was becoming too heavy to hold above the water. there were moments of terror when it swirled about his nose, and when the fish-hawks, screaming with excitement, would hover, as if about to swoop. and then, once again, the big head would force itself up and, choking, spluttering, gasping, the struggle would continue. when at length, kiopo, beating his last desperate strokes, felt his feet touch ground, he could scarcely stand. fortunately for him, a sandy spit of land at this very point thrust itself out for some distance into the lake. the sensation of ground under his feet gave him courage. with a last supreme effort, he dragged himself above the water-line, and sank exhausted on the sand. if any watchful enemy had attacked him now, the big wolf would have offered an all but resistless prey. even the fish-hawks, in their exultation might have safely swooped upon him and threatened his eyes; but now that the detested intruder had shown sufficient strength to drag himself out of the lake, they became more wary, and as they knew that a wolf ashore was a far more formidable foe than a wolf afloat, they thought better of their rashness, and once more climbed up the steep afternoon to sit again in the wind. other eyes besides the fish-hawks' noted the dark shape that lay on the sand-spit, motionless as a log. log-like though it appeared, there was something about its dusky bulk that, to their wary gaze, looked remarkably like a wolf asleep, or possibly even dead. but even a dead wolf is not beloved by the wilderness folk; and a buck who had pushed his way warily through the willow shoots to drink, when he saw the sinister form on the sand-spit, stopped, threw up his head suspiciously, and blew his breath angrily from his nostrils. the wolf never stirred. the buck looked longingly at the water, looked again at the shape on the sand-spit, drew back softly into the shelter of the willows, and went to quench his thirst elsewhere. the buck had scarcely disappeared, when a fox, also thirsty, came down the trail, placing his slender feet delicately one after the other so as not to disturb the slumber of the afternoon. when he caught sight of the sand-spit, he stopped instantly, and wrinkled his nose to feel the wind. as the wind did not help him, he advanced a few steps further with extreme caution, ready at the slightest warning to leap back upon his trail. he observed that the great body was stretched out flat as if lifeless; the head resting between the paws. but there is flatness _and_ flatness. the fox noted with disapproval that this particular flatness _breathed_! drawing back his lips, he disclosed his teeth in a low snarl of hatred against the hereditary foe of his tribe. then he doubled his flexible body till his nose nearly touched his brush, and slunk back into the woods. totally unconscious of all these happenings, kiopo took his rest. the forest-folk might come and go as they pleased. hour after hour he slept that heavy sleep of sheer exhaustion through which no messages pass from the outer world. the sun blazed down upon the sand-spit, drying his coat; and sleep, that marvellous medicine to which all the wild things turn, brought his strength slowly back to him in the waning afternoon. chapter xviii how kiopo fought the lynx when at length he opened his eyes, the sun had sunk below the hills. he rose slowly to his feet. he was so stiff that, when he stretched and shook himself, he gave a little yelp of pain. then he sat down on his haunches and considered. on three sides of him stretched the lake; on the fourth, the forest, darkening in the evening gloom. somewhere far out in the lake, a fish leaped with a splash. kiopo turned his head uneasily towards the sound. it seemed to make the immense water more vast and lovely than before. he dreaded the lake now: it was a horror he would never forget. and because he sat there, still surrounded by the horror, and because the loneliness and longing that was in his heart for the little brother, swept over him all at once, he suddenly lifted his nose to the sky, and poured forth a wild, despairing howl, followed by another, and yet another. those desolate notes sent a message and a thrill far through the neighbourhood, till they died among the whispering reeds on the furthest shore. in the secret gloom of the forest, the startled creatures paused upon the trails. if kiopo had wanted a good hunting, it was the worst mistake he could have made; for now every lesser animal within earshot would have warning of his presence, and know that a strange wolf was in a dangerous condition of unhappiness in the neighbourhood of the lake. those who had intended feeding there, moved uneasily to safer pasture, and those who were hunters sought out more distant trails. so it happened that when, at last, kiopo had finished his sorrow-making, and had entered the forest, he found it, to all appearances, emptied of its life. he walked a little stiffly at first, but, by degrees, as his muscles worked, his body regained its suppleness, and very soon he was moving with the free swing which is particularly a wolf's. the thought still uppermost in his mind was that of dusty star; but now he was utterly at a loss to know in which direction the little brother had gone. his long swim in those cold waters where he had so nearly met his death, seemed to have confused his wits. he roamed up and down, now along the lake shore, now back into the woods with a vague hope that somewhere or other he would come upon something that should set him on the trail. yet although his nose worked incessantly, he smelt nothing but the darkness filled with vague scents of invisible things, and the old smell of the trees. as he wandered about, his forces came slowly back to him, and, with his strength, his anger. if he had now recovered the trail of those who had stolen the little brother from him, he would have followed it furiously to the death. the anger that was in him burned like a dull fire. it needed only a very small thing to fan it to a blaze. nosing the ground as he went, he came suddenly upon a plain scent. it was one which he detested. it roused old memories, and an old slumbering hate. the trail led on below the spruces, and was fresh enough to be easily followed. and now kiopo's whole being seemed to change. he no longer slouched along with a sulky and dejected air. his body stiffened and became alive. he carried himself as if on compressed springs. his eyes glowed with a dangerous fire. as he went on, the scent freshened with the odour he detested. the hair between his shoulders rose like a threat. by the side of a big hemlock, the trail bent sharply to the right, leading over some rocky ground at the foot of a small hill. upon the granite boulders covered with grey and orange lichen, the reflected light from the sunset sky lingered in a warm glow, as if they themselves were luminous. kiopo moved with the utmost caution. he hardly seemed to walk so much as to _slide_ over the uneven surface, with his belly close to the ground. instinct, as much as sense, told him that the object of his hatred was now extremely near. in another moment, his eyes saw what hitherto he had only gathered with his nose. not twenty yards away lay the dead body of a deer; and, busily at work upon the carcass, crouched the form of a big, hunched-up animal with sharp, tufted ears. those humped hind quarters, those hair-tufted ears surmounting the round, short-nosed head were familiar enough to kiopo to tell him, apart even from the scent, that the humped ferocity before him was one of those ancient enemies of wolf and fox--the lynx. the creature was so deeply engrossed in its occupation of feeding on the deer that at first it was totally unconscious of the wolf's presence. tearing and biting at the freshly-killed and still-warm meat, it was enjoying its horrible feast without any fear of interruption. kiopo drew his long body noiselessly nearer, foot by foot. he had almost reached a leaping distance, and was gathering his hind legs under him for a spring, when the lynx suddenly turned its head. in an instant the great cat had realized the approaching danger and had snatched his whole body round so as to face the foe. a more violent image of hate and defiance could not possibly be imagined. its round, widely-spaced green eyes shone with a cold glitter that was terrifying in its unwinking glare. the tufted ears, laid back close along the head, gave the face an extraordinary evil look. its entire body clung to the carcass of the deer, as if to proclaim its ownership of the kill, while the upper lip, curled back, uncovered the long fangs, clear white in the furry dusk of its face. as the lynx crouched defiant on its prey, measuring its foe with its furious eyes, it gave a harsh, rasping snarl. but if the sound was intended to frighten kiopo, it failed completely. instead, this rasping challenge merely served to exasperate him still further. without an instant's warning, his eyes blazing with fury, he leaped. this swift attack took the big cat utterly by surprise. it set at defiance all lynx etiquette of warfare, which consisted in a good deal of growling, snarling, and hissing, coupled with stealthy crouchings and crawlings, and appalling stillness during which you glared at your enemy with bottled fury in your green eyes. but to observe none of these niceties of passion, and begin a fight without even a spit, was a thing utterly abominable to every well-bred cat. taken off its guard, the lynx sprang half a second too late. he gave a savage sweep with wicked claws, which scored kiopo's flank; but the force of the wolf's spring, with lbs of sheer weight behind it, fairly knocked him off his feet; while, at the very instant that he struck, the merciless steel trap that was kiopo's jaw closed upon his neck. it was then that kiopo showed his wisdom. if he had attempted to hold his enemy down, as he easily might have done by his weight alone, the lynx would have been able to bring into play his formidable hind feet, armed with their fearful claws, and have inflicted an awful punishment upon the wolf's stomach. it would have been like trying to subdue a furry mass of springs that spat, tore, slashed and bit in a humped bundle of madness. so, instead of running such a risk, kiopo, exerted all the strength of his powerful neck, shoulders and jaws, and shook the lynx as the latter might have shaken a raccoon, and then flung him violently backwards. the force of the jerk was so tremendous that the big cat was wrenched from his hold upon the deer, and turned upside down in the air; but he had barely touched the ground when, using the strong springs of his hind quarters, he rebounded like a ball. his object was to descend, cat-like, on the wolfs neck, and to claw out his eyes. but, swift as sight, kiopo leaped again. once more the trap snapped-to, and the lynx felt the wolf's teeth buried in his neck; while, as before, the skirmish ended in his being tossed violently backwards into the air. the lynx was bewildered. he had fought wolves before, and with success, leaving the marks of his claws deep in their torn and bleeding flesh; but kiopo's tactics were something fresh in his experience. not only was there more cunning, but the strength and ferocity of half-a-dozen wolves seemed to unite in his foe's mighty frame. on his second descent to earth, the lynx again made use of his strong hind-quarter springs. the only difference was that on this occasion he took care to re-bound into the air _away_ from his antagonist instead of _upon_ him! a clear five feet he bounded from the ground, landing on the side of a granite boulder. he was not allowed to remain. with a snarl that was more like a roar, kiopo hurled himself at the rock. as the lynx pulled himself up the boulder, the wolf reached his right flank, and inflicted a ripping wound. screeching in rage and terror, the defeated lynx sprang over the boulder and disappeared into the trees. and now kiopo, triumphant, but by no means pacified, was able to glut his hunger upon the deer. it was the first full meal he had enjoyed for a long time, and he was not slow to make the most of it. usually, after such a meal, he would have been inclined to settle himself down for a long sleep; but in his present enraged state of mind, sleep was impossible. all the evening, and through the night, he traveled maddened, and raging, devoured with the lust to kill. woe to any living creature that should fall across his path! fortunately for themselves, the forest dwellers seemed to receive mysterious signals that madness was abroad. that night, the spirit of the wild creatures did much business on the trails. east, west, south and north, the warnings travelled. along the lake shore, through the decaying silence of the cedar swamps, into the whispering glooms of the spruce woods, the voiceless tidings went. hunting was understood--the plain, pitiless killing for food. it meant death, and terror, but at least it followed the ancient law of the wilderness that one killed in order to live. but this other thing that recognized no law, and hounded to death merely because of the madness in its heart--this nameless terror that seemed, in the haunted darkness, to be everywhere at once--_this_ they shrank from, trembling, as from something more deadly than even death itself. and so, realizing that it was madness and not hunger that went hunting down the trails, the forest-folk took heed to the tidings, and slunk into their lairs. chapter xix the pursuit after dusty star had dropped from his tree to escape the grizzly, his one thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and his terrible foe. he ran on and on, listening fearfully for any sounds which should tell him that the bear was in pursuit. yet the fear of what was behind was not all. there was an equally great danger in front lest he should find himself face to face with the returning indians who had gone out to seek the bear. his dread was all the greater because he knew that it was the same direction in which he was now travelling which they had taken on leaving the camp, and that it was extremely probable that, not having come upon the grizzly, they would now be on the homeward trail. at the slightest sound, he would stop, and listen, nervously scanning the trees ahead lest he should catch sight of a red-skin figure standing motionless in the shade. and behind, he would listen for the pad, pad of great bear feet, or the rustling of leaves in the pursuit. yet in spite of all alarms, the sun was sloping a long way to the west when dusty star found himself still undiscovered and working his way along the side of a great hill many miles to the northward of the camp. he continued to travel swiftly, yet still with the utmost silence. although he saw little of any wild creatures, he was aware of their presence, though most of them kept well out of sight as they crouched in hiding, or drifted soundlessly as driven smoke along the ancient deer-paths that had been worn by the feet of the wilderness, age after countless age. as the day wore on, it grew darker under the trees, and presently he noted the on-coming of that swift northern twilight which so soon deepens into night. so far, he had not struck any trail which could cause him uneasiness; and although a few moons earlier he might have stood in fear of some of the larger and fiercer of the forest beasts, his intimacy with kiopo had taught him many things which kept the fear at bay. and yet, as he glided softly along, stepping as warily as one of the deer themselves, his fear of the greater beasts seemed to have passed into an awe of the forest itself. often and often, in the deep stillness there had come to him a sense of something behind the beasts, elder to the oldest of them, more wise than the most cunning, which ran when they ran, stalked you with their stalking, and watched you with their eyes; something which, in the old darkness of the world, had spilt itself into fur and feathers, and moved with wings or feet. it was perhaps not exactly a comfortable thought; yet for all that, it need not necessarily be a bad thing. on the contrary, it might even do you good, if you could get close enough to it, and learn not to be afraid. darker and darker under the trees! at last, so dark that you could not tell them by their shape. yet to dusty star the shape did not matter, since he could feel them by their smell. now it was hemlock; now balsam fir. and now he caught black poplar; and again the scent was birch. and so he went his way less by sight than feeling,--_seeing_ things by their smell. at length he came to a part of the forest so thick with undergrowth and creepers, that further progress in that direction was impossible in the dark. he decided to camp here for the night. so when he had found a suitable spot in which to make his couch, he lay down and almost immediately fell fast asleep. when he awoke, dawn had already began to break, and he could distinguish the shapes of the trees. he sat up and looked about him. he felt that none of his enemies would track him here. only keen noses of beasts might scent him, and they, as likely as not, would give him a wide berth. he lay quiet in the intense morning stillness, feeling full of thankfulness that he was once more free. if only he could make his way home in safety, and find kiopo there to meet him, happiness would come to him again. he could not believe that kiopo had been killed. he remembered what kitsomax had said. if the wolf had met his death as well as the indian, surely she would have mentioned both? the recollection comforted him, as he got up and once more started on his way. though the country he was passing through was utterly strange to him, he knew that the river must be somewhere to the north-east, and that if he wished to strike the shores of the great lake, he must keep to the neighbourhood of the river for a guide. he pushed on rapidly, and, when the sun was half-way towards noon, saw with relief the light on the water between the trees. but now, owing to the swampy nature of the ground, the going was not so good, and he found it necessary to go back continually into the woods in order to travel on firmer ground. evening was already drawing on before he heard the roar of the rapids in the distance, and knew that the lake was not far off. but he also knew that it was necessary now to travel with extreme caution, owing to the fact that there had been plenty of time for his enemies to have learnt of his escape, and have sent out a party to re-capture him. in spite of all his efforts, it was night before he reached the rapids, and could see in the darkness the glimmer of the foam. all that night, the roar of a great water mingled with his dreams. whatever noises sounded in the forest, they were drowned by the rapids. if any enemy had crept towards him now, he would have received no warning. but he trusted to the darkness, and slept soundly. on leaving the rapids at early dawn, dusty star travelled as quickly as he could along the eastern shore. it was still thickly covered with mist, which, although it prevented him from seeing what danger might be ahead, also kept his own movements from being observed. as he went on, he crossed many trails to the water's edge, but as they were only those of thirsty animals going down to drink, he knew he had nothing to fear. suddenly he heard a sound that made him stop and listen intently. it was a splashing noise, repeated at irregular intervals, and was not far ahead. he approached the spot with the utmost care, straining his eyes in the mist. suddenly a large shape loomed out directly in front of him. the creature's fore quarters were humped to a ridge on the powerful shoulders, covered with thick, glistening hair of a dark shade that was almost black on the upper parts. the under parts were a tawny yellow. the ridge along the back sloped to the hind quarters which, compared with the fore quarters, were small. a little tail with a thin tuft of hair finished off the animal in that direction. a much smaller animal of a similar shape was browsing along the lake shore a little distance away. dusty star did not know that this odd-shaped creature was a moose, but he did know that, whatever the creature was called, she was a cow with her calf. as he looked, he saw the moose lift one of her large fore hoofs and paw the water among the water-lily leaves on which she had evidently been feeding. he was so intent on watching these animals that he set his foot on a twig which cracked. it was only a slight sound but it startled the moose. instantly she wheeled round in order to face the possible danger which threatened from the shore. she paused for a moment or two, while her big ears turned towards every side, and her wide nostrils scented the air. then she gave a harsh and peculiar cry, as a summons to her calf, which immediately came blundering and splashing up to her. dusty star remained absolutely still, not daring to flick an eyelid. he would not have been afraid of the odd beast if she had been alone; but he knew that a cow with her calf beside her was a totally different matter; and that an alarmed and angry mother is one of the most deadly perils of the wilderness. for a few seconds, owing to his complete stillness, the cow did not see him, and neither ears nor nose helped her, partly because the light air which was blowing did not carry his scent towards her. in spite of this, the moose suspected that something she had not yet seen was within the range of her eyes, if only it would betray itself by some motion, however slight. giving her calf a push with her long nose to make it get behind her, she advanced cautiously a step or two in-shore. and still what she was looking for remained indistinguishable. she stopped, pawed the water angrily with her hoof and again advanced. dusty star began to feel uncomfortable. he know that if the cow came within very short range, she might discover him in spite of that absolute motionlessness which often deceives the eyes of the wild creatures. as if she had heard a fresh sound somewhere down the lake, she turned her head in that direction. dusty star unwisely took the opportunity to step softly back. instantly the cow swung her head round. dusty star froze to stillness as before. and yet it was as if the movement he had just made still vibrated about his stillness, like a quivering of the air. the great eyes of the cow fastened upon him, and she _saw_! without a second's hesitation, and snorting with anger and defiance, she charged. in the forest things usually happen very quickly or they do not happen at all. the moose had been so intent in searching for dusty star that she had not perceived a much greater danger stalking her unawares. at the very moment the boy leaped aside to escape her furious onset, a long dark body shot itself through the air, and all but landed on her back. all but, yet not quite! the panther had calculated his spring to a nicety, but he had not forseen the sudden leap with which the moose swerved as the danger launched itself upon her. swift though her movement was, she did not receive the warning soon enough to jump entirely clear; and although the panther had not succeeded in landing on her neck as he had intended, he caught her shoulder with a raking sweep of his paw. two long gashes, from which the blood sprang freely, showed the track of those murderous claws. yet the blow was not a disabling one, and only served to rouse the moose to fury. rearing on her hind legs, she brought her hatchet-edged fore hoofs down with all her force. where she aimed, she struck--the panther's neck. the blow from these terrible weapons, of which every wild animal stands rightly in awe, with all the force of her great weight behind them, was tremendous. with a howl of pain the panther went down; but as he sank, he buried his fangs deep in the cow's neck. his weight pulled her to one side. she lost her footing, and plunged into the lake. dusty star saw a fountain of spray and a welter of bloody foam. then, out of the seething whirlpool, the panther's dark body emerged and staggered to the bank. the cow meantime had struggled to her feet, and gave a defiant bellow of rage. dusty star fully expected to see the battle begin again. but the panther, evidently not relishing the sight of the mother fury, thought better of it, and slunk off into the bushes. dusty star followed his example, and while the moose was busy in nosing her terrified calf to assure herself that it had come to no harm, he made quickly off into the woods, so that when the cow once more turned her blazing eyes to the shore in search of her enemies, dusty star, like the panther, was lost among the trees. after his adventure with the moose, nothing disturbed the still monotony of the sultry day. the mist had lifted now, and a grey haze veiled the distance. he travelled as rapidly as possible, avoiding the swampy ground. every time he reached a point where he could look back along the lake, he gazed anxiously for the shape of a canoe. yet nothing broke the glimmering levels of its vast expanse. for all that, he grew more and more uneasy as the day wore on. he could not rid himself of the sense of a danger already on its way. the fact that it gave no outward sign of its approach only served to increase his anxiety. he went on steadily, hoping that every fresh point he reached would show the end of the lake. at length, from a narrow spit of sand (the very same in which kiopo had recovered himself) he saw it. beyond in a dusky background, the forest lay for leagues; and after the forest, the valley: and--in the valley--home! he turned to look behind him, down the lake. as he did so, his heart bounded. far away in the hazy distance, he saw the shadowy outline of a canoe. they were coming then! the warning had spoken truly. he had not been deceived. without an instant's delay, he darted from the sand-spit and plunged into the woods. owing to the extent and thickness of the willow swamps, it was some time before he reached the head of the lake. beyond that, as he knew, the forest was more open, and he would be able to travel much more rapidly. but what would be good for him, would also help his pursuers. all he could hope was that he would be able to get a long enough start of them to keep well ahead--till he could find a sufficiently safe hiding-place. he found an old deer-path, and followed it for a long distance, though it trended rather too much to the south. behind him he heard the harsh calling of a couple of jays, and now and then he came across a chipmunk which chattered indignantly at his presence. otherwise he neither saw nor heard anything to cause him alarm. as the time went on, he began to hope that he had out-distanced his pursuers. and yet he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was being followed. in front of him the forest climbed the slope of a small hill. here and there the trees gave way to rocky spaces where enormous rocks towered between them. at a glance, dusty star could see that it would be a good place to hide in. he stood for a moment or two and looked carefully along the back trail. he saw only the endless tree-trunks, grey-green in the shadows. nothing stirred.... ah, what was that? his eyes fastened on the spot where for the fraction of a second something seemed to have flickered. he could not say that he had _seen_ an indian flit from one tree-trunk to another. yet the sense that something was there made him almost sure. if he had obeyed his first instinct to continue his flight he would, most probably, have fallen at once into his enemies' hands. instead, he climbed quickly up among the rocks. there was no time to lose in searching for the best hiding-place; yet he stumbled by chance upon one which might have been made for the very purpose. it was a narrow opening that led into a passage running into the very centre of a pile of flat-topped rocks which enclosed it on all sides, and which was so curiously formed that they looked exactly as if deliberately placed one on top of another in the form of a building. to all appearances, the passage had only one entrance, and it was not until dusty star had crept to the extreme end that he found another opening so thickly covered with ferns and brambles that it could not be seen by any one on the outer side. he parted the undergrowth with the utmost care and looked out. almost immediately afterwards he saw what made his heart beat with renewed fear. he saw an indian leave the cover of the trees and advance quickly towards the rocks. he was followed by another, and yet another. dusty star counted five in all. before he could tell exactly what part of the rocks they were making for, they disappeared. after that, he lay perfectly still trembling at the lightest sound. all at once he was conscious of a shadow which darkened the passage. he looked up and saw, through the fern, an indian apparently gazing straight down at him. dusty star knew only too well what an indian's eye can see, in spite of leafy coverings; and because he could observe every detail of the tall figure towering above him in the light, it seemed almost impossible that he himself could escape detection. he lay stiff with fear, scarcely daring to take breath, while those moments of terrible suspense passed slowly one by one and he dreaded that the next would bring his doom. he closed his eyes, lest even the flicker of an eyelid should betray him, and waited helplessly for the worst. when at length he found courage to open them again, the indian had gone. the shadow of the wilderness had saved him; the ancient darkness that is darker than men's cunning in a shadow-casting land. for a long time he did not dare to move. when at last he crept from his hiding-place, the afternoon was well advanced. he moved from point to point with the utmost caution, but could see no trace of his enemies. that, however, as he well knew, did not mean that they were gone. that things were out of sight only too often meant that they were very close at hand. yet, in spite of the danger of continuing his flight, dusty star decided to take the risk, in case the indians should return and make a more thorough search among the rocks. he travelled on as swiftly as he dared, keeping his eyes to the utmost on the alert. it was only the merest motion of a fir-branch well to the right, such as might have been caused by the weight of a perching bird, or the movement of the breeze; but dusty star saw it and took the alarm. when, an instant later, an indian broke cover and came bounding towards him like a buck, dusty star was already on the run. one swift glance behind, showed him that his foe was coming at full speed. as he came, he uttered a shrill whoop as a signal to his companions that their quarry was in sight. the cry sent a thrill of terror through the boy's veins. from the start, he felt that unless he put forth his utmost strength, he was doomed. and now he fled between the trees as if his moccasins were wings. his running power was marvellous. the prairies and the wolves between them, had given him that. if the antelopes went like the wind, dusty star went like the antelopes. even his pursuers, as relentless and almost as tireless as the wolves themselves, and who passed their lives among winged and footed swiftnesses, were astonished at such running, the like of which they had never seen. to their amazed eyes he seemed less to be running than _floating_ out of their sight. there was "medicine" in his feet! what his own running looked like, dusty star did not know. but he knew what the forest looked like. it ceased to stand still. the trees raced to meet him, in a hurry to be past! and as they came, he seemed to cast them behind him, tree by breathless tree; hemlock and fir, sycamore and maple--it was as if he flung the whole rushing forest in the teeth of the pursuit! after the first terrified glances to measure the distance, he did not dare to look behind. all his sight was needed for the ground immediately ahead. to fall--even to stumble--might cost him his life. yet he knew that, so far, he was keeping ahead. the knowledge gave him courage. if only his strength would hold out! the pace was killing. he knew he could not keep it up for very much longer. even now he fancied he was running less quickly. he was beginning to realize that he got his breath with more and more effort. and to lose his breath was the beginning of the end. for a considerable distance, his greater speed would enable him to out-distance all pursuit; but in a long race, it is endurance which counts; and while his pursuers were full-grown men, he was, after all, only yet a boy. yet with breath going, and courage failing, dusty star fled on. if there is a good spirit which carries its mysterious warning to the children of the wilderness when danger threatens, it would seem sometimes as if there were an evil one which lures them to their doom. else why should dusty star swerve suddenly to the right along a new trail, and in doing so turn to look behind? the next moment, he had caught his foot against a projecting root, and was down. he was on his feet in an instant; but the fall had lessened his breathing power, and when he started to run again, it was plain that he was losing ground. with savage whoops of triumph, his pursuers came bounding on. with a feeling of wild despair. dusty star gathered himself together for a final effort. as he made it, he cried aloud. it was a strange sort of bark, half-human, half-wolf. if any wolf-ear happened to catch it, the hearer would recognize it as a call for help. but although dusty star threw all his voice into that last despairing cry, it seemed to be muffled by the forest till it died in the throat of its glooms. the indians were very close upon him now. only the humming of the blood in his ears deadened the soft padding sound of their moccasins as they ran. but now, at the very last, there swims into dusty star's sight a confused vision. it comes at a tremendous pace. its running is that of a wolf at full speed, the body low along the ground. the strong, deeply-padded feet spurn the ground from under them with bounds that are like blows. the eyes burn like green fires. there is a wild glare in them, of rage goaded to madness. all the fury of the forest is in that grey running with the eyes that burn. dusty star, dazed with exhaustion did not immediately realize what the creature was, until it leaped upon him, and he fell. the indians saw a huge grey wolf which seemed to be pulling their prey down before they could reach it. they gave tongue to a savage yell, and bore down upon the wolf. however terrifying an indian war-whoop is to human ears, it produced a contrary effect on the animal mounting guard over dusty star. before the foremost red-skin was within half-a-dozen yards of the spot, the crouching, snarling fury unbent like mighty springs of its hind quarters. like a battering-ram, all the -lb weight of kiopo's body drove against the indian's chest. he went down with a cry. the indian immediately behind him, realizing the danger when too late, sprang aside. but kiopo was too quick for him. there was a leap, a flash of fangs, and he shared the fate of the leader. what followed took place almost more quickly than it can be described. the indians, finding themselves attacked by so dangerous an enemy, separated at once, but not before another of their number had gone down before the terrific onslaught of the wolf. one or two hurled their tomahawks, but kiopo's movements were so bafflingly swift that it was like trying to wound the wind. all round dusty star's body, the madness that was kiopo swept a magic circle which no indian dared to cross. those who had rashly attempted to do so payed dearly for their rashness. the wolf's fangs were splashed with blood. his eyeballs glittered with that ominous green light, which seemed the very glare of madness. it was indeed a question whether kiopo was not really partly mad. his passionate attachment to dusty star, his grief in losing him, his fury against his captors, his joy at recovering him and fear of losing him again--all united to turn him into this wolfish terror against which nothing could stand. the indians grew more and more alarmed. the manner in which kiopo kept them at bay while avoiding any injury which they tried to inflict, impressed their superstitious minds with the belief that this was no ordinary wolf. and if, as they began to believe, he were a "medicine-wolf," an animal gifted with supernatural powers, then it was only inviting death to provoke him. it was plain to them now that this boy they were trying to kill was under the protection of the beasts. and the medicine of the beasts was very strong. the great spirit ran with the beasts. there were times when it was better not to hunt, lest you should hunt the great spirit and be destroyed. it was this feeling of uncertainty, and growing awe, which weakened their attack and made them waver. and kiopo, realizing that his enemies were giving way, became more daring. not content with continuing to keep them at bay, he passed suddenly from defence to attack. nothing could withstand the fury of his onset. the great body hurled itself on all sides; the deadly fangs never missed their mark; the wolf launched himself terrifically, like a thunderbolt with teeth! in utter panic, the indians broke and fled. those who were fortunate enough to escape the raging madness at their heels, scattered far into the woods, and sought refuge at last by climbing into the trees. it was not till the last indian had disappeared, that kiopo, glutted with vengeance, returned to the spot where he had left dusty star. the boy had risen to his feet, and was looking round fearfully lest one or other of his enemies might take advantage of kiopo's absence to return to the attack; but when he saw the wolf come bounding back through the trees, he knew that he was safe. he was overcome with joy at kiopo's reappearance. as for kiopo himself, he was utterly at a loss how to express his wild delight; but though he gave vent to it in strange wolfish ways, dusty star understood. and when they each had expressed their happiness after their own fashion, they turned their faces westward, and took the homeward trail. it was sunset when they reached the valley. as the familiar landmarks rose to view, dusty star felt a great joy surge up in his heart. once more back out of the world! once more to be hidden out of sight and mind in the vast shadowy silences that were older than the beasts; older even than the ancient footways of the cariboo, which, as everybody knows, began before geography, because the cariboo have gone on walking since the beginning of the world. after this wonderful re-union the two settled down again to the old life in the valley, and the moons went quickly by. summer passed into fall, fall into winter, and dusty star for the first time learned the real meaning of cold. if it had not been for kiopo and kiopo's constant activities, he must surely have perished. but kiopo was food and warmth and protection rolled into one. it was a great hunting which kiopo had in the nights when even the moon seemed to break her way through a frozen sky, and the trees cracked in the black frost. but though the hunting was great, the game was often small; and as the season advanced, the wild kin took the trails with less and less flesh upon its bones. with the last geese and the first snow, dusty star piled fresh branches round the tepee, so that it swelled visibly to double its outer size. and for reasons of warmth, the doorway became nothing but a hole in and out of which he, like kiopo, went on all fours. when the snow came and buried them, kiopo dug themselves out. and in the blizzard that lasted three days and nights, kiopo's body was a central-heating arrangement that kept the little brother from freezing to death. in the snow darkness, and snow silence, dusty star listened to the muffled roar of a giant wind that wrenched the forest till it seemed as if not a tree would be left to stand. and he wondered how baltook and boola did, and wished he could have persuaded goshmeelee to take up her winter quarters with them in the snowed-up tepee. but goshmeelee was extremely occupied--that is, she was extremely busy with being fast asleep, and she wasn't going to wake up for anybody till it was time to be spring. and so the winter passed, and dusty star followed kiopo's example in learning to be lean. very lean and scraggy they both were when the snow melted and the geese took a thought to go north. but the scragginess did not injure their health, and as the grass grew, and the hunting improved, the meat began to come once more upon their bones. and so the moon of roses came once more, followed by the thunder moon, and the moon-when-the-leaves-turn-yellow; and there was not a sign of a yellow dog, or of any other enemy to trouble their peace. and winter came again; as before. and when the spring came for the second time, it seemed almost as if carboona had always been their home. and nothing seemed to change except that baltook and boola got a new litter of cubs each year, and that after goshmeelee had licked one or two babies into cleanliness one season, it was the same tongue, but a new baby, the next! as for mr. goshmeelee, he was so very shy and retiring that it was only once in a blue moon that you ever saw him at all. and as goshmeelee didn't bother to mention him, dusty star didn't like to press her with questions, and pretended he wasn't there. but the one real change was just the one about which dusty star knew the least and did not fuss himself about at all. for the winter and the summer, and the heat and the cold, and the meat coming on his bones, and going off again, and the great life he lived with kiopo beyond human ken, were slowly but surely working upon him. _he was growing up!_ chapter xx the terror of the carboona in the inmost heart of the carboona, among a wilderness of boulders, old pine stumps, and dense thickets of juniper and thorn there was a spot to which all wise carboona dwellers gave a wide berth. apart from its bareness and lack of pasture, the place bore an ill name. its evil reputation came from very ancient times. it was shunned equally by catamount, fox, bear, wolf and moose. and the lesser creatures, which haunted the neighbouring thickets, kept well within their shelter and rarely ventured out. even the cariboo, with the travelling restlessness strong within them, turned aside after much uneasy pawing of the ground, and suspicious blasts of breath, and fetched a semi-circle to the north or south. yet not one of these suspicious folk could have given any plain reason for their avoidance of the spot. it was enough for them that the wisdom of the ages informed them it was bad. but now, in addition to the vague influence of the place, its evil reputation had been strengthened by an added terror which was by no means vague: it was known as the lair of a new resident--the great lone wolf. where the lone wolf had come from, nobody could tell. one fall, when the air was full of the honking of the geese, he had arrived mysteriously with the first cold, and seemed to bring the winter with him. and from that day, the soundless word went throughout carboona's inmost recesses: "beware of the terror of the eastern thickets. beware of the lone wolf." and those who were foolish enough to disregard the warning, escaped a hard winter by falling to prey to the wolf. one morning, lone wolf slept later than was his habit. during his sleep he did not dream; yet warm scents, drifting in the shimmering tide of the heat, lapped against his nose in ripples so fine that they did not disturb his brain. when at length he awoke, he yawned. the yawn was like a huge gash in his lower face. after the yawn, he rose, and shook himself. then he sat down on his haunches and looked abroad into the world. he had slept well, and was not aware of being hungry; so there was no need to bother himself about hunting. for all that, he was not contented. he wanted something, but he didn't know what. he felt he might find it, if he went for a walk. so he walked. when he came to the angle of a certain stone, he stopped dead, sniffed, set his hair bristling between his shoulders, and growled in the very black places of his throat. he had found a rival's mark! the sudden change in lone wolf was remarkable. from being an apparently lazy hump of dark grey wolfishness with an air of nothing to do, he turned into an alert, cunning ferocity whose every nerve and faculty were tightened up for the performance of something very particular indeed. as he moved over the sun-scorched surface of the rocky ground, his body carried low on the great springs of his legs, he seemed to gather all the ancient floating evil of the locality to himself and give it a wolf's shape. if the carboona peoples had known that the terror was once more upon the prowl, a thrill of fear would have shot along the mountain, like an electric current. but at this drowsy hour of the day, most of them were resting from their hunting of the previous night and early morning, and were sleeping in their lairs. boola and her family were curled up in the cool chamber at the end of the hole. baltook was taking a light nap in a shady spot he knew of among a cluster of shumacks a quarter of a mile from the den. goshmeelee sat in huge contentment in the edges of the swamp--sitting up commodiously on the well-cushioned and very wide sitting-down part of her, and rocking herself slowly to and fro with a pleasant sense of the damp and slimy cosiness to be had in the swampy parts of the world. while the squirrels, chipmunks, and blue jays, and all other small watchers and warners of danger coming, or to come, perched on shady look-out points, and blinked their eyes a little in the drowsy warmth. as soon as lone wolf left the open mountain side and entered the out-lying edges of the spruce woods, he was fully aware that he was being watched by many pairs of eyes. and he had not gone very far before he had annoying proof of this in the defiant chatter of a chipmunk which was taking noon-tide observation on a hollow log. above all things, lone wolf wanted to go secretly. as he passed the log, he shot a murderous look at its occupier out of his cruel grey-green eyes; but he knew better than to waste his energy by making a leap at that alert bundle of fur-covered springs, and so went softly on his way, while the chipmunk sent its angry warning out to all forest-folks within earshot that murder was on the trail. he had reached a spot about a mile from the camp when he came to an abrupt stand. there not fifty paces away, he saw a big wolf, with another creature beside it which was certainly not a wolf. both were travelling quickly eastward. he remained motionless till they had disappeared and then took up the fresh trail. its mingled beast and human smell disturbed him. he had met red men before, and detested them. he still carried the mark and the memory of an indian tomahawk which had slashed him in the neck, when, running one hard winter with a desperately hungry pack, he had attacked a solitary indian travelling across the frost-bound levels of the lakes. now, as the mixed smell of the wolf-breed, and hated man-breed, rose to his nostrils, the old enmity slumbering within him leaped again to life. for the rest of that day, he dogged the footsteps of the pair; and when they separated at twilight, kiopo going to hunt, and dusty star returning to camp, it was the boy he followed, not the wolf. and little did dusty star suspect, as he went alone through the darkening woods, that every step of his homeward way was shadowed by the terror of the carboona on delicately-stepping feet. over and over again the wolf wanted to leap upon the boy and destroy him then and there, yet the vague fear of the human being, which disturbs wild animals, haunted his nerves, and he could not throw it off before dusty star reached the camp. all that night, he watched in the edges of the forest, roaming to and fro uneasily, and did not finally leave the neighbourhood till just before dawn. chapter xxi how dusty star met the terror midsummer--the moon of roses--had melted into the thunder moon, and the moon when the blueberries ripen drew nigh. now if there was one thing above another which goshmeelee loved in all the world, it was a good feed of berries. so that when the early tang of the fall began to tickle her nose, the blueberry feeling made itself felt also, and she made up her mind to appease it. by this time, the cubs had long passed out of babyhood, and were growing into good-sized little bears, quite able to take care of themselves. but as it was a long climb to the berry patches, and goshmeelee couldn't be sure that they would be ripe, even if she found them, she decided not to cumber herself with the family, but to leave it at home. so, making her wishes more than clear by a good-natured cuff apiece when the little bears wanted to follow her, she lumbered contentedly off upon her quest. now on the very morning on which goshmeelee started to find her berries, dusty star was also climbing up carboona, after having waited until he had seen kiopo trot off in the opposite direction after game. of late, kiopo had developed a strange uneasiness. he was continually leaving the camp and returning to it at short intervals. when in the camp he was always on the alert, watching the forest with a wary eye. by his behaviour, dusty star was convinced that his finer wolf-sense had detected some threatening danger which he himself could not perceive. kiopo told him nothing directly, but the two were by this time in such complete sympathy that the boy learned half the danger, merely by feeling as the wolf felt. he also watched the forest, wondering from what quarter the danger threatened. yet never had the great woods appeared to hold themselves in such deep untroubled peace. nothing broke their stillness save the occasional sharp chirr of a chipmunk, or the tapp, tapp of the little black-and-white wood-peckers on some hollow limb. night came, and the stillness only deepened,--night--and the soundless glitter of the stars. once only dusty star saw, or fancied he saw, a wolf stand in a clear space in the glimmer of the coming dawn. and at first, thinking it was kiopo, he had not moved. but when at last, he had gone forward to see, he found the place where it had stood empty. slowly, day by day, the sense of danger passed. kiopo went off hunting for longer and longer distances. but he avoided the upper slopes of the carboona, and followed trails that led him well away. and not again, either in late twilight, or early dawn, did dusty star catch the shadows at their old illusive game. only one thing remained, and that was the very plain objection which kiopo had to dusty star going up into carboona at any time of the day. now when kiopo objected to anything strongly, his ways of expressing himself were perfectly clear. not only his eyes, his ears and his mouth, but his whole body said _no_ in the plainest possible way. dusty star had no excuse for not understanding that kiopo objected to his going up carboona. yet the more definitely kiopo objected, the more dusty star wanted to go. he was moving very quickly now, because he was anxious to get as far as possible, in case kiopo discovered where he had gone, and came to fetch him back. kiopo was doubtless very wise, and knew the forest better than any one else; yet dusty star was quite sure that he had a wisdom of his own, and he liked sometimes to set the indian "yes" against the wolf "no." now, as he mounted higher and higher into an unexplored world, he enjoyed the feeling of having asserted his right to decide things for himself. and every time he stopped to look back, he could see a vaster tract of forest and hills, lying out and out to a distance that had no end. he was above the forest now, and had entered the borders of the great barren where the waterfowl had their homes along the solitary pools. he pushed on rapidly. except the flocks of wildfowl, he saw no other life. here and there, in patches on the rising grounds, he came upon the blueberries, beginning to be ripe. but the bears had not visited them yet, and there were no signs of other large game. it was a little lonely here on the high barren. he wondered, all at once, what he should do if he came upon a grizzly. it was a long, long way from camp, and kiopo's protection. he began to be conscious that he was very much alone. something made him look suddenly behind. not fifty paces away he saw an enormous wolf. it stood stock-still, as if caught in the act of stealthy movement, and dusty star noticed with uneasiness that between them there was no obstacle or cover of any kind. a couple of swift bounds and the creature could be upon him. instinctively he realized that it had been stalking him for some time, and was now preparing for the final rush. for a moment his heart failed him. then he rallied. face to face with the terror of the carboona, dusty star did not flinch. the fine indian breed of him, descending through long generations, rose magnificently to the test. he took in his surroundings with a glance. on one hand lay a pool; on the other, a tangle of bushes. behind him, the ground rose. he waited for the wolf to make the first movement. for a moment or two, lone wolf remained in the half crouching attitude in which he had been surprised. then, snarling threateningly he began to move slowly forward. dusty star drew his hunting-knife in readiness, and stood his ground. the wolf continued to advance. when not more than a dozen paces separated them, he stopped again. dusty star noted the cruel light in his eyes, and knew that he paused for the first spring of the attack. yet his own gaze did not falter. he held the wolf boldly with his eyes. never before had lone wolf borne the direct stare of the human eye face to face, and the experience made him uneasy. he felt the presence of a mysterious power out of all proportion to the body which contained it. his own eyes glittering with evil as they were, lacked this power. he was fully conscious of his own importance--a great wolf, lord of a wide range; yet some unexplained feeling within him told him that he was now in the presence of a creature greater than himself. for all that, he knew that this new enemy must be attacked, and his right to enter carboona challenged. for he felt that here, though he could not understand it, was a challenge from the wolves. without further warning, he sprang. in the same instant, dusty star leaped aside, escaping by a hair's breath the slash of the wolf's fangs at his throat. but he had not been able to leap quite far enough, and, though he tried to save himself he fell. as he did so, he drove his hunting-knife with all his force into the wolf's side. what happened next was like a thunderbolt from a blue sky. as the keen blade went home, lone wolf yelped and turned furiously on his fallen foe; but before he could slash a second time, a huge black body bounded through the air from the tangle of bushes on the right. the thing was so utterly unexpected that the wolf was completely taken off his guard. the great body, descending full upon him, bore him to the ground. if his assailant could have kept its hold, the reign of the lone wolf, mightily sinewed though he was, would have been over for ever; but the force of the creature's landing had been so great that it slightly lost its balance. that slight loss saved the wolf's life. with a snarl of mingled rage and pain, he tore himself from his enemy's clutch with a tremendous wrench; then, not daring to face those terrible claws again, he bounded off across the barren, leaving a trail of blood. in the first moment of astonishment, dusty star had not recognised his deliverer. yet goshmeelee it was, and no other, who now stood before him, gazing at him reprovingly out of her little pig-like eyes. it was exactly as if she had said: "you are out of bounds. you have no business to be here. if i hadn't happened to come in the nick of time you'd never have escaped to tell the tale!" dusty star was well aware that all this was perfectly true, even though goshmeelee didn't put it into plain indian speech. also he could see that her rescue of him had been at the cost of some damage to herself. in the brief moment of her grapple with the wolf, his long fangs had seized. it was not a serious wound, but it bled. goshmeelee, with her immense practicalness, instantly produced from her mouth the washing apparatus dreaded by her cubs, and began to lick the injured spot. dusty star looked at her very solemnly with his big brown eyes. "i never meant you to get hurt," he said in his throaty indian voice. he kept repeating the words over and over again. if goshmeelee had ever been examined in the tongues spoken at washington, london, paris, and the other great centres of civilized gabble, by the learned gentlemen so high up in the educational world that it must make them dizzy to look down the precipices of their own minds, she would have been regarded as a perfect "dreadnought" of a dunce. but if they and she had to compete in the tongues used by the forest-folk, not to mention the running language of the water-voices and the wind, i should have been greatly surprised if she had not left them very far behind indeed! so, although she did not know a single word of dusty star's indian talk, she grasped the meaning of it at once, and knew that he was being sorry with his mouth. when she had licked as much as necessary, she looked pleasantly at dusty star with every bit of her good-natured face. that her wound was better, and that she was still ready for blueberries, was what she wanted him to understand. and dusty star fortunately remembered the spot on the barren where the blueberries were on the point of being very nearly ripe. if goshmeelee had not passed that way, dusty star was delighted to think that (although it was nothing in comparison with what she had done for him) he could nevertheless put her in the way of filling with berries that part of her which was wanting to be filled. he grabbed her by the fur, and gave her a tug. "you come with me, and _i'll_ show you!" he said. and goshmeelee went. chapter xxii the moon when things walk by signs that were unmistakable, dusty star knew that a new, strange restlessness had invaded kiopo's bones. it was not that he watched the forest borders with suspicion, as before, for an invisible foe. that uneasiness might be there, but it seemed for the present to be swallowed up in a deeper restlessness which preyed upon him day and night. after dusty star's return from his carboona excursion, kiopo had regarded him with a reproving eye. it was useless for dusty star to pretend that nothing had happened. kiopo never met the lone wolf; and goshmeelee bulging with berries did not blab. nevertheless, kiopo knew that the little brother had taken the law into his own hand, and that trouble was on the way. kiopo could not rest. the fall had come, and, with the fall, its wandering impulses. an unquiet itch had got into the skin of things, and into the heart of things a strange desire. every wild creature felt it, each in its own degree. the cariboo were off on their vague journeyings that took them half across the world. it was the moon when things appeared and vanished; the moon when travelling voices came out of the north, when a thin sleep covered the earth by day, and when things went out walking at the falling of the night. kiopo also walked. where he went dusty star could not tell. he watched and watched; but kiopo always eluded him at the coming-on of dusk. mere hunting did not account for it. the kills he made were not numerous. often he brought back what barely sufficed for their needs. it was only too clear that something beyond mere hunting occupied his mind. what made the thing still more peculiar was that, wherever it was kiopo went, there he also howled. night after night, about an hour after sundown, dusty star would hear the familiar voice raised in melancholy wailing in the distance, as if it resounded from the sides of a gorge. and as he lay awake, listening to the woeful sound, he would hear, ever and anon, dark voices out of the north, that came clanging above the hollow woods, and making the silence quake. and though he told himself that it was only the first flights of the geese, he could not get rid of the feeling that other voices went along the middle sky, and that the dark was haunted with wings. at last he determined to discover where it was that kiopo went to do his howling, and what happened when he howled. so, one evening, when the wolf, as was his custom, slunk into the shadow of the woods, dusty star, on noiseless moccasins, disappeared also. he kept kiopo in sight for some time without his knowledge. then, when at last his form became indistinguishable in the gloom, he followed as best he could the direction he believed he had taken. due south-west from the camp, a high spur of rock jutted from the mountain at the side of an immense gorge. it struck boldly out like an ocean promontory; and on nights when the wind was high, it would have been easy to imagine that the deepening roar which rose from the straining spruce woods beneath was the welter and crash of a rising sea. dusty star had seen the place several times in the day-time, and it struck him now that it would be a likely spot for kiopo to choose for his nightly performance. the trail thither lay through thick forest and was not an easy one to follow. but the boy had a strong sense of direction, and every time he reached an open space between the trees, he took his bearings from the stars. as he went, he listened intently for the first notes of kiopo's singing, and before he had travelled half the distance, they came. in the deep stillness of the night, the call sounded comparatively close. there could be little mistake as to its direction, which was either that of the promontory, or some spot very near it. seven times he heard the cry, each time clearer than before: then there was a long silence, disturbed by not a single sound. through the breathless stillness, dusty star continued his secret advance. by the last howl he guessed that he must be drawing very near to his goal; yet that very nearness made it necessary for him to use the greatest caution in order not to give kiopo the alarm. soon he saw a huge mass of rocks loom blackly between him and the rising moon. he did not dare to attempt to climb its almost perpendicular sides; but, skirting the base of it, worked his way up the mountain slope so that he might reach it from above. he arrived at last at the beginning of the promontory, and, lying flat on his stomach, looked about him. on all sides, the rocks took strange appearances, like humped beasts, crouched, and watching. yet nothing stirred, nothing breathed. of kiopo there was not a sign. in front of him, a large boulder hid the end of the promontory from sight. dusty star worked himself slowly round it, foot by foot. when he was half-way round, he stopped; for there, at the extreme end of the rocks, with his back towards him, he saw kiopo sitting motionless, as he gazed out into the enormous night. then, he saw him throw up his head; and again the long, throbbing howl made the gorges ring. dusty star had heard howling many times before. since his earliest infancy, the throats of wolf, fox and coyote had haunted his ears like nursery song-books with ancient, terrible tunes. but to-night, the tune seemed to gather a new terror, and made his pulses throb. his first impulse was to call to kiopo so that he might not do it again. only this was one of those times when, in spite of the intimate comradeship which bound them together, he stood a little in awe of that mysterious wolf-mind which was in kiopo, and which seemed to understand the stars. in the breathless stillness which followed the cry, dusty star listened to the quickened beating of his own heart. once again, kiopo howled. this time, he was answered. from the hollow gloom of the forest below there came a deep-toned "woof" that was half a roar. dusty star saw kiopo immediately stiffen into attention, as he turned his head in the direction of the threatening sound. owing to his position he could not see what the wolf saw, but kiopo's attitude told him that he was watching something that had come into sight from among the trees. his whole body was tingling with excitement. he cast all further secrecy aside, and ran towards kiopo. the wolf turned quickly, and growled. as dusty star fully understood, the growl was one of disapproval, not of anger. it said plainly: "you are not wanted. you are very much in the way." dusty star knew, when too late, that this was true. yet he was glad he had come. kiopo could not keep _this_ thing secret, as he had kept others. he would see what was to be seen: whatever the danger was, kiopo and he would meet it together. again kiopo lifted his voice; but this time it was no weary howl, making melancholy echoes: it was a short, deep bark, like an explosion. another "woof," rather higher pitched than the first, rose angrily from below. the enemy had accepted kiopo's challenge for the fight. a few minutes afterwards, a great, grey timber wolf came stalking down the promontory with the battle-light in his eyes. as soon as he appeared, dusty star realized in a flash that they had met before, and that he was once again face to face with the giant wolf from whose murderous attack goshmeelee had rescued him. for the terror of the carboona, goshmeelee had been more than a match. but kiopo, mighty fighter as he was, was not goshmeelee. as he watched, an awful dread began to creep into dusty star's heart. and now kiopo prepared for what he knew must come. the first thing he did was to give dusty star a butt with his head, which said clearly enough: "get well out of the way." dusty star was not so foolish as to disobey, knowing well that he could be of little use to kiopo as soon as the fight began. so he scrambled hastily to the top of a high rock where he could watch what happened without being in danger. on came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side. as he advanced, he growled deeply. kiopo awaited him without moving, every muscle tense, while he measured his enemy's points and probable strength. the lone wolf came to a stand, and for a few moments the wolves stood facing each other at the distance of a spring. [illustration: on came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side] both animals were splendid specimens of their class. what kiopo wanted in height, little though that was, he made up for in breadth and depth of shoulder and chest. an onlooker would have said that in actual fighting powers, the creatures were almost equally matched, though the chances lay on the side of the stranger. it would be only a close observer of beasts who would have marked not merely the depth of kiopo's chest, but the greater width of his skull between the eyes. it was plain that lone wolf was in an ugly mood. the hairs along his back stood stiffly, and his eyes gleamed like smouldering brands. in kiopo he saw the hated rival whose hunting lay so close to the borders of his own range, and whose howling was a nightly challenge to the lordship of carboona. he was well aware that kiopo was not a foe to be slighted; but his repeated victories had made him insolent, and in the present instance he was confident of success. kiopo too, was in a rage; partly because his right to exist had been challenged by a powerful foe, partly because of the presence of dusty star. the mere idea that any harm threatened the little brother was more than enough to rouse him to a fury of fighting pitch. rather than that a hair of the little brother should be injured, he would fight to the death. yet in spite of his anger, he was wary. he had not fought stickchi in vain. his strong limbs gathered well beneath him, he bided his time. suddenly, the lone wolf sprang. dusty star caught his breath, and gripped his rock more tightly. the fight had begun! kiopo was not caught napping. in a flash he jerked his body sideways, so that lone wolf, instead of bearing him down as he had intended, and so gaining the advantage, landed close on his left flank. and although his fangs raked kiopo's ribs, kiopo replied at the same instant by a counter slash that ripped his antagonist's shoulder. the fight had started now in real earnest. it was a wolfish whirlwind of motion. the two enraged animals bounded, slashed, gripped together, tore themselves apart, in a series of movements so lightning-swift as to baffle the eyes. when locked together, sometimes one would be on top, sometimes the other; but their immense strength, and amazing agility, made it impossible for either of them to hold the other down for any length of time. and lone wolf soon learnt that, when kiopo was on his back, his methods were even more to be feared than when he was on his feet; for it was then that his hind quarters came most successfully into play. those powerful quarters, fully armed with claws, were formidable engines of war when directed against lone wolf's stomach. more than once lone wolf was forced to loosen his grip upon his foe and tear himself away with a yelp of pain. and each time, like a relentless fury, kiopo had leaped upon him in a fresh onslaught. soon, both animals were streaming with blood; yet their many wounds, far from lessening their rage, seemed to make them more madly determined to fight on to the death. perched upon his rock, dusty star watched the appalling struggle going on immediately below him, with an excitement and a dread that passed all bounds. his close intimacy with wild animals, had taught him that a fight of this sort could only be ended by the death of one or other of the fighters, and his terror naturally was lest kiopo should not be able to hold his own. he had never known him to fail before; but then never before had he encountered a foe so nearly matched with him in strength. so far, it would not have been possible to say that either wolf had gained any decided advantage over the other, but now dusty star observed something which filled him with a new fear. either by chance or design, the wolves were very much nearer to the edge of the precipice than at the beginning of the fight. surely, he thought, kiopo, the always wary one, must have realized _that_? in his frantic anxiety to make sure that he realized, dusty star clapped his hands and shouted. whether kiopo understood the warning or not, the sound of dusty star's voice seemed to goad him to fresh efforts. the little brother had cried. he was fighting for the little brother as much as for himself. for a while it seemed as if the lone wolf must succumb to the fresh fury of his onslaught. in spite of this, dusty star saw with horror that the fight had rolled closer than ever to the edge. and now it seemed that kiopo had begun to lose his temporary advantage. soon it became all too plain that he was steadily losing ground, and was being pushed nearer and nearer to the fatal edge. at last he reached it. in the final struggle for mastery, the wolves, still tearing furiously at each other, seemed poised on the very brink. in another moment, one or other, if not both, must surely be dashed to destruction. again, in a fever of suspense, dusty star held his breath. and then the thing happened-the amazing thing which, to the latest day of his life, he would never forget! just as kiopo appeared to be pushed to his last foothold, with his hind quarters doubled under him beneath the fatal pressure of his all-but victorious foe, he gathered himself together for a last supreme effort, and the powerful sinews of those compressed hind legs did the work he relied on them to do. in spite of appearances to the contrary, he had deliberately allowed himself to be pushed to the precipice. there was cunning in him, as well as courage. the breadth between the eyes was beginning to tell. if dusty star had been able to guess this, he might have been spared some, at least, of the terror of the last few eventful moments. what he actually saw was _this_--a violent movement throughout the whole of kiopo's body; a mighty upward urge that lifted his enemy clean off his feet; then, a swift sideways wrench of his powerful neck and shoulders; and the heave of a dark body over the precipice edge. with a thrill of unutterable relief, dusty star realized that the body which went crashing to its doom was not kiopo's! he sprang down from his rock, wild with exultant joy, kiopo was safe! kiopo had won! the great fight was over, and kiopo was the victor. he rushed to the wolf, but in the very moment of throwing his arms about him, stopped. for, in spite of his overwhelming delight, his wilderness wisdom did not forsake him. he realized that kiopo was too badly wounded to be touched. the wolf lay on his side, bleeding from a dozen wounds. he took his breath in panting gasps that were almost sobs. it went to the boy's heart to hear the struggle for air, for life itself; yet for the moment he was helpless. if he had had a wound himself, he possessed sufficient indian medical knowledge to treat it with healing herbs and bind it up. but with the wolf it was altogether different. kiopo could not have borne bandages, even if dusty star had had them to apply. the only remedies possible were three: rest, nature, and his own wolfish tongue. this dusty star knew quite well. all he dared to do was to kneel on the ground beside kiopo while he gazed into his eyes, and made a murmuring medicine-talk with his mouth. and it needed no explanation to tell the wolf that all the love in the little brother's heart was flooding out through his eyes and mouth. he could not have borne the little brother's hand just then, tender though its touch would have been. but he was grateful for the medicine-talk of the little brother's mouth; and the little brother's eyes comforted him: they seemed to lick him like soothing tongues. for the rest of that night, and far into the next morning kiopo lay where he was, licking his wounds. when the sun began to beat down upon the promontory, he dragged himself painfully into the shadows of the rocks, and remained there for the rest of the day. dusty star went in search of water and found a spring half-way down the gorge. by making a cup of a broad leaf of skunk cabbage, he was able to carry back a little water, which kiopo eagerly drank. he had to make the journey many times, because no matter how cunningly he twisted the leaf, the pitcher would find a way of leaking; and although he always started with it as full as it would hold, it was more than half empty by the time it reached kiopo's parched tongue. there was another thing which dusty star found besides the spring. down at the precipice foot, not far from the spot where the skunk cabbage grew, he came upon a large grey body which had broken its neck upon the rocks. and he knew for a certainty that the terror of the carboona would hunt on his range no more. nature, the great mother of healing, did her work. with her help, two nights and a day of rest and licking, and the cool water the little brother brought, enabled kiopo gradually to regain his strength. great was dusty star's joy, when, on the second morning after the fight, he saw kiopo struggle to his feet and move slowly towards the forest. they travelled slowly, but, in spite of that, reached home before sundown, while high over their heads, the tall tops of the spruces loitered in the golden light. never had the valley looked more peaceful than on this still evening of early fall. the restlessness which had waxed with the waxing of the moon, seemed to have departed from it on furtive feet beyond carboona to the great shuswap lake where the heavy waters rest. yet the valley was not so deserted as it looked. for just as they came in sight of the camp, a large body was seen to move slowly away. kiopo saw it, but did not growl. he recognized it as that of the old she-bear. when goshmeelee became aware of the travellers, she did not quicken her steps. why should she? she never hurried unless folks worried her. she made a special point of living very slowly. it suited her digestion, and she usually had a great deal to digest. so instead of departing in a fluster, she sat down heavily in order to contemplate them at her ease. "been fighting," she said to herself, as soon as she had taken note of kiopo, but she was too polite, or too lazy, to put it into speech. kiopo observed her out of the corner of his eye, walking past with great dignity, as much as to say that she needn't pity _him_. she was a very feminine bear, and he was a very masculine wolf. she took up more room in the world than he did, and had a wider way when she sat down. if it had not been for the little brother, he could do without her in a world where the bear-folk and the wolf-folk do not mix. but the little brother carried confusion with him. he seemed brother to half the forest. he made acquaintances right and left. if you made a kill, you could never be sure that the little brother would not make a fuss because you had killed one of his folk! if the little brother's way got general, all the world would become brothers, and there would be nothing left to kill. dusty star went up to the old bear joyfully, and gave her a playful push. "we've come back," he said. goshmeelee grunted, as much as to say that she had already perceived the fact. "say you're glad!" dusty star said, shaking her thick coat. goshmeelee gave a second grunt, which might mean anything, or nothing. she did not feel she had any cause for special thankfulness. but she looked at her tormentor with such a grave expression that he felt uncomfortable. goshmeelee's way was to make you feel she had things to say before she said them. "i am very glad to be back," dusty star said, pretending he hadn't noticed anything odd in goshmeelee's manner. there was a pause. then goshmeelee asked him suddenly: "will you be glad to go?" "go? but we have only just come back!" he exclaimed. "in carboona there are many comings and goings," goshmeelee said vaguely. "one does not always remain." "but why should i go?" dusty star asked earnestly; for his curiosity was now fully roused. goshmeelee swayed a little, and grunted, which meant that the _reason_ for his going was hidden from _her_. "but we have come back to stay always," dusty star said uneasily. "has anything happened since we have been away?" "strange feet are walking," the bear replied darkly. "in the forest there is a new trail." what the trail told, where, by whom made, goshmeelee would not say. all dusty star's utmost efforts were useless to induce her to throw any further light on her mysterious remarks. when she had stared at him for a little longer, in an aggravating dumbness, she dropped down on her front feet, and lumbered gently away. chapter xxiii lone chief goes west many moons had come and gone since dusty star and kiopo disappeared into the west. to those who asked questions, none made answer. that was partly because the folk who knew were not asked. the folk who knew, not being asked, kept that knowledge to themselves. baltook could have told; boola also. goshmeelee herself was a storehouse of information. but none of these were likely to travel hundreds of miles east to carry news to those who did not come to them. even lone chief himself, popularly supposed to know all things, if only he could be persuaded to tell them, did not know. one evening, in late summer, an indian came riding into camp. he had ridden fast and far, and his pony was exhausted. he brought disquieting news. the yellow dogs, their deadly enemies, were gathering in the north. the sarcees, allies of the yellow dogs, were also on the war-path. trouble would come from the north, even before the wild geese. hastily the old chief, spotted eagle, summoned a gathering of the braves. but first he sent an urgent message to lone chief. and lone chief, already knowing of the threatening danger, came. so when spotted eagle made a solemn speech of few words but very packed with information, lone chief was not surprised. how did he know?... in the vast solitudes of the north west, long before telegraph wires were invented, news travelled in peculiarly wireless ways along the fine waves of the air for those whose minds were the right sort of receivers. and lone chief had that sort of mind which was always receiving. but though he came, he sat in silence at the meeting, and let other people talk. and not till every one else had spoken, some suggesting one thing, and some another, did lone chief open the outside of his mouth and astonish his hearers with the inside of his mind. "you will never be able to defeat the yellow dogs without the strong medicine," he said. "the strong medicine departed from you, when you drove dusty star's wolf into the west. dusty star and his wolf are a powerful medicine. you have none left to you which is as strong as theirs. unless they bring it back to you, you will lose your scalps to the yellow dogs." after lone chief had ceased speaking, great astonishment filled his audience; yet because it was lone chief who had said the marvellous thing, they were forced to believe it, even against their will. but when spotted eagle and the rest of the company had discussed the matter very gravely, and had solemnly asked him on behalf of the whole tribe, to find dusty star, and beg him to come back, lone chief shook his head, and swept his hand towards the west. "out there," he said, "is the land of the buffalo; and beyond the land of the buffalo, is the land of the timber-wolves, and the country of the cariboo. dusty star might have stayed with the buffalo; but the wolf would seek his own kindred; and the wolf-kindred make long journeys on the trails of the cariboo. how do i know that they have not taken a trail--dusty star and the wolf? and the journeying cariboo have a thousand trails to the great lake of the sunset where all trails have an end." yet though lone chief spoke so discouragingly, throwing whole prairies along his tongue, to show the difficulty of finding what had once disappeared into them, he knew in his heart that the chief would still believe him capable of finding dusty star. and so when spotted eagle again urged him earnestly to go out into the west to recover the lost medicine, lone chief shook his head despondingly, but nevertheless promised to go. the next morning, very early, anxiously watching eyes saw the famous medicine man issue from his tepee, and travel steadily westward, till the enormous distances of the prairie swallowed him up. fortunately for lone chief, he was accustomed to long journeys. but whereas, in the journeys he was used to making, he went for no particular reason except that the great distances had made a nest in his brain and kept chirping there like birds, the present journey he was taking for a very big reason, firmly believing that unless he could find dusty star a terrible fate must fall upon his tribe. day after day, he travelled west, on and on towards the sunset-place, deeper and deeper into the heart of the old buffalo land. and he saw the great herds of buffalo, thousands and thousands of them, more than man could count; because it was a time long and long ago before the white man had become lord of the prairie, and the freight cars had thundered their cotton-goods and kerosene along the iron trails of the middle west. but lone chief did not waste his time among the buffalo, because he knew that dusty star would not be there, that it was only in the timber-wolf country that he would have a chance to come upon him, if he had not already started for the land of the cariboo. but if you think that lone chief went wandering into the foothills all by chance, you are mistaken, for he had a way of doing things quite his own. and his way was this: to listen out for the news that is always passing through the wilderness though it is never printed, nor do they shout it from the tops of the trees. for if anything strange or dangerous has lately gone along the trails, word of it goes abroad, and the wild creatures flash the message to each other without a sound. for a long time, lone chief did not get any news. then one day, towards sunset, he caught a thin strand of a message as it drifted through the trees. thin though it was, lone chief read it. it told him that something had happened lately--for all he knew, might be _still_ happening--along the secret trails. for a long time after receiving the message. lone chief stood perfectly still. his eyes and his ears were not the only parts of him working: he used his nose, too, like the animals, in case the thing might have spilled a little of itself into the wind. yet though he looked and listened and smelt, he got no certain information as to what the thing was. he was now less than half-a-day's journey from carboona, and might reasonably be supposed to be within hail of some of its folk; but darkness closed down before he could get sight or wind of them, and because it was night, he lay down, sensibly, and went to sleep. he was awake very early in the morning, at the hour when forest people smell the dawn before they see it. for a time, he lay still flat on his back, gazing up into the old darkness of the trees where the twilight was beginning. that was his way of learning the things that come to you if you do not walk about. and as he lay, it came to him clearer and clearer that he was near the end of his journey. and out of sight, with faint rustlings and fine foot-falls, the hunting-beasts came back along the trails. yet lone chief never moved. as he lay there, wrapped in his elk-skin-robe, he might had been a log. and no eyes saw him, and only one nose smelt him, and that belonged to baltook, the silver fox. now baltook's acquaintance with dusty star had taught him the human smell. it had also taught him another thing: that things which smell like that are not necessarily enemies, and may possibly be friends. so instead of turning tail immediately, baltook drew cautiously nearer, so that his eyes might complete the information which had been given to him by his nose. nearer and nearer he came, setting each paw delicately down on the fir needles, so that not a whisper of sound gave warning of his approach. as for _seeing_ him, one would have needed sharp eyes for that, as the black robe with the frosted surface made itself part of the darkness of the trees. and yet for all baltook's cunning, and delicately treading, lone chief knew that something was stealthily drawing near. in spite of that, he made no movement. was not his hunting knife at his belt; and his bow and arrows within reach of his arm? and was he not prepared for whatever might happen? so he simply obeyed the law of the forest: lie still! when the silver-powdered robe was within a dozen feet of him, lone chief slowly turned his head. the movement was so quiet that baltook was not startled. only with eyes, ears and nose, he drank in everything that was to be known of lone chief by that method. and lone chief looked straight into the shining eyes of the fox. and though he asked no questions, and got no answers in the ordinary sense, he learned something that told him what he most wanted to know. and when at last baltook, having gratified his curiosity, turned on his tracks and disappeared softly through the trees, lone chief noted the way he went, and followed in the same direction. he had not gone very far before he came upon a big black body sitting in an open place, rocking itself gently to and fro. lone chief waited a little, and then came up-wind very slowly. and because he came up-wind, goshmeelee did not smell his coming, but went on rocking peacefully, as if that was the only common-sense way of being happy in the world. in these early fall days, goshmeelee often amused herself in this way. the rocking helped her to feel the comfort of her large body all the better--to get closer to herself, as it were, and feel good and pleasant down to her very toes. lone chief watched her for some time, without moving, and then came slowly forward till he stood within six feet of the old bear's nose. goshmeelee stopped rocking, and fixed her little black eyes upon him in amazement. she had grown used to dusty star, whose comings and goings did not upset her in the least; but to be suddenly confronted by the same sort of animal in a larger size was distinctly disturbing when one wasn't expecting it. lone chief and goshmeelee went on looking at each other for some time, and never said a word. but lone chief knew by the look in her eyes that she had seen something like him before, and _she_ knew perfectly well, by the look in _his_, that this wasn't the first time he had come upon a bear. and another thing was, that they each of them knew they had nothing to fear from the other. so, after a little time, lone chief turned away quietly and goshmeelee watched him vanish among the trees. and now lone chief felt that he was not far away from the thing that baltook knew, and the thing which goshmeelee knew likewise; and the further he went, the nearer he came to it, though as yet it was out of sight behind the spruces and the pines. suddenly, upon the very edge of carboona, he came upon it and his journey was at an end. two days after goshmeelee's strange warning, dusty star had gone down to the spring to drink. as he raised his head, he caught a glimpse of the tall figure coming through the trees. his heart gave a jump, lest it should be one of the dreaded yellow dogs; but when, almost directly afterwards he recognized the famous medicine-man, he went boldly forward to meet him. they looked at each other silently for a little, and then in a very few words, lone chief explained why he had come. when he had finished, dusty star shook his head. "i cannot come," he said. "and if i did, what could i do? besides, i would not come without kiopo. and they wished to kill kiopo. that is why we left my people--so that kiopo should not die." "but that is many moons ago," lone chief said. "they do not want to kill kiopo now. i have told them that he is the medicine wolf, and that those who would destroy him are the enemies of the tribe." "they hated us!" dusty star replied quickly. "they would hate us still, only that you have told them we can be of use!" as he spoke, his eyes shone. it was not a good shining. he, too, had learnt to hate. in vain lone chief explained, argued, protested. dusty star stood his ground. in spite of all the medicine-man could say, he refused absolutely to come. lone chief was annoyed at the boy's firmness, but he was also surprised. in the interval since he had last seen him, it was only too plain that the boy had learnt many things; among others, he had learnt to be a man. it was a long time before lone chief gave up the attempt to bring the boy to a more reasonable frame of mind. he stayed all day. at nightfall he made his camp beside dusty star's. at dawn he was still there, ready, with an indian's doggedness to begin the argument all over again. but in the morning, something happened. kiopo came back. he had been out hunting, and as soon as he set his eyes on lone chief, he showed his teeth in a threatening snarl. by this time the wolf had every reason to distrust human beings. dusty star was the one great exception. in the indian before him, kiopo saw an enemy. if dusty star had not held him back, he would have flown at him. and the wolf's return seemed to make the boy all the firmer in his refusal. faced by the pair of them, lone chief realized at last that he was powerless. he knew that he would be forced to return to the tribe, and confess the failure of his mission. whatever the coveted wolf-medicine might perform, it was not for them. they had lost it in the moons. and in spite of his great wisdom, and his ancient cunning, he was uneasy. he felt that he was in the presence of a great and peculiar power. in all of his wide experience he had never come across anything like it before. there was something about the wolf that seemed more than the mere animal. there was something in dusty star that seemed uncannily related to the wolves. he was relieved when at length he turned from the camp, and found himself out of sight of it once more, among the endless ranks of the trees. chapter xxiv evil days the maple leaves were yellowing in the fall. the hollow seed-cups of the wild parsley were turning old and grey. up the slopes of the northern buttes, the shumack flared like a shout of flame. over a thousand leagues of prairie the days carried the warmth and stillness of that mysterious season called the indian summer; but the nights had cold in them, and the middle sky had voices. for the geese were coming now--driving out of the north in great arrow-heads of flight--and the nightwind passed with a dry whisper, like the running of antelope through dead grasses, over a thousand leagues. the camp of dusty star's people was feverishly astir. the air was filled with rumours. scouts coming from the north-east brought disquieting tidings. there was a great movement among the yellow dogs. scattered bands were coming in daily to join the main body. it could mean only one thing--the gathering for the final attack. and still lone chief did not come back. day after day, scouts watched from the summit of look-out bluff, scanning the western prairie eagerly for signs of the returning medicine-man. day after day, they returned with heavy faces to the anxiously waiting tribe. and as the days passed, the rumours grew more black. the senakals were in movement now. they were allies of the yellow dogs, related to them by ties of blood. the senakals were a powerful tribe. if they joined forces with the yellow dogs, the strength of the enemy would be enormously increased. it was late october now, or, as the indians named the season, when-the-geese-fly-south. in the rich meadows along the wide-water river, the bunch-grass was very long, and on the slopes of the eastern hills the huckleberries were large and ripe. but no indian ponies grazed in the meadows now, having been brought closer into camp: for fear of a hostile raid; nor, in the early morning or late evening, were any parties of squaws to be seen out on the prairies, going to the hills, or returning with baskets full of fruit. among all the families in the camp, that of dusty star was the most disturbed. his parents had always hoped that, sooner or later, he would come back. his mother, especially, had grieved for his absence, and had looked anxiously for his return. it was a pity, she said, they had not taken his part about kiopo. only then, who could possibly have foreseen that all this medicine power which lone chief made so much of would be discovered in the wolf? but, even so, she thought, they might have been kinder to dusty star himself, and have tried more fully to understand his feelings for the wolf. and after all, was it not his father who had presented him with the creature in the beginning, when it was nothing but a little compact bundle of fat and fur, not yet very steady on its legs? she was now quite clear in her own mind that they had been decidedly to blame. day after day, she waited anxiously for tidings of lone chief, and, as night after night brought no news of his whereabouts, her anxiety grew. the only person who clung stubbornly to her old opinions was sitting-always. but that was only to be expected, since she was so very like her name. once the mind of the old squaw had laid an opinion, she would sit on it like a broody hen, till it went addled in her head. she had never really liked dusty star, and she had always hated the wolf. if the wolf _had_ a medicine (which, for her part, she very much doubted) as everybody said, she had made up her mind that it was a bad medicine, and could not help the tribe. as a protest against all this nonsense about the wolf, she painted her face with an extra coat of yellow, and sat in a bad temper at the door of her tepee. things were in this state, when, one morning early, a scout came into camp. he brought alarming tidings. he had rashly crossed the border of the yellow dog country, and had been seen and chased. fortunately his pony was a very swift one, and he had reached the wide-water river in time to swim across, and so escape. all day he had lain hidden in the willow thickets of the southern bank, and had only dared to leave them after dark. he said that his pursuers were in advance of a large body of indians who were camped to the north-west of the sokomix hills. instantly spotted eagle ordered a strong war-party to start off, in order to meet the advance guard of the enemy, and, if possible, drive them back. dusty star's father, running wolf, as one of the leading braves, was a member of the party. at sundown, a solitary indian came galloping into camp. he was the bearer of terrible news. the war-party had encountered the enemy, and had given battle shortly after noon; but, owing to the fact that the yellow dogs greatly outnumbered them, they had been defeated and finally put to flight. but in spite of their victory he did not know whether they would continue their advance immediately or not. it was best to be prepared for the worst. when the news became known, panic seized the camp. terrified squaws ran from tepee to tepee, uttering shrill screams and tearing their hair. to their cries were added the neighing of ponies driven into camp, the barking of huskies, and the beating of drums. during the evening, the remainder of the defeated war-party returned. fully a third of its members were missing. among the missing was running wolf. nikana did not run, nor scream. she walked restlessly up and down in front of her tepee, holding blue wings closely in her arms, and filled with a horrible fear. the night which followed the defeat was one of terrible anxiety. with the exception of the children and the animals, hardly any one slept. from moment to moment no one could say what might happen. if their enemies were already in the neighbourhood, they might attack at any instant. people wandered aimlessly about, or squatted at the entrances of the tepees, listening uneasily to the slightest sound, even if it were nothing more than the howling of some distant coyote far off upon the prairie that set every ear straining lest it should be an indian signal for the gathering to attack. and when, at long intervals, a flock of wild geese would approach with shrill, honking call out of the vast darkness of the north, the cry seemed to carry evil tidings of their approaching doom. when the first streaks of dawn brightened above the eastern hills, a feeling of relief passed through the camp that, if the dreaded attack were indeed preparing, at least it would not be launched under cover of the dark. and with the dawn, came a sudden ray of hope. from look-out butte a scout came galloping into camp. far to the south-west several indians had been sighted. it was almost certain that lone chief was one of them. the news ran through the camp like wild-fire. but was dusty star coming too? or, if not of the party, would it be found that he was following with the wolf? the excitement and suspense were tremendous. people crowded to the western side of the camp, some even going out to wards look-out butte in order to be the earliest to receive the fateful news. they had not long to wait. soon the little party was seen rounding the southern slope of the hill. and lone chief was indeed one of the party. he had fallen in with them on his homeward route, a day's journey from the camp. but he came without either dusty star or the wolf. and when at last he had arrived, and in a few short words had announced the failure of his mission, a feeling of gloom that was almost despair spread over the whole tribe. in vain spotted eagle, and some of the other chiefs, attempted to give them fresh courage. the deep superstition of the indian mind had settled darkly upon them. if the wolf-medicine did not come, they said, it showed clearly that the great spirit had refused to give them protection. after that, things went from bad to worse. and although the day went by without any fresh signs of the enemy's approach, the camp was filled with disquieting rumours, and gave itself up more and more to the despondency of fear. another night of suspense passed, and still there were no signs. hope began to rise that the yellow dogs, in spite of their victory, had suffered so severely that they would not dare to attack the main camp. it was possible that some of their allies had failed at the last moment. and then, just as the feeling began to be general, the new hope was dashed to the ground by the news that the enemy was again in motion and was moving rapidly south in force. if it had not been for the courage and coolness of spotted eagle and lone chief, the tribe would have been thrown into a state of more hopeless desperation than before; but they summoned all the chiefs together and gave them the command of strong parties which should post themselves on the outskirts of the camp, in order to show the enemy that they were fully prepared to do battle without waiting for the attack upon the camp itself. orders were also given that no fires were to be lighted if the enemy did not appear before nightfall. scouting parties were then to be sent far out on the northern prairie so as to prevent all possibility of a surprise attack. the afternoon passed into evening. the short-lived northern twilight darkened swiftly down the prairies, and it was night. and above, in the enormous hollow of the sky, the stars glittered like many camp-fires, and ever and again the flocks of travelling voices came honking out of the north, and filled the silence with a wandering cry. chapter xxv how dusty star danced with the wolves after lone chief had left him in order to carry his refusal back to the tribe, dusty star was not happy in his mind. wherever he went, whatever he did, the vague unhappiness went with him. the forest was the same; the creatures were the same, and yet, somehow nothing was quite as it had been before. even carboona, that colossal sameness, seemed to hold something uneasy sitting in its heart. in vain he went and sat on his favorite look-out places above the runways, and secretly observed the coming and going of stealthy feet. equally in vain was the long conversation he had with goshmeelee, who gave him her views about the increasing difficulty of finding grubs in the cedar swamp, and the other important matters. and the growing unhappiness of the boy was shared by the wolf, who now ceased to make long expeditions and did his hunting nearer camp. when once dusty star had convinced himself that he had done wrong in refusing to help his people, he did not waste any time in making up his mind. he would go back. he would follow lone chief along the vast distances that lay out there to the east. but he would not go alone. where he went, kiopo should go too. they would carry the medicine between them that should bring deliverance to his tribe. but first he must say good-bye to his friends, whom he might not see for a very long time, if indeed he ever saw them again. out there in the east many things might happen. and baltook and goshmeelee would not be there to understand. it was with a heavy heart that he climbed up to the den of the silver fox. to his great disappointment, he found that baltook was not at home. boola was, however, and the family. without saying a word to her, he made boola understand. she gazed at him with a look in her eyes which said as plainly as any expression could: "don't do it!" dusty star stroked her glossy fur affectionately, and felt the heaviness sit heavier in his heart. and then, because the shadows were lengthening, he went slowly down the hill. and far above him, in the golden silences, boola lifted her voice and howled. with goshmeele the case was different. _she_ did not content herself with merely looking. she told him very plainly that he was a fool to go. even if grubs were scarce, she said, there were fat frogs by the stream borders, and the berries were not yet over, if you were energetic enough to search for them, and knew where to look. dusty star explained that it was not a question of food, but of feeling. to which goshmeelee replied that food _was_ feeling, and that a stomach without plenty of berries in it was a feeling that could keep you from going to sleep. she either couldn't or wouldn't understand that there was such a thing as duty. but she _did_ understand that what dusty star had in his mind meant a deal of exercise; and that a lot of walking walked the meat clean off your bones. "stay here and get fat," was her unalterable opinion as to the best thing to do. and when she found that dusty star was obstinate, she growled at him in affectionate remonstrance, and let him dig his hands into the deep places of her fur. and the good healthy smell of her warm bearishness tickled his nose, and made him feel at home, and inclined to keep hidden in carboona from all the worry and tongue-wagging of the stormy indian world. but then the memory of lone chief, and of the strong things he had said, came to him, and teased his brain even more than the smell of goshmeelee tickled his nose. so, without any more argument with her, he got up, and ran away quickly till he was hidden among the trees. and after he was gone, goshmeelee watched the way he had disappeared, and then began solemnly to lick the places where he had disarranged her fur. after leaving her, dusty star did not return to camp. once he had started to say good-bye, meant with him that the departure had already begun. there was no need to go back for kiopo. before leaving he had made the wolf clearly understand that they were going upon a long journey; also, that although he expected him to remain near at hand, he did not wish him to be too close while he paid his good-bye visits to the foxes and the bear. and kiopo did what was expected of him, and kept discreetly out of sight. so now, dusty star went on swiftly through the forest, not in the least doubting that, although kiopo was out of sight, he was within earshot in case of need, and that the great pads of his feet carried him softly along the trail. when the last glimmer of twilight departed, dusty star camped for the night. the camping was very simple. it only meant finding a sheltered place among the tree-roots, eating some of the food he had brought with him, and settling himself for sleep. and as he settled down, he felt rather than saw the big wolf-shape that stole softly into camp and lay down within reach of his arm. in spite of their journey having begun, the travellers lay still within the edges of carboona--the strange and lonely land. voices out of carboona travelled to them darkly, at long intervals, like voices of departing and farewell. there was the far-off bark of a fox, signalling to its mate; or the dreary hooting of an owl. but dusty star slept soundly, and if the voices reached him, it was only in his dreams. once only he woke, and that was not because of a sound, but of a touch. a cold nose touched his cheek. instantly he was wide-awake, thinking it was kiopo warning him of some danger. but the wolf was sleeping where he had lain down, and had not stirred. dusty star waited expectantly. but though he kept absolutely still, his mysterious visitor made no other sign. once only a twig cracked faintly under the pressure of a stealthy foot; but the darkness was too dense for dusty star to detect the secret movement of the black robe with the silver tips, as it drifted softly away. but long, long afterwards, when countless moons had come and gone, dusty star, remembering, was sure that it was baltook who had brought his cold nose to him as a token of farewell. the morning song of little kilooleet, the white-throated sparrow, was already trickling through the maple leaves, when the travellers started again upon their way. as on their first coming into the region, so now, at their departing, the small grey people in the underground doorways watched the great shapes furtively, and made disturbed noises at each other after they were gone. and in the little damp corridors, where the darkness was twisty because of many roots, the tiny feet pattered nervously, and the tiny whiskers twitched. from the summit of a bare-topped hill, up which they had been mounting slowly from the lower forest levels, dusty star paused for the first time to look back. there, in the distance, with the morning mists lying in white streaks along its sides, rose the great heights of carboona against the autumn sky. would he ever see it again--or was he gazing at its shining peaks and precipices for the last time? a dim fear of the unknown crept into him--of the unseen things that lay in wait behind him in the world. and carboona had become, in a strange manner, his home--his wolf-home, where, with kiopo, he had learned those forgotten secrets which are the medicine of the wolves. and now they were looking at it together perhaps for the last time! as he turned away, to continue his journey, his eyes were troubled as if they were seeking an unfamiliar trail. between the forest and the prairies lay a tract of broken country full of ravines and rocky hills. it was a barren, treeless region, where the water-courses dried up in the summer, or shrank to muddy pools. with the exception of a few rabbits and prairie dogs, game was scarce. now and then a wolf or coyote would wander across its barren buttes, scenting the hungry air; but usually retreating with stomachs as light as when they entered it. during the greater part of the year, the larger animals gave it a wide berth. indians avoided it also. they called it the bad lands. but in spite of its reputation among the human kind, the beasts had their uses for it at certain times of the year. it had seen many a fierce battle when the wolves and coyotes followed the mating call. the wild kin made their marriages there, but mostly settled their breeding haunts far enough away. it was not a good place to be born in. but animals hunted to the death, or those whose limbs were stiffened with old age, knew in some mysterious way that they could crawl there to die. but a use that was neither for mating nor dying, was one of which even the indians knew very little, and the reason for which even the wild kin itself was in the dark. hunters crossing the borders of the bad lands in the late summer or the fall, would sometimes stop to listen to a sound that rose, and died, and swelled again, in strange discords that set indian pulses throbbing in an uncomfortable way. sometimes the sound would seem to be a series of single notes, from a solitary voice. at others, the notes crowded thickly together as if from a multitude of throats. indians who were deeply religious declared that it was the wolves making medicine, when the great spirit walked across the bad lands at the falling of the year. dusty star and kiopo reached this haunted region just at sundown. the great bare buttes stood up redly in the sunset light. the deep stillness was unbroken by the slightest sound. as far as the eye could reach there was not a sign of a living thing. they had travelled steadily all day since early dawn, and dusty star was glad to rest. he still had some food left over from the previous day, the fruits of kiopo's hunting, so he had only to look out for a convenient spot for camping, and settle down for the night. as soon as he had found one near a small spring, kiopo went off. that was nothing extraordinary, dusty star watched him lift his nose to try the air, and then trot quietly down the creek bed to the south. he knew by his movements that he was off to hunt. after he had finished his supper, dusty star lay down in the place he had chosen, and dropped instantly to sleep. he seemed to have been asleep a long time when he woke suddenly to find kiopo standing over him in the moonlight. the wolf was plainly uneasy. he was making the half-whining, half-growling sound which was always a sign that something unusual was taking place. dusty star sat up, and looked about him. in the intense clearness of the cloudless night every object was distinctly visible. the buttes stood out in huge silver masses, washed by the light of the moon. their hollows and ravines were deep in shadow; but neither in light nor shadow was there anything which gave sign of life. yet dusty star felt as if, in spite of the apparent stillness, sound had lately travelled through the air. the silence was not empty. as he listened, he heard a long wolf-howl rise and fall in the distance. it had scarcely died away when it was followed by another, and then another. then a whole chorus of howls filled the night with a loud and desolate clamour. at once he knew what he was listening to. it was the singing of the wolves. he listened for some time, shivering a little in spite of himself. he was not afraid. but he was deeply stirred. something in him answered to the wolf voices. kiopo's uneasiness had communicated itself to him also. he could not explain it. he felt as if he were inside kiopo's mind; rather, that they shared one mind, and that the soul of the wolf-world was calling to it. with one accord, they set off in the direction of the cries. the sound came from the eastward. but, owing to the broken nature of the country, it seemed sometimes to come from every side at once. in that hollow land, full of echoes, the ears were not always the safest guides. but kiopo did not travel by ear alone. his nose quested the distances. it met the things that went walking in the wind. and surer even than his nose was the wisdom of the wild things, which was an extra sense to him, and which mankind has put to sleep with its making of machines. so he trotted steadily east without being bewildered by the echoes, and dusty star followed, confident in his lead. they came at last to the foot of a big butte, which kiopo immediately began to ascend. the cries were very clear now. the moonlit air was filled with a chorus of high-pitched, vibrating sounds. as they climbed, dusty star noticed that they did not mount alone. he counted no fewer than four other wolves, besides kiopo, moving swiftly up the hill. if he saw them, kiopo paid no attention. even when one of them drew a little closer than the others, he did not attempt to drive it off. and the low growl that rumbled in his throat seemed a recognition rather than a threat. at the top of the hill, they came upon a wide, open space. dusty star saw to his wonder that it was crowded with wolves. they formed a wide, irregular circle, composed of single animals, and of little groups of five or six. in the centre of the circle sat a large wolf by himself. the remarkable thing about him was not his size, but his colour, which was pure white. with the moonlight full upon him, it almost seemed as if his coat itself gave out light. as soon as dusty star and kiopo joined the circle, the howling suddenly ceased. the wolves were uneasy. it was plain that they regarded the newcomers with suspicion, if not with enmity. kiopo would have passed muster, but his companion was certainly anything but a wolf. one or two of the nearer wolves raised their hackles and growled. the rest maintained a grim silence. and the silence was not re-assuring. dusty star had the uncomfortable feeling that the pack were merely waiting for some signal, which, whenever it was given, would be an order to attack. in such a case he knew he must leave kiopo to take whatever course was wisest. they were in the wolf-world now. the law of the man-world did not hold. the part that was so strangely wolf within him, knew that it must submit to the law of the pack, or pay the penalty of death. he watched kiopo anxiously. whatever kiopo did within the next few moments would decide their fate. the silence grew terrible in its stillness. after their first restless movements the wolves were motionless, waiting for the sign. it was then that kiopo acted on the sudden impulse of an instinct that told him what to do. very slowly and deliberately he made his way through the ring of wolves towards the place where the white wolf sat. as his great body detached itself from the ring, and emerged to full view into the open space, the waiting wolves realized at once that they had before them a born leader, one of the great ones of the packs. hitherto, the big white wolf had had no rival. his sway was recognized over a range of wide extent to the north-west. none had ever dared to dispute his overlordship. far and near his fame had travelled as the white wolf-king of the north. yet here was an animal, who, in point of mere size stood even higher at the shoulders than the white giant. a hundred pairs of gleaming eyes glared at the intruder with a hostile light. with his own eyes shining, and every hair on his body bristling, so as to make him seem even larger than he was, kiopo advanced steadily towards the leader. the white wolf rose from his haunches, growling low. he, too, bristled, as if in resentment at the intrusion. with a common impulse, the pack edged nearer, waiting expectantly for the coming fight. dusty star, meanwhile, remained where he was on the outer circle of the ring, motionless as a stone, for he had received a sign from kiopo, warning him to stay behind. fear clutched at his heart, and made his pulses throb, but it was not fear for himself. the dread was for kiopo, lest he should do something rash. in single combat he was not afraid of the result, even with the white wolf for an adversary. but with the pack in their present temper, dusty star knew that a single fight would not long be possible. with the fine sense that felt the wolfish mind about him, he knew that, at the first smell of blood, all control would vanish, and that even though kiopo was the most magnificent fighter in the world, his fate would be sealed. hardly daring to breathe, he watched the two wolves draw closer in the centre of the ring. now they were within a few feet of each other. he prepared himself for the sudden leap, the lightning slash, the jagged rip, the manoeuvering for the deadly ham-stringing which meant the beginning of the end. it was one of those great moments in which anything might happen, and when the merest accident might decide. dusty star was fully aware that the lives of kiopo and himself hung trembling in the balance. bristling with excitement, the wolves drew nearer in. and still, rigid and motionless, kiopo and the white wolf faced each other with defiance in their eyes. suddenly there was a sound, half-howl, half-cry, and in the tense moment something seemed to snap. partly running, partly leaping, with his body crouched, dusty star, as he gave tongue, flung himself into the centre of the ring. the white wolf bared his teeth and snarled with his eyes upon him. kiopo also started in astonishment. was the little brother gone mad? if what followed was madness, it was the most amazing madness the wolves had ever seen. leaping, bending, running, turning his body in every direction, dusty star danced a wolf-dance the like of which the bad lands had never known. what mysterious impulse at the very last moment, and in the nick of time, had suddenly come upon him, and taught him what to do, he could have told no more than the wild creatures themselves. and as he danced, he barked short sharp wolf-notes that stabbed the air like knives. they watched him. he wanted them to watch. they had never seen a human being dance the wolf-dance before; nor were they likely to again. it was the wolf-dance, and yet it was not the wolf-dance. it was something more. what the something more was, dusty star himself could not have explained. but he knew that the power that was secretly hidden within him was coming out. it was that strange thing which had been with him as a child, and which, during the long days and nights in the carboona, had grown stronger moon by moon. he danced now, as he had danced once before in his grandmother's tepee when she had been ill. there were the same wild antics; the same cunning movements of his feet and hands. only then he had danced as a splendid joke. now, he did it seriously, as a thing that mattered enormously: he danced with his very soul. and as he danced, apparently oblivious of everything except his own movements, he felt the wolf-mind surge towards him, like waters under the wind. they were coming! they were coming! the wolf-tide was rising within him, without him. the moon drew it, the dance, the wild notes that sobbed and gasped in his throat! they could not help themselves any more than he could help himself. they were driven by a power stronger than themselves. as he danced he saw the great ring of dusky bodies, and glimmering eyes--the white wolf and kiopo in the centre--saw them as one sees things in a dream. the wolves watched him as if spellbound. then one on the outside of the circle threw back his head and howled. another answered him from the opposite side. a third took up the call. soon the whole pack was giving tongue; and one of the big wolf choruses went thundering out for leagues along the hollow land. but to give tongue was not enough. the madness that was in dusty star's body seemed to bite into the bodies of the wolves. some strange power moved them. the mysterious restlessness that had stirred the wolf-kindred since the beginning of the world came upon them now with an irresistible force. first one, and then another, began to run about and bark. the movement spread. it was not long before the entire pack was in violent motion, running and leaping in continuous circles, narrower and wider as the impulse came. it was like a storm of wolf bodies, the centre of which was kiopo and the white wolf. all this time neither kiopo nor the white wolf had moved. but upon them also the mysterious power grew. all at once, as if by a swift agreement, they sprang into the air, and joined dusty star in his dance. and now, as if a barrier had been suddenly withdrawn, like surging waters breaking over a dam, the wolves poured from all sides into the ring. there was no thought now of attacking either dusty star or his wolf. the boy's sudden action had certainly saved their lives; for the wolves had recognized in him a mysterious power which, unfamiliar as it was, claimed kinship with the pack. if any human eyes had been watching from a neighbouring butte they would have seen an unaccountable sight. in the haunted stillness of the bad lands, beneath the white glare of an enormous prairie moon, the wolves danced a stormy movement about the young indian brother who made medicine with his feet. circling about him, leaping over him, chasing each other in bewildering circles, snarling, snapping, barking, howling, the united packs swept round the plateau in a roaring, rushing storm. in that tumultuous sea of wolf-bodies, dusty star was engulfed. he scarcely knew what was happening. he had been in a dream before. now he was swept far out of himself into an even wilder dream--into places where the moon herself danced the wolf-dance and the stars yelped at her heels. how long the dance continued he did not know. he saw the writhing wolf-forms on every hand. he was dimly conscious that kiopo was continually at his side. what he knew was, that now, at last, he had entered the great mystery; he was making the medicine of the wolves. and so, in the white moon-glare, among the lonely buttes, the fierce wild creatures gave their leaping bodies to the dance that had been seen by no man since the beginning of the world. chapter xxvi how the wolves closed in how the dance came to an end, and what happened when it did, dusty star never fully remembered. all he could recollect was that he found himself lying on the flat of his back, with kiopo standing over him licking his face and hands with his large tongue. his wandering senses came back to him, and he sat up. all around, the wolves sat or lay with their tongues hanging out, panting after their exertions. in the centre, the white wolf sat as before, as if he had never moved. and the moon was there, and the stars, which also seemed to be panting, only they were too far off to see what they did with their tongues. after that, dusty star did the only wise thing to do in his state of exhaustion. he gave himself up to the stillness, and let himself fall asleep. when he awoke, the moon had set, and dawn had risen over the buttes. kiopo lay facing him with his head between his paws, watching till he should wake. dusty star looked for the pack. not a single wolf was in sight. they had melted away into the barren gullies of the bad lands, as if they had been a dream. but the bad lands remained, and kiopo, and an odd feeling in his bones; and dusty star knew that now the great journey must continue that could only end where the prairies were yellow with the east. when the sun had lifted himself above the horizon, the travellers had already reached the last buttes of the bad lands, and saw the prairies stretching at their feet. as dusty star's eyes travelled over the enormous expanse, a sense of trouble came to him. out there, concealed in the vast distances that hid it like a buffalo-robe, lay the home of his people. and he was going to return to them. as sure as the wolf-trail ran across the heavens, he was going back. but what would happen then? he would not see them as he had seen them before. the free life with kiopo; the friendships with the wild kin that were not of his blood, yet seemed to be half his heart; the great mountain-world of carboona, the mystery-land of the west:--all these had come between him and his people with their life in the tepees.... and kiopo?... he belonged to kiopo now, as kiopo to him. he had danced himself into the wolf-world with the medicine of his feet. his body might remain indian; but the wolf-dance was in his veins: his moccasins had touched the wolf-trail: his mind was half a wolf's. as they crossed into the prairies, he kept looking out for any signs of the white wolf's pack; but not a vestige of them was to be seen. yet although they were invisible to the eye, there were signs that they had not left the neighbourhood. kiopo's manner alone was sufficient to show that the country was not so empty of life as it appeared. he was evidently on the alert, keeping on the watch in every direction. just before noon he disappeared. when towards the middle of the afternoon he caught up with dusty star, who had continued his journey, it was certain that he had been running with other wolves. that night, just before sundown, a great idea flashed upon dusty star. kiopo must find the white wolf, and bring the packs to camp. when they were all assembled, dusty star would tell his mind to the white wolf, and he, in his turn, would communicate it to the packs. he made the message clear to kiopo, and the wolf immediately departed. as the twilight fell, dusty star became aware that here and there it seemed to thicken into a wolf-shape, till at last it darkened to a pack. when the pack finally closed in upon the camp, he knew that he was imprisoned by a wolf-ring that shut out the world. and when the last wolf had taken its place, dusty star found that the white wolf, with kiopo, was by his side. with the pack about him, dusty star sent his mind out to their leader, and communicated the great idea. and in words which he did not use, even in the indian tongue, the idea shaped itself thus: "far out along the prairies to the sun-rising is the camp of my people. my people are very many. they outnumber the wolves. as the foxes and lynxes are enemies to the wolves; so my people have enemies who are thirsting for their blood. the enemies of my people are now gathering to attack. they are numerous and very strong. if i do not carry help to my people, they will be pulled down and killed, as the wolves pull down the moose when he is yarded for the winter, and food is scarce. by myself i can do little, though my people say i own the wolf-medicine. but the wolf-medicine that is in me is only strong enough when i am running with a wolf. kiopo and i are very strong together. with you, we should be stronger still. with the pack, nothing could stand against us. the medicine then would be on many feet. if you will lead the pack, and follow us, we shall save my people from their death." to get all this meaning into the white wolf's mind, took some time. but the white wolf's mind was like his jaws. once it took firm hold, it tore the meaning of an idea like meat from off a bone. and when he had snatched the idea and swallowed it, he brought it up again for distribution, as a mother-wolf does for her cubs, in the form of pre-digested meat. so the white wolf, having carefully digested the idea, disgorged it for the pack's benefit, and fed them bit by bit. and when the pack had swallowed it again, they liked the taste of it, and were ready for anything in the way of a fight. long after the night had settled down, dusty star's excitement kept him awake planning the carrying out of the great idea. on the evening of the third day, a scout belonging to the yellow dogs took a strange tale back to the tribe. out on the prairies to the west, he said, he had come upon a great pack of wolves. they were led by a white wolf of enormous size, and were travelling eastwards. as he was uncertain what such a large body of wolves might do, he had not waited to watch their further movements, and had given them a wide berth. the yellow dogs did not treat the news seriously. at this time of the year, the wolves, even in large numbers, were not dangerous. now that hunting was good, they would not attack human beings. it was only in winter, when the moose yarded and game grew scarce, that men watched the gaunt grey bodies that hung about the thickets, and listened uneasily to the eerie cry far off over the frozen levels, as it rang from the throats of a famished pack which had found a promising trail. besides, the yellow dogs had more important matters to consider. now or never the attack upon dusty star's people must be made. the moon was favourable now. she did not rise until a sufficiently long time after sunset to enable them to approach the enemy's camp under cover of the dark, so as to be able to deliver the long-planned attack in the growing light of her beams. without waiting for any further delay, small scouting parties were ordered to go on ahead; and the advance began. but there were other scouts abroad, of which neither the yellow dogs nor their intended victims were aware. every thicket, and matted tangle of prairie grass, seemed to conceal one. there was hardly a hollow that did not harbour some crouching form; and the prairie buttes had eyes. as the great yellow dog war party moved stealthily forwards, it was shadowed by another company more numerous and more stealthy still. this second company was roughly divided into three main bodies, with small intermediate bands which seemed to move independently, but which were in reality in touch with one or other of the larger groups. the night was windless and very still, the few vagrant wafts of air which occasionally stirred the prairie grasses, flowing softly from the west. the older and more experienced of the yellow dog warriors could not understand the night. from time to time they seemed to catch a faint wolf smell from the west. and the stillness seemed full of some invisible motion as if the very prairies moved. moreover it was very plain that the ponies were unusually restless. now one, now another, would snort and whinney, or shy at some vague shadow which melted into the dark. in the comanache camp, things were much as they had been for many days past. a careful watch was still kept towards the north. but the general opinion was that the yellow dogs had delayed their threatened attack so long that they had at length given up the intention. spotted eagle was in his tepee consulting with one or two other chiefs, when suddenly the door flap was raised, and dusty star stood before them. the suddenness of his arrival, and the change wrought in his appearance during his long absence, prevented spotted eagle from recognizing in the tall, imposing-looking youth who now stood before him, the wild boy with the wolfish ways who had disappeared mysteriously many moons ago. there was a pause of typical indian silence, while the piercing eyes in the tepee looked him through and through, before spotted eagle asked him his business. "i am dusty star," the boy said quietly. if the thunder-bird itself had pronounced the words under cover of its deafening wings, they could not have produced a more startling effect. spotted eagle and his companions rose instantly to their feet. although the old chief's face did not betray his feelings, his action, together with that of his followers showed how deeply he was moved. "you have come?" he asked incredulously. "lone chief brought us your message that you would not come." "lone chief spoke truly," dusty star answered, "but there was something within me which was stronger than my words. i have come to help my people against the yellow dogs." the old chief bowed his head as an expression of gratitude, but said nothing. "the yellow dogs are even now approaching," dusty star continued. "yet the camp is unguarded. i came in from the south. no one challenged me." "the yellow dogs do not come from the south," spotted eagle answered. "their camp is far to the north. we watch the north. also our scouts have been out to the east and west. only a wolf could steal upon us from the south." dusty star was not slow to catch the double meaning of the old chief's remark. his eyes flashed as he answered quickly. "your only help comes with the wolf." "it is you who must help us," the chief replied earnestly. "you will lead our braves, as if you were my own son. see, i will order them to get ready. if the yellow dogs are indeed approaching we must surprise them by an attack." he was about to give the order, when dusty star interrupted him. "you must not go out to attack," he said hurriedly. "see that the braves are fully prepared, but do not allow them to leave the camp. if i am to help you, you must do as i say. i have made my plans. do not attack until you have heard the signal of the wolves." then, without another word, he lifted the door flap, and was gone. the news that the yellow dogs were upon them, threw the camp into a state of terrible fear. even the news of dusty star's miraculous reappearance was not sufficient to reassure them. their nerves were over-strained with the watching of long days and nights. and now, when they had believed the danger to be past, its sudden revival filled them with an unreasoning dread. it was in vain that spotted eagle did his utmost to inspire them with confidence, by quoting dusty star's words. what did his speeches mean, they asked. what signal was that which would come for them from the wolves? the camp was in confusion, some advising one thing, some another. it was only spotted eagle's express orders which prevented a large party going out to meet the enemy and offering battle. the time went on, and nothing happened. there was no sign of the enemy. spotted eagle, listening anxiously, caught no sound that might be the signal of which dusty star had spoken. he grew more and more uneasy as the time passed. * * * * * on leaving the chief's tepee, dusty star had left the camp immediately, not even waiting to show himself to his parents. he dared not risk any delay, realizing that upon him and his wolves their fates, as well as that of the whole tribe, rested. over the dark surface of the prairie he passed with a swift step, knowing where his waiting wolves were to be found. in a very short time he was among them. a third of the pack--that upon the west--was about him. he knew that kiopo, and the wolves under his charge would be lying somewhere to the east. to the north, dogging the heels of the advancing yellow dogs, the white wolf and his company closed stealthily in. totally unprepared for the fate awaiting them, the yellow dogs came on. when they were about half-a-mile from the camp, they stopped; for it was understood that the attack was not to be delivered until the moon had risen. in the north-east, an increasing brightness showed that her appearance was very near. about them the prairies began to take on a pallid glimmer, in which objects wore mysterious shapes. as the light increased, the ponies became more and more restless. their riders dreaded lest the sounds of their growing uneasiness should be carried to some sharply-listening ear in the camp which they were waiting to surprise. they began to be certain that animals of some sort, wolves, or bison, must be somewhere in the locality. the nervousness of the ponies communicated itself to their masters. a whisper ran that it would be better to move at once, without waiting for the moon. only that their chiefs remained firm, they would have advanced to the attack. at length, the edge of the moon's disc rose into sight above the eastern hills. instantly there was a movement of expectation in the indian's ranks. they only waited now for the signal from their leader to launch the long-delayed attack. but before that signal came, another was heard. the moon had barely raised herself clear of the hills when a deep, long-drawn howl broke the intense stillness to the west. the waiting indians recognized it as the mustering call of the hunting wolf when he summons the pack. the note carried for an infinite distance. hardly had it died away, when it was answered from the east. then, silence as before. and the moon began to cast long shadows--shadows that seemed to move! out from the thickets, up from the hollows, down the dark slopes of the bluffs, the shadows crept. the wolves were closing in! * * * * * in the camp, spotted eagle stood uncertain what to do. he had distinctly heard the wolf-calls, but could not be sure whether they were signals from dusty star or not. the camp, hushed with suspense, was very still. a subdued murmur, rising here and there at intervals, was all that could be heard. now and then a woman's figure would step softly from one tepee to another, or a husky would slink across a moonlit space. there was no other movement. suddenly, a dull sound like distant thunder came from the north. it grew louder moment by moment. as all listening ears knew well, it was the beat of galloping hoofs. a series of savage shouts now broke into it--the mingled war-cries of the yellow dogs, and their allies. there was no time now to wait for the promised signal from dusty star. in an instant, spotted eagle's heart was black with rage and fear. there would be no sign from the wolves. the wolf-boy had betrayed them. his promise, like his name, was a puff-ball after all! the chief was just about to give the order to advance, when another sound caught his ear. it was a chorus of sharp barks mingled with howls that seemed to come from all sides at once. it swelled onward in a deafening clamour that filled the prairies to the horizon. it was a sound to which all old indian hunters responded with a thrill--that last terrible rallying cry of wolves when their chase is ended, and the prey about to be pulled down; the pitiless summons, "close in!" instantly, spotted eagle gave the command, and lifting their shrill war-cry, the comanaches rushed out to meet their foes. they were hardly clear of the camp, when they stopped, bewildered by the extraordinary sight before them. in the clear light of the now fully risen moon, they saw a dense mass of indians in violent commotion, with their ponies rearing and kicking in the wildest confusion. on the outskirts of the mass, and completely encircling it, was an enormous pack of wolves, which leaped and dashed against its edges like the waves of a living sea. here and there a small company of indians would thrust itself from the main body, forcing their assailants to give way. but before they could gain sufficient headway to get through, and make their escape, it seemed as if a rising tide of wolves overwhelmed them and drove them back. again and again the indians made a desperate effort to break through; and each time the waves of the billowing pack surged over them, broke, and surged again. amid all the bewildering confusion of the struggle, two objects showed themselves distinctly again and again. one was a huge white wolf whose body, gleaming in the moon, was continually hurling itself against the indians in the thickest of the fight and goading the packs on. it was in ceaseless movement, first on one side, then on the other. now it would be lost to view among the dark bodies of its mates; now it would flash into sight at some other point, like a beam of leaping light. the other object was the figure of a tall indian boy, who was also perpetually changing his position as he mingled with the wolves, and which the thunderstruck comanaches realized could be no other than that of dusty star himself. like the white wolf, his efforts seemed directed to urging the wolves forward at any point where they were in danger of giving way. now and again as he flung up his arms, he would utter a wild cry, half-human, half-wolf, which, piercing the general uproar, rang like a note of doom. at length, the yellow dogs, driven to a frenzy of desperation, forced a passage through the ring of wolves at a point where it had grown thin. as they burst forth towards the open prairie, it was plain that they had abandoned all intention of attacking the camp, and that their one idea was that of escape. and now dusty star's figure was seen to break away from the wolves and to come running towards his people. as he ran, he shouted loudly, waving his arms excitedly in the direction of their fleeing foes. without a moment's further delay, spotted eagle gave the signal, and the comanaches leaped to their ponies. out upon the moonlit prairie the pursuit swept with savage cries, dusty star leading it upon the pony spotted eagle had hastily given him. never before in the longest indian memory, had there been such a flight, or such a pursuit. as it swept tumultuously northwards, men and beasts mingled strangely under the pale glare of the moon. across the quiet spaces of the night it sped on its ghastly way, till the thunder of the beating hoofs roused the echoes in the hills. dusty star, galloping onward, with kiopo running by his side, was filled with a wild feeling of exultation. the wolves had conquered. the enemy was in the full flight of utmost panic. never again could any one doubt the power that had been given to him through kiopo--the medicine of the wolves. never again could it be urged by those who hated them both that, when his people were in danger of destruction, he had refused to help them in their need. and as the last overtaken yellow dog was struck down, with the exception of the small number who managed to escape their merciless pursuers, he knew that his work was ended, and that kiopo need fear his enemies no longer. chapter xxvii carboona's call it was a triumphal entry which dusty star with kiopo at his side, made into the camp. in the absence of the men, the squaws had built large outside fires partly to celebrate their victorious return, partly for the purpose of extensive cooking. as dusty star and his wolf came within the circle of the light, a great shout went up. the entire camp stormed forward to meet them, spotted eagle and the other chiefs forming a guard of honour. naturally dusty star's father, who had returned at last in safety, and his mother were the first to greet him. nikana's delight in having her now famous son safe and sound once more was unbounded. running wolf made little outward sign of joy; but it was not the blaze of the fires alone which made his dusky features take that unaccustomed glow, or the light glitter in his black eyes, as he gazed with pride upon his son. and though half the camp seemed pressing forward to do him honour, and the other half to hang back respectfully in awe of his terrible wolf, dusty star's memory did not sleep. there were other scenes, little less vivid, in which he and kiopo had played very different parts, and when the eyes which now gazed upon them with gratitude and awe had watched them with suspicion and hate. within him the human mind, and the wolf's instinct, were fighting; and neither would allow him to forget. there were two other persons who also had a long memory, and who remained at the outside of the crowd. dusty star's sharp eyes caught sight of a tall, slightly stooping figure, standing alone in solitary contemplation, and he immediately made his way towards it. as he saw the youth approaching him, lone chief never moved. something that might almost have been taken for a smile flickered in his face. dusty star was the first to speak. "i said i would not come," he said, and stopped. lone chief understood. he was remembering an occasion when a boy had come to him with an urgent appeal for help which he had refused; and which because the boy had brought a strange influence with him, he had given it after all. "i also said i would not come," he replied, while the thing that might have been a smile flickered and went out. "the medicine has strange ways. though the words go west, the heart may take the eastern trail." dusty star's mind flashed to sitting-alway's sickness, and he also understood. they said nothing more, but each felt that, whatever happened in the future, there was a sympathy between them which would always hold them friends. the other person with the backward-reaching memory remained even further in the background than lone chief. as the reflections of the dancing flames lit up the old yellow-painted face, its sunken eyes glared out upon the scene with an expression of uneasiness that was almost fear. "the wolves are bad medicine," the painted mouth muttered. "no good will come of it, if the wolf stays." nikana found her mother crouching in the shadows on her way back to the tepee, and did her utmost to persuade her to come and join in welcoming her grandson back; but the old squaw's obstinate refusal was not to be overcome, and she gave up the attempt. so, half in shadow, half in flickering light, the old painted mouth went on muttering from time to time: "bad medicine! bad medicine," till at last sitting-always took herself off uneasily to bed. * * * * * for three days the feasting and rejoicing were continued. dusty star, was, of course, the central figure. in spite of his extreme youth, the treatment he received was that of a great chief and famous medicine-man combined. he was loaded with honours and marks of distinction. presents of all kinds were showered upon him. he became rich--as the indian mind counts riches--in a day. even those who had been most hostile to him in the past, were now the foremost in courting his favour, as the hero of the hour. beside him, spotted eagle himself took a second place. even sitting-always changed her behaviour, and seemed to wish to stand in the good graces of her famous grandson. so that when he visited her tepee, leaving kiopo behind, she showed her broken yellow teeth at him in a smile that was like a wound across her face. and her words were sweet as sarvis-berries that have been well stewed. only, as dusty star listened to them, he heard behind their juiciness, the old false, yellow voice that had cried passionately: "kill! kill!" yet in spite of all his overwhelming good-fortune, he was not happy. if kiopo had shown himself content, it might have been different. but the honours heaped upon the little brother left kiopo untouched. to all friendly advances from any person outside the immediate family circle, he showed an indifference which occasionally gave dangerous signs of changing into enmity. people became chary of visiting the tepee when it was observed that the wolf was on guard.... he might be, and doubtless was, a marvellous animal--a mighty "medicine." but like other great powers, his jaws could close with a snap. from the rabble of the huskies, he naturally held aloof with the utmost scorn. and they in their turn, hating him whole-heartedly, but, fearing him with equal measure, gave him the widest possible berth. day by day, his dislike and distrust of camp-life became more and more apparent. even when his body was still, and he lay motionless as a log, with his great head laid between his out-stretched paws, his eyes, turning constantly from dusty star to the prairies, and back again to dusty star, had the haunted look of a creature in a trap. and dusty star, reading their expression, felt a heavy foreboding settle upon his heart. he was not surprised when, on the fourth day after their return, kiopo disappeared. since the defeat of the yellow dogs, nothing had been seen of the white wolf and his pack. but by sounds heard at sundown, and during the night, and by the unusual restlessness of the ponies, it was believed that a large body of wolves was still hanging about the neighbourhood. if dusty star had not heard the night calls, he could have learnt the truth of the thing by reading kiopo's eyes. on the morning of the fifth day, he was wakened early by the continual howling of a wolf, which seemed to come from a point not far off in the prairie. listening intently, he was sure that kiopo was calling him, and that, for some reason or other, he would not enter the camp. he rose softly from his couch, so as not to disturb his parents, and went out upon the prairie. he expected every minute to find kiopo at his side; but kiopo's voice, like a will-o-the-wisp, was always on ahead, leading him further and further away. at last he came to the foot of look-out-bluff and, in the dim light of the dawn, saw kiopo standing before him. after a rapid licking of the little brother's hand, kiopo turned at once and began to ascend the bluff. dusty star followed him without hesitation. after they had reached the summit, kiopo sat down and gave three, short howling barks. they were answered immediately from a spot to the north. then there was silence, while he and dusty star waited. presently, a large white wolf appeared over the top of the bluff. he was followed by a line of wolves. in the twilight the line appeared endless. and still they came. it seemed as if, for leagues around, the entire prairie was giving up its wolves. dusty star and kiopo stood in the centre, with the white wolf a little to one side. here and there a wolf would sit or lie down, and begin to lick or scratch his coat, but for the most part the animals remained standing, their heads turned towards the group in the centre, as if waiting for some sign. for a considerable time nothing happened. in the windless air, the deep stillness of the dawn seemed to surround the bluff with a ring of silence, cutting it off from the rest of the earth. within that ring, dusty star felt himself in a world, in which, every moment, the wolfishness of things grew more enormous, excluding everything besides. as never before, he felt the soul that was in him answer to the wolves. he knew not why he was here. the wolves were claiming him. they were waiting for something which had not yet happened. when it happened, they would take him with them across the prairies into that tremendous endlessness of the west; to the places beyond the sunset, where the black lakes glimmer to the wolf-trail of the stars. and he knew also, that, if he went, he would not come back; for the moccasins that follow the wolves far enough, find at last the wolf-trail that is worn across the heavens, and never more return. all at once, the white wolf got up and advanced slowly towards kiopo. the two wolves touched noses. the white wolf then turned towards dusty star, looking him full in the face, as much as to say: "are you ready?" after a moment's pause, he trotted away across the bluff and disappeared. the rest of the pack, followed him in a body. when the last wolf had disappeared, dusty star found himself alone with kiopo. the wolf stood straight in front of him, gazing at him intently. dusty star, looking right into his eyes, read the message there, all too plainly: "it is time for us to go." and deep, deep in the west, over a thousand leagues of soundless prairie, he heard carboona call. he wanted to go. all the part of him that was wolf cried out to go. yet something held him back. if carboona sent a voice from the west, so also the camp of his people called him in the east. the human in him, the deep, loving, human thing, which had been born with him, and which he could not understand, refused to let him go. yet kiopo! how could he part with kiopo--the one creature in the world which he fully understood? he felt that he would give all he possessed--his new-found honours, his wealth, his power over his tribe--if only kiopo would return with him to the camp. yet he knew it could not be. it would be asking kiopo to come back to a life which, sooner or later, would prove his doom. yes; whether he himself went or stayed, he knew kiopo must go. that wild heart, faithful as it was, could never more cabin itself in the cramped circle of an indian camp. it, too, had heard carboona's call. carboona--the grim foster-mother had summoned it--and the wolf-heart obeyed. in dusty star's own heart the fight was terrible. it seemed as if the wolf and human, in a final struggle for victory, were rending it apart. and yet, in spite of the wolf within him, tearing him to pieces, the old mystery of of his race, true to its age-long, world-deep roots, held. he knew, at last, that kiopo must return _alone_. * * * * * in the clear light of the rising sun, there might have been seen, drawn sharply against the morning sky on the ridge of look-out-bluff, the figures of an indian and a wolf. then the wolf's disappeared, and the human figure was left standing alone. but although, in the long clearness of the prairies, sound sometimes carries further than sight, no listening ears caught the despairing cry, "kiopo! kiopo!" which sobbed itself westward into a silence that gave no answering voice. * * * * * and now, as to all things, there comes an end, even to the endless-seeming journeys of the wandering cariboo, so also we have reached the the end of the history of dusty star. did he stay with his people always, you ask? or did he one day disappear into carboona to find kiopo? or did kiopo, after long wanderings, return once more to seek the little brother along the eastern trail? i cannot say. only in the west, strange things may happen. but this i know. of the final parting between the boy and the wolf there was no witness, beast or human. and exactly what took place then, no white man's tongue may tell. the big things happen like that. out there, in the enormous spaces, the great spirit hides them in the shadow of his robe. finis baree, son of kazan. james oliver curwood. jtable preface since the publication of my two animal books, "kazan, the wolf dog" and "the grizzly king," i have received so many hundreds of letters from friends of wild animal life, all of which were more or less of an inquiring nature, that i have been encouraged to incorporate in this preface of the third of my series--"baree, son of kazan"--something more of my desire and hope in writing of wild life, and something of the foundation of fact whereupon this and its companion books have been written. i have always disliked the preaching of sermons in the pages of romance. it is like placing a halter about an unsuspecting reader's neck and dragging him into paths for which he may have no liking. but if fact and truth produce in the reader's mind a message for himself, then a work has been done. that is what i hope for in my nature books. the american people are not and never have been lovers of wild life. as a nation we have gone after nature with a gun. and what right, you may ask, has a confessed slaughterer of wild life such as i have been to complain? none at all, i assure you. i have twenty-seven guns--and i have used them all. i stand condemned as having done more than my share toward extermination. but that does not lessen the fact that i have learned; and in learning i have come to believe that if boys and girls and men and women could be brought into the homes and lives of wild birds and animals as their homes are made and their lives are lived we would all understand at last that wherever a heart beats it is very much like our own in the final analysis of things. to see a bird singing on a twig means but little; but to live a season with that bird, to be with it in courting days, in matehood and motherhood, to understand its griefs as well as its gladness means a great deal. and in my books it is my desire to tell of the lives of the wild things which i know as they are actually lived. it is not my desire to humanize them. if we are to love wild animals so much that we do not want to kill them we must know them as they actually live. and in their lives, in the facts of their lives, there is so much of real and honest romance and tragedy, so much that makes them akin to ourselves that the animal biographer need not step aside from the paths of actuality to hold one's interest. perhaps rather tediously i have come to the few words i want to say about baree, the hero of this book. baree, after all, is only another kazan. for it was kazan i found in the way i have described--a bad dog, a killer about to be shot to death by his master when chance, and my own faith in him, gave him to me. we traveled together for many thousands of miles through the northland--on trails to the barren lands, to hudson's bay and to the arctic. kazan--the bad dog, the half-wolf, the killer--was the best four-legged friend i ever had. he died near fort macpherson, on the peel river, and is buried there. and kazan was the father of baree; gray wolf, the full-blooded wolf, was his mother. nepeese, the willow, still lives near god's lake; and it was in the country of nepeese and her father that for three lazy months i watched the doings at beaver town, and went on fishing trips with wakayoo, the bear. sometimes i have wondered if old beaver tooth himself did not in some way understand that i had made his colony safe for his people. it was pierrot's trapping ground; and to pierrot--father of nepeese--i gave my best rifle on his word that he would not harm my beaver friends for two years. and the people of pierrot's breed keep their word. wakayoo, baree's big bear friend, is dead. he was killed as i have described, in that "pocket" among the ridges, while i was on a jaunt to beaver town. we were becoming good friends and i missed him a great deal. the story of pierrot and of his princess wife, wyola, is true; they are buried side by side under the tall spruce that stood near their cabin. pierrot's murderer, instead of dying as i have told it, was killed in his attempt to escape the royal mounted farther west. when i last saw baree he was at lac seul house, where i was the guest of mr. william patterson, the factor; and the last word i heard from him was through my good friend frank aldous, factor at white dog post, who wrote me only a few weeks ago that he had recently seen nepeese and baree and the husband of nepeese, and that the happiness he found in their far wilderness home made him regret that he was a bachelor. i feel sorry for aldous. he is a splendid young englishman, unattached, and some day i am going to try and marry him off. i have in mind someone at the present moment--a fox-trapper's daughter up near the barren, very pretty, and educated at a missioner's school; and as aldous is going with me on my next trip i may have something to say about them in the book that is to follow "baree, son of kazan." james oliver curwood owosso, michigan chapter to baree, for many days after he was born, the world was a vast gloomy cavern. during these first days of his life his home was in the heart of a great windfall where gray wolf, his blind mother, had found a safe nest for his babyhood, and to which kazan, her mate, came only now and then, his eyes gleaming like strange balls of greenish fire in the darkness. it was kazan's eyes that gave to baree his first impression of something existing away from his mother's side, and they brought to him also his discovery of vision. he could feel, he could smell, he could hear--but in that black pit under the fallen timber he had never seen until the eyes came. at first they frightened him; then they puzzled him, and his fear changed to an immense curiosity. he would be looking straight at them, when all at once they would disappear. this was when kazan turned his head. and then they would flash back at him again out of the darkness with such startling suddenness that baree would involuntarily shrink closer to his mother, who always trembled and shivered in a strange sort of way when kazan came in. baree, of course, would never know their story. he would never know that gray wolf, his mother, was a full-blooded wolf, and that kazan, his father, was a dog. in him nature was already beginning its wonderful work, but it would never go beyond certain limitations. it would tell him, in time, that his beautiful wolf mother was blind, but he would never know of that terrible battle between gray wolf and the lynx in which his mother's sight had been destroyed. nature could tell him nothing of kazan's merciless vengeance, of the wonderful years of their matehood, of their loyalty, their strange adventures in the great canadian wilderness--it could make him only a son of kazan. but at first, and for many days, it was all mother. even after his eyes had opened wide and he had found his legs so that he could stumble about a little in the darkness, nothing existed for baree but his mother. when he was old enough to be playing with sticks and moss out in the sunlight, he still did not know what she looked like. but to him she was big and soft and warm, and she licked his face with her tongue, and talked to him in a gentle, whimpering way that at last made him find his own voice in a faint, squeaky yap. and then came that wonderful day when the greenish balls of fire that were kazan's eyes came nearer and nearer, a little at a time, and very cautiously. heretofore gray wolf had warned him back. to be alone was the first law of her wild breed during mothering time. a low snarl from her throat, and kazan had always stopped. but on this day the snarl did not come. in gray wolf's throat it died away in a low, whimpering sound. a note of loneliness, of gladness, of a great yearning. "it is all right now," she was saying to kazan; and kazan--pausing for a moment to make sure--replied with an answering note deep in his throat. still slowly, as if not quite sure of what he would find, kazan came to them, and baree snuggled closer to his mother. he heard kazan as he dropped down heavily on his belly close to gray wolf. he was unafraid--and mightily curious. and kazan, too, was curious. he sniffed. in the gloom his ears were alert. after a little baree began to move. an inch at a time he dragged himself away from gray wolf's side. every muscle in her lithe body tensed. again her wolf blood was warning her. there was danger for baree. her lips drew back, baring her fangs. her throat trembled, but the note in it never came. out of the darkness two yards away came a soft, puppyish whine, and the caressing sound of kazan's tongue. baree had felt the thrill of his first great adventure. he had discovered his father. this all happened in the third week of baree's life. he was just eighteen days old when gray wolf allowed kazan to make the acquaintance of his son. if it had not been for gray wolf's blindness and the memory of that day on the sun rock when the lynx had destroyed her eyes, she would have given birth to baree in the open, and his legs would have been quite strong. he would have known the sun and the moon and the stars; he would have realized what the thunder meant, and would have seen the lightning flashing in the sky. but as it was, there had been nothing for him to do in that black cavern under the windfall but stumble about a little in the darkness, and lick with his tiny red tongue the raw bones that were strewn about them. many times he had been left alone. he had heard his mother come and go, and nearly always it had been in response to a yelp from kazan that came to them like a distant echo. he had never felt a very strong desire to follow until this day when kazan's big, cool tongue caressed his face. in those wonderful seconds nature was at work. his instinct was not quite born until then. and when kazan went away, leaving them alone in darkness, baree whimpered for him to come back, just as he had cried for his mother when now and then she had left him in response to her mate's call. the sun was straight above the forest when, an hour or two after kazan's visit, gray wolf slipped away. between baree's nest and the top of the windfall were forty feet of jammed and broken timber through which not a ray of light could break. this blackness did not frighten him, for he had yet to learn the meaning of light. day, and not night, was to fill him with his first great terror. so quite fearlessly, with a yelp for his mother to wait for him, he began to follow. if gray wolf heard him, she paid no attention to his call, and the sound of the scraping of her claws on the dead timber died swiftly away. this time baree did not stop at the eight-inch log which had always shut in his world in that particular direction. he clambered to the top of it and rolled over on the other side. beyond this was vast adventure, and he plunged into it courageously. it took him a long time to make the first twenty yards. then he came to a log worn smooth by the feet of gray wolf and kazan, and stopping every few feet to send out a whimpering call for his mother, he made his way farther and farther along it. as he went, there grew slowly a curious change in this world of his. he had known nothing but blackness. and now this blackness seemed breaking itself up into strange shapes and shadows. once he caught the flash of a fiery streak above him--a gleam of sunshine--and it startled him so that he flattened himself down upon the log and did not move for half a minute. then he went on. an ermine squeaked under him. he heard the swift rustling of a squirrel's feet, and a curious whut-whut-whut that was not at all like any sound his mother had ever made. he was off the trail. the log was no longer smooth, and it was leading him upward higher and higher into the tangle of the windfall, and was growing narrower every foot he progressed. he whined. his soft little nose sought vainly for the warm scent of his mother. the end came suddenly when he lost his balance and fell. he let out a piercing cry of terror as he felt himself slipping, and then plunged downward. he must have been high up in the windfall, for to baree it seemed a tremendous fall. his soft little body thumped from log to log as he shot this way and that, and when at last he stopped, there was scarcely a breath left in him. but he stood up quickly on his four trembling legs--and blinked. a new terror held baree rooted there. in an instant the whole world had changed. it was a flood of sunlight. everywhere he looked he could see strange things. but it was the sun that frightened him most. it was his first impression of fire, and it made his eyes smart. he would have slunk back into the friendly gloom of the windfall, but at this moment gray wolf came around the end of a great log, followed by kazan. she muzzled baree joyously, and kazan in a most doglike fashion wagged his tail. this mark of the dog was to be a part of baree. half wolf, he would always wag his tail. he tried to wag it now. perhaps kazan saw the effort, for he emitted a muffled yelp of approbation as he sat back on his haunches. or he might have been saying to gray wolf: "well, we've got the little rascal out of that windfall at last, haven't we?" for baree it had been a great day. he had discovered his father--and the world. chapter and it was a wonderful world--a world of vast silence, empty of everything but the creatures of the wild. the nearest hudson's bay post was a hundred miles away, and the first town of civilization was a straight three hundred to the south. two years before, tusoo, the cree trapper, had called this his domain. it had come down to him, as was the law of the forests, through generations of forefathers. but tusoo had been the last of his worn-out family; he had died of smallpox, and his wife and his children had died with him. since then no human foot had taken up his trails. the lynx had multiplied. the moose and caribou had gone unhunted by man. the beaver had built their homes--undisturbed. the tracks of the black bear were as thick as the tracks of the deer farther south. and where once the deadfalls and poison baits of tusoo had kept the wolves thinned down, there was no longer a menace for these mohekuns of the wilderness. following the sun of this first wonderful day came the moon and the stars of baree's first real night. it was a splendid night, and with it a full red moon sailed up over the forests, flooding the earth with a new kind of light, softer and more beautiful to baree. the wolf was strong in him, and he was restless. he had slept that day in the warmth of the sun, but he could not sleep in this glow of the moon. he nosed uneasily about gray wolf, who lay flat on her belly, her beautiful head alert, listening yearningly to the night sounds, and for the tonguing of kazan, who had slunk away like a shadow to hunt. half a dozen times, as baree wandered about near the windfall, he heard a soft whir over his head, and once or twice he saw gray shadows floating swiftly through the air. they were the big northern owls swooping down to investigate him, and if he had been a rabbit instead of a wolf dog whelp, his first night under the moon and stars would have been his last; for unlike wapoos, the rabbit, he was not cautious. gray wolf did not watch him closely. instinct told her that in these forests there was no great danger for baree except at the hands of man. in his veins ran the blood of the wolf. he was a hunter of all other wild creatures, but no other creature, either winged or fanged, hunted him. in a way baree sensed this. he was not afraid of the owls. he was not afraid of the strange bloodcurdling cries they made in the black spruce tops. but once fear entered into him, and he scurried back to his mother. it was when one of the winged hunters of the air swooped down on a snowshoe rabbit, and the squealing agony of the doomed creature set his heart thumping like a little hammer. he felt in those cries the nearness of that one ever-present tragedy of the wild--death. he felt it again that night when, snuggled close to gray wolf, he listened to the fierce outcry of a wolf pack that was close on the heels of a young caribou bull. and the meaning of it all, and the wild thrill of it all, came home to him early in the gray dawn when kazan returned, holding between his jaws a huge rabbit that was still kicking and squirming with life. this rabbit was the climax in the first chapter of baree's education. it was as if gray wolf and kazan had planned it all out, so that he might receive his first instruction in the art of killing. when kazan had dropped it, baree approached the big hare cautiously. the back of wapoos, the rabbit, was broken. his round eyes were glazed, and he had ceased to feel pain. but to baree, as he dug his tiny teeth into the heavy fur under wapoos's throat, the hare was very much alive. the teeth did not go through into the flesh. with puppyish fierceness baree hung on. he thought that he was killing. he could feel the dying convulsions of wapoos. he could hear the last gasping breaths leaving the warm body, and he snarled and tugged until finally he fell back with a mouthful of fur. when he returned to the attack, wapoos was quite dead, and baree continued to bite and snarl until gray wolf came with her sharp fangs and tore the rabbit to pieces. after that followed the feast. so baree came to understand that to eat meant to kill, and as other days and nights passed, there grew in him swiftly the hunger for flesh. in this he was the true wolf. from kazan he had taken other and stronger inheritances of the dog. he was magnificently black, which in later days gave him the name of kusketa mohekun--the black wolf. on his breast was a white star. his right ear was tipped with white. his tail, at six weeks, was bushy and hung low. it was a wolf's tail. his ears were gray wolf's ears--sharp, short, pointed, always alert. his foreshoulders gave promise of being splendidly like kazan's, and when he stood up he was like the trace dog, except that he always stood sidewise to the point or object he was watching. this, again, was the wolf, for a dog faces the direction in which he is looking intently. one brilliant night, when baree was two months old, and when the sky was filled with stars and a june moon so bright that it seemed scarcely higher than the tall spruce tops, baree settled back on his haunches and howled. it was a first effort. but there was no mistake in the note of it. it was the wolf howl. but a moment later when baree slunk up to kazan, as if deeply ashamed of his effort, he was wagging his tail in an unmistakably apologetic manner. and this again was the dog. if tusoo, the dead indian trapper, could have seen him then, he would have judged him by that wagging of his tail. it revealed the fact that deep in his heart--and in his soul, if we can concede that he had one--baree was a dog. in another way tusoo would have found judgment of him. at two months the wolf whelp has forgotten how to play. he is a slinking part of the wilderness, already at work preying on creatures smaller and more helpless than himself. baree still played. in his excursions away from the windfall he had never gone farther than the creek, a hundred yards from where his mother lay. he had helped to tear many dead and dying rabbits into pieces. he believed, if he thought upon the matter at all, that he was exceedingly fierce and courageous. but it was his ninth week before he felt his spurs and fought his terrible battle with the young owl in the edge of the thick forest. the fact that oohoomisew, the big snow owl, had made her nest in a broken stub not far from the windfall was destined to change the whole course of baree's life, just as the blinding of gray wolf had changed hers, and a man's club had changed kazan's. the creek ran close past the stub, which had been shriven by lightning; and this stub stood in a still, dark place in the forest, surrounded by tall, black spruce and enveloped in gloom even in broad day. many times baree had gone to the edge of this mysterious part of the forest and had peered in curiously, and with a growing desire. on this day of his great battle its lure was overpowering. little by little he entered into it, his eyes shining brightly and his ears alert for the slightest sounds that might come out of it. his heart beat faster. the gloom enveloped him more. he forgot the windfall and kazan and gray wolf. here before him lay the thrill of adventure. he heard strange sounds, but very soft sounds, as if made by padded feet and downy wings, and they filled him with a thrilling expectancy. under his feet there were no grass or weeds or flowers, but a wonderful brown carpet of soft evergreen needles. they felt good to his feet, and were so velvety that he could not hear his own movement. he was fully three hundred yards from the windfall when he passed oohoomisew's stub and into a thick growth of young balsams. and there--directly in his path--crouched the monster! papayuchisew [young owl] was not more than a third as large as baree. but he was a terrifying-looking object. to baree he seemed all head and eyes. he could see no body at all. kazan had never brought in anything like this, and for a full half-minute he remained very quiet, eying it speculatively. papayuchisew did not move a feather. but as baree advanced, a cautious step at a time, the bird's eyes grew bigger and the feathers about his head ruffled up as if stirred by a puff of wind. he came of a fighting family, this little papayuchisew--a savage, fearless, and killing family--and even kazan would have taken note of those ruffling feathers. with a space of two feet between them, the pup and the owlet eyed each other. in that moment, if gray wolf could have been there, she might have said to baree: "use your legs--and run!" and oohoomisew, the old owl, might have said to papayuchisew: "you little fool--use your wings and fly!" they did neither--and the fight began. papayuchisew started it, and with a single wild yelp baree went back in a heap, the owlet's beak fastened like a red-hot vise in the soft flesh at the end of his nose. that one yelp of surprise and pain was baree's first and last cry in the fight. the wolf surged in him; rage and the desire to kill possessed him. as papayuchisew hung on, he made a curious hissing sound; and as baree rolled and gnashed his teeth and fought to free himself from that amazing grip on his nose, fierce little snarls rose out of his throat. for fully a minute baree had no use of his jaws. then, by accident, he wedged papayuchisew in a crotch of a low ground shrub, and a bit of his nose gave way. he might have run then, but instead of that he was back at the owlet like a flash. flop went papayuchisew on his back, and baree buried his needlelike teeth in the bird's breast. it was like trying to bite through a pillow, the feathers fangs, and just as they were beginning to prick the owlet's skin, papayuchisew--jabbing a little blindly with a beak that snapped sharply every time it closed--got him by the ear. the pain of that hold was excruciating to baree, and he made a more desperate effort to get his teeth through his enemy's thick armor of feathers. in the struggle they rolled under the low balsams to the edge of the ravine through which ran the creek. over the steep edge they plunged, and as they rolled and bumped to the bottom, baree loosed his hold. papayuchisew hung valiantly on, and when they reached the bottom he still had his grip on baree's ear. baree's nose was bleeding. his ear felt as if it were being pulled from his head; and in this uncomfortable moment a newly awakened instinct made baby papayuchisew discover his wings as a fighting asset. an owl has never really begun to fight until he uses his wings, and with a joyous hissing, papayuchisew began beating his antagonist so fast and so viciously that baree was dazed. he was compelled to close his eyes, and he snapped blindly. for the first time since the battle began he felt a strong inclination to get away. he tried to tear himself free with his forepaws, but papayuchisew--slow to reason but of firm conviction--hung to baree's ear like grim fate. at this critical point, when the understanding of defeat was forming itself swiftly in baree's mind, chance saved him. his fangs closed on one of the owlet's tender feet. papayuchisew gave a sudden squeak. the ear was free at last--and with a snarl of triumph baree gave a vicious tug at papayuchisew's leg. in the excitement of battle he had not heard the rushing tumult of the creek close under them, and over the edge of a rock papayuchisew and he went together, the chill water of the rain-swollen stream muffling a final snarl and a final hiss of the two little fighters. chapter to papayuchisew, after his first mouthful of water, the stream was almost as safe as the air, for he went sailing down it with the lightness of a gull, wondering in his slow-thinking big head why he was moving so swiftly and so pleasantly without any effort of his own. to baree it was a different matter. he went down almost like a stone. a mighty roaring filled his ears; it was dark, suffocating, terrible. in the swift current he was twisted over and over. for a distance of twenty feet he was under water. then he rose to the surface and desperately began using his legs. it was of little use. he had only time to blink once or twice and catch a lungful of air when he shot into a current that was running like a millrace between the butts of two fallen trees, and for another twenty feet the sharpest eyes could not have seen hair or hide of him. he came up again at the edge of a shallow riffle over which the water ran like the rapids at niagara in miniature, and for fifty or sixty yards he was flung along like a hairy ball. from this he was hurled into a deep, cold pool. and then--half dead--he found himself crawling out on a gravelly bar. for a long time baree lay there in a pool of sunlight without moving. his ear hurt him; his nose was raw, and burned as if he had thrust it into fire. his legs and body were sore, and as he began to wander along the gravel bar, he was quite probably the most wretched pup in the world. he was also completely turned around. in vain he looked about him for some familiar mark--something that might guide him back to his windfall home. everything was strange. he did not know that the water had flung him out on the wrong side of the stream, and that to reach the windfall he would have to cross it again. he whined, but that was as loud as his voice rose. gray wolf could have heard his barking, for the windfall was not more than two hundred and fifty yards up the stream. but the wolf in baree held him silent, except for his low whining. striking the main shore, baree began going downstream. this was away from the windfall, and each step that he took carried him farther and farther from home. every little while he stopped and listened. the forest was deeper. it was growing blacker and more mysterious. its silence was frightening. at the end of half an hour baree would even have welcomed papayuchisew. and he would not have fought him--he would have inquired, if possible, the way back home. baree was fully three-quarters of a mile from the windfall when he came to a point where the creek split itself into two channels. he had but one choice to follow--the stream that flowed a little south and east. this stream did not run swiftly. it was not filled with shimmering riffles, and rocks about which the water sang and foamed. it grew black, like the forest. it was still and deep. without knowing it, baree was burying himself deeper and deeper into tusoo's old trapping grounds. since tusoo had died, they had lain undisturbed except for the wolves, for gray wolf and kazan had not hunted on this side of the waterway--and the wolves themselves preferred the more open country for the chase. suddenly baree found himself at the edge of a deep, dark pool in which the water lay still as oil, and his heart nearly jumped out of his body when a great, sleek, shining creature sprang out from almost under his nose and landed with a tremendous splash in the center of it. it was nekik, the otter. the otter had not heard baree, and in another moment napanekik, his wife, came sailing out of a patch of gloom, and behind her came three little otters, leaving behind them four shimmering wakes in the oily-looking water. what happened after that made baree forget for a few minutes that he was lost. nekik had disappeared under the surface, and now he came up directly under his unsuspecting mate with a force that lifted her half out of the water. instantly he was gone again, and napanekik took after him fiercely. to baree it did not look like play. two of the baby otters had pitched on the third, which seemed to be fighting desperately. the chill and ache went out of baree's body. his blood ran excitedly. he forgot himself, and let out a bark. in a flash the otters disappeared. for several minutes the water in the pool continued to rock and heave--and that was all. after a little, baree drew himself back into the bushes and went on. it was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun should still have been well up in the sky. but it was growing darker steadily, and the strangeness and fear of it all lent greater speed to baree's legs. he stopped every little while to listen, and at one of these intervals he heard a sound that drew from him a responsive and joyous whine. it was a distant howl--a wolf's howl--straight ahead of him. baree was not thinking of wolves but of kazan, and he ran through the gloom of the forest until he was winded. then he stopped and listened a long time. the wolf howl did not come again. instead of it there rolled up from the west a deep and thunderous rumble. through the tree-tops there flashed a vivid streak of lightning. a moaning whisper of wind rode in advance of the storm. the thunder sounded nearer; and a second flash of lightning seemed searching baree out where he stood shivering under a canopy of great spruce. this was his second storm. the first had frightened him terribly, and he had crawled far back into the shelter of the windfall. the best he could find now was a hollow under a big root, and into this he slunk, crying softly. it was a babyish cry, a cry for his mother, for home, for warmth, for something soft and protecting to nestle up to. and as he cried, the storm burst over the forest. baree had never before heard so much noise, and he had never seen the lightning play in such sheets of fire as when this june deluge fell. it seemed at times as though the whole world were aflame, and the earth seemed to shake and roll under the crashes of the thunder. he ceased his crying and made himself as small as he could under the root, which protected him partly from the terrific beat of the rain which came down through the treetops in a flood. it was now so black that except when the lightning ripped great holes in the gloom he could not see the spruce trunks twenty feet away. twice that distance from baree there was a huge dead stub that stood out like a ghost each time the fires swept the sky, as if defying the flaming hands up there to strike--and strike, at last, one of them did! a bluish tongue of snapping flame ran down the old stub; and as it touched the earth, there came a tremendous explosion above the treetops. the massive stub shivered, and then it broke asunder as if cloven by a gigantic ax. it crashed down so close to baree that earth and sticks flew about him, and he let out a wild yelp of terror as he tried to crowd himself deeper into the shallow hole under the root. with the destruction of the old stub the thunder and lightning seemed to have vented their malevolence. the thunder passed on into the south and east like the rolling of ten thousand heavy cart wheels over the roofs of the forest, and the lightning went with it. the rain fell steadily. the hole in which he had taken shelter was partly filled with water. he was drenched. his teeth chattered as he waited for the next thing to happen. it was a long wait. when the rain finally stopped, and the sky cleared, it was night. through the tops of the trees baree could have seen the stars if he had poked out his head and looked upward. but he clung to his hole. hour after hour passed. exhausted, half drowned, footsore, and hungry, he did not move. at last he fell into a troubled sleep, a sleep in which every now and then he cried softly and forlornly for his mother. when he ventured out from under the root it was morning, and the sun was shining. at first baree could hardly stand. his legs were cramped. every bone in his body seemed out of joint. his ear was stiff where the blood had oozed out of it and hardened, and when he tried to wrinkle his wounded nose, he gave a sharp little yap of pain. if such a thing were possible, he looked even worse than he felt. his hair had dried in muddy patches; he was dirt-stained from end to end; and where yesterday he had been plump and shiny, he was now as thin and wretched as misfortune could possibly make him. and he was hungry. he had never before known what it meant to be really hungry. when he went on, continuing in the direction he had been following yesterday, he slunk along in a disheartened sort of way. his head and ears were no longer alert, and his curiosity was gone. he was not only stomach hungry: mother hunger rose above his physical yearning for something to eat. he wanted his mother as he had never wanted her before in his life. he wanted to snuggle his shivering little body close up to her and feel the warm caressing of her tongue and listen to the mothering whine of her voice. and he wanted kazan, and the old windfall, and that big blue spot that was in the sky right over it. as he followed again along the edge of the creek, he whimpered for them as a child might grieve. the forest grew more open after a time, and this cheered him up a little. also the warmth of the sun was taking the ache out of his body. but he grew hungrier and hungrier. he always had depended entirely on kazan and gray wolf for food. his parents had, in some ways, made a great baby of him. gray wolf's blindness accounted for this, for since his birth she had not taken up her hunting with kazan, and it was quite natural that baree should stick close to her, though more than once he had been filled with a great yearning to follow his father. nature was hard at work trying to overcome its handicap now. it was struggling to impress on baree that the time had now come when he must seek his own food. the fact impinged itself upon him slowly but steadily, and he began to think of the three or four shellfish he had caught and devoured on the stony creek bar near the windfall. he also remembered the open clamshell he had found, and the lusciousness of the tender morsel inside it. a new excitement began to possess him. he became, all at once, a hunter. with the thinning out of the forest the creek grew more shallow. it ran again over bars of sand and stones, and baree began to nose along the edge of the shallows. for a long time he had no success. the few crayfish that he saw were exceedingly lively and elusive, and all the clamshells were shut so tight that even kazan's powerful jaws would have had difficulty in smashing them. it was almost noon when he caught his first crayfish, about as big as a man's forefinger. he devoured it ravenously. the taste of food gave him fresh courage. he caught two more crayfish during the afternoon. it was almost dusk when he stirred a young rabbit out from under a cover of grass. if he had been a month older, he could have caught it. he was still very hungry, for three crayfish--scattered through the day--had not done much to fill the emptiness that was growing steadily in him. with the approach of night baree's fears and great loneliness returned. before the day had quite gone he found soft bed of sand. since his fight with papayuchisew, he had traveled a long distance, and the rock under which he made his bed this night was at least eight or nine miles from the windfall. it was in the open of the creek bottom, with and when the moon rose, and the stars filled the sky, baree could look out and see the water of the stream shimmering in a glow almost as bright as day. directly in front of him, running to the water's edge, was a broad carpet of white sand. across this sand, half an hour later, came a huge black bear. until baree had seen the otters at play in the creek, his conceptions of the forests had not gone beyond his own kind, and such creatures as owls and rabbits and small feathered things. the otters had not frightened him, because he still measured things by size, and nekik was not half as big as kazan. but the bear was a monster beside which kazan would have stood a mere pygmy. he was big. if nature was taking this way of introducing baree to the fact that there were more important creatures in the forests than dogs and wolves and owls and crayfish, she was driving the point home with a little more than necessary emphasis. for wakayoo, the bear, weighed six hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. he was fat and sleek from a month's feasting on fish. his shiny coat was like black velvet in the moonlight, and he walked with a curious rolling motion with his head hung low. the horror grew when he stopped broadside in the carpet of sand not more than ten feet from the rock under which baree was shivering. it was quite evident that wakayoo had caught scent of him in the air. baree could hear him sniff--could hear his breathing--caught the starlight flashing in his reddish-brown eyes as they swung suspiciously toward the big boulder. if baree could have known then that he--his insignificant little self--was making that monster actually nervous and uneasy, he would have given a yelp of joy. for wakayoo, in spite of his size, was somewhat of a coward when it came to wolves. and baree carried the wolf scent. it grew stronger in wakayoo's nose; and just then, as if to increase whatever nervousness was growing in him, there came from out of the forest behind him a long and wailing howl. with an audible grunt, wakayoo moved on. wolves were pests, he argued. they wouldn't stand up and fight. they'd snap and yap at one's heels for hours at a time, and were always out of the way quicker than a wink when one turned on them. what was the use of hanging around where there were wolves, on a beautiful night like this? he lumbered on decisively. baree could hear him splashing heavily through the water of the creek. not until then did the wolf dog draw a full breath. it was almost a gasp. but the excitement was not over for the night. baree had chosen his bed at a place where the animals came down to drink, and where they crossed from one of the creek forests to the other. not long after the bear had disappeared he heard a heavy crunching in the sand, and hoofs rattling against stones, and a bull moose with a huge sweep of antlers passed through the open space in the moonlight. baree stared with popping eyes, for if wakayoo had weighed six hundred pounds, this gigantic creature whose legs were so long that it seemed to be walking on stilts weighed at least twice as much. a cow moose followed, and then a calf. the calf seemed all legs. it was too much for baree, and he shoved himself farther and farther back under the rock until he lay wedged in like a sardine in a box. and there he lay until morning. chapter when baree ventured forth from under his rock at the beginning of the next day, he was a much older puppy than when he met papayuchisew, the young owl, in his path near the old windfall. if experience can be made to take the place of age, he had aged a great deal in the last forty-eight hours. in fact, he had passed almost out of puppyhood. he awoke with a new and much broader conception of the world. it was a big place. it was filled with many things, of which kazan and gray wolf were not the most important. the monsters he had seen on the moonlit plot of sand had roused in him a new kind of caution, and the one greatest instinct of beasts--the primal understanding that it is the strong that prey upon the weak--was wakening swiftly in him. as yet he quite naturally measured brute force and the menace of things by size alone. thus the bear was more terrible than kazan, and the moose was more terrible than the bear. it was quite fortunate for baree that this instinct did not go to the limit in the beginning and make him understand that his own breed--the wolf--was most feared of all the creatures, claw, hoof, and wing, of the forests. otherwise, like the small boy who thinks he can swim before he has mastered a stroke, he might somewhere have jumped in beyond his depth and had his head chewed off. very much alert, with the hair standing up along his spine, and a little growl in his throat, baree smelled of the big footprints made by the bear and the moose. it was the bear scent that made him growl. he followed the tracks to the edge of the creek. after that he resumed his wandering, and also his hunt for food. for two hours he did not find a crayfish. then he came out of the green timber into the edge of a burned-over country. here everything was black. the stumps of the trees stood up like huge charred canes. it was a comparatively fresh "burn" of last autumn, and the ash was still soft under baree's feet. straight through this black region ran the creek, and over it hung a blue sky in which the sun was shining. it was quite inviting to baree. the fox, the wolf, the moose, and the caribou would have turned back from the edge of this dead country. in another year it would be good hunting ground, but now it was lifeless. even the owls would have found nothing to eat out there. it was the blue sky and the sun and the softness of the earth under his feet that lured baree. it was pleasant to travel in after his painful experiences in the forest. he continued to follow the stream, though there was now little possibility of his finding anything to eat. the water had become sluggish and dark. the channel was choked with charred debris that had fallen into it when the forest had burned, and its shores were soft and muddy. after a time, when baree stopped and looked about him, he could no longer see the green timber he had left. he was alone in that desolate wilderness of charred tree corpses. it was as still as death, too. not the chirp of a bird broke the silence. in the soft ash he could not hear the fall of his own feet. but he was not frightened. there was the assurance of safety here. if he could only find something to eat! that was the master thought that possessed baree. instinct had not yet impressed upon him that this which he saw all about him was starvation. he went on, seeking hopefully for food. but at last, as the hours passed, hope began to die in him. the sun sank westward. the sky grew less blue; a low wind began to ride over the tops of the stubs, and now and then one of them fell with a startling crash. baree could go no farther. an hour before dusk he lay down in the open, weak and starved. the sun disappeared behind the forest. the moon rolled up from the east. the sky glittered with stars--and all through the night baree lay as if dead. when morning came, he dragged himself to the stream for a drink. with his last strength he went on. it was the wolf urging him--compelling him to struggle to the last for his life. the dog in him wanted to lie down and die. but the wolf spark in him burned stronger. in the end it won. half a mile farther on he came again to the green timber. in the forests as well as in the great cities fate plays its changing and whimsical hand. if baree had dragged himself into the timber half an hour later he would have died. he was too far gone now to hunt for crayfish or kill the weakest bird. but he came just as sekoosew, the ermine, the most bloodthirsty little pirate of all the wild--was making a kill. that was fully a hundred yards from where baree lay stretched out under a spruce, almost ready to give up the ghost. sekoosew was a mighty hunter of his kind. his body was about seven inches long, with a tiny black-tipped tail appended to it, and he weighed perhaps five ounces. a baby's fingers could have encircled him anywhere between his four legs, and his little sharp-pointed head with its beady red eyes could slip easily through a hole an inch in diameter. for several centuries sekoosew had helped to make history. it was he--when his pelt was worth a hundred dollars in king's gold--that lured the first shipload of gentlemen adventurers over the sea, with prince rupert at their head. it was little sekoosew who was responsible for the forming of the great hudson's bay company and the discovery of half a continent. for almost three centuries he had fought his fight for existence with the trapper. and now, though he was no longer worth his weight in yellow gold, he was the cleverest, the fiercest, and the most merciless of all the creatures that made up his world. as baree lay under his tree, sekoosew was creeping on his prey. his game was a big fat spruce hen standing under a thicket of black currant bushes. the ear of no living thing could have heard sekoosew's movement. he was like a shadow--a gray dot here, a flash there, now hidden behind a stick no larger than a man's wrist, appearing for a moment, the next instant gone as completely as if he had not existed. thus he approached from fifty feet to within three feet of the spruce hen. that was his favorite striking distance. unerringly he launched himself at the drowsy partridge's throat, and his needlelike teeth sank through feathers into flesh. sekoosew was prepared for what happened then. it always happened when he attacked napanao, the wood partridge. her wings were powerful, and her first instinct when he struck was always that of flight. she rose straight up now with a great thunder of wings. sekoosew hung tight, his teeth buried deep in her throat, and his tiny, sharp claws clinging to her like hands. through the air he whizzed with her, biting deeper and deeper, until a hundred yards from where that terrible death thing had fastened to her throat, napanao crashed again to earth. where she fell was not ten feet from baree. for a few moments he looked at the struggling mass of feathers in a daze, not quite comprehending that at last food was almost within his reach. napanao was dying, but she still struggled convulsively with her wings. baree rose stealthily, and after a moment in which he gathered all his remaining strength, he made a rush for her. his teeth sank into her breast--and not until then did he see sekoosew. the ermine had raised his head from the death grip at the partridge's throat, and his savage little red eyes glared for a single instant into baree's. here was something too big to kill, and with an angry squeak the ermine was gone. napanao's wings relaxed, and the throb went out of her body. she was dead. baree hung on until he was sure. then he began his feast. with murder in his heart, sekoosew hovered near, whisking here and there but never coming nearer than half a dozen feet from baree. his eyes were redder than ever. now and then he emitted a sharp little squeak of rage. never had he been so angry in all his life! to have a fat partridge stolen from him like this was an imposition he had never suffered before. he wanted to dart in and fasten his teeth in baree's jugular. but he was too good a general to make the attempt, too good a napoleon to jump deliberately to his waterloo. an owl he would have fought. he might even have given battle to his big brother--and his deadliest enemy--the mink. but in baree he recognized the wolf breed, and he vented his spite at a distance. after a time his good sense returned, and he went off on another hunt. baree ate a third of the partridge, and the remaining two thirds he cached very carefully at the foot of the big spruce. then he hurried down to the creek for a drink. the world looked very different to him now. after all, one's capacity for happiness depends largely on how deeply one has suffered. one's hard luck and misfortune form the measuring stick for future good luck and fortune. so it was with baree. forty-eight hours ago a full stomach would not have made him a tenth part as happy as he was now. then his greatest longing was for his mother. since then a still greater yearning had come into his life--for food. in a way it was fortunate for him that he had almost died of exhaustion and starvation, for his experience had helped to make a man of him--or a wolf dog, just as you are of a mind to put it. he would miss his mother for a long time. but he would never miss her again as he had missed her yesterday and the day before. that afternoon baree took a long nap close to his cache. then he uncovered the partridge and ate his supper. when his fourth night alone came, he did not hide himself as he had done on the three preceding nights. he was strangely and curiously alert. under the moon and the stars he prowled in the edge of the forest and out on the burn. he listened with a new kind of thrill to the faraway cry of a wolf pack on the hunt. he listened to the ghostly whoo-whoo-whoo of the owls without shivering. sounds and silences were beginning to hold a new and significant note for him. for another day and night baree remained in the vicinity of his cache. when the last bone was picked, he moved on. he now entered a country where subsistence was no longer a perilous problem for him. it was a lynx country, and where there are lynx, there are also a great many rabbits. when the rabbits thin out, the lynx emigrate to better hunting grounds. as the snowshoe rabbit breeds all the summer through, baree found himself in a land of plenty. it was not difficult for him to catch and kill the young rabbits. for a week he prospered and grew bigger and stronger each day. but all the time, stirred by that seeking, wanderlust spirit--still hoping to find the old home and his mother--he traveled into the north and east. and this was straight into the trapping country of pierrot, the half-breed. pierrot, until two years ago, had believed himself to be one of the most fortunate men in the big wilderness. that was before la mort rouge--the red death--came. he was half french, and he had married a cree chief's daughter, and in their log cabin on the gray loon they had lived for many years in great prosperity and happiness. pierrot was proud of three things in this wild world of his. he was immensely proud of wyola, his royal-blooded wife. he was proud of his daughter; and he was proud of his reputation as a hunter. until the red death came, life was quite complete for him. it was then--two years ago--that the smallpox killed his princess wife. he still lived in the little cabin on the gray loon, but he was a different pierrot. the heart was sick in him. it would have died, had it not been for nepeese, his daughter. his wife had named her nepeese, which means the willow. nepeese had grown up like the willow, slender as a reed, with all her mother's wild beauty, and with a little of the french thrown in. she was sixteen, with great, dark, wonderful eyes, and hair so beautiful that an agent from montreal passing that way had once tried to buy it. it fell in two shining braids, each as big as a man's wrist, almost to her knees. "non, m'sieu," pierrot had said, a cold glitter in his eyes as he saw what was in the agent's face. "it is not for barter." two days after baree had entered his trapping ground, pierrot came in from the forests with a troubled look in his face. "something is killing off the young beavers," he explained to nepeese, speaking to her in french. "it is a lynx or a wolf. tomorrow--" he shrugged his thin shoulders, and smiled at her. "we will go on the hunt," laughed nepeese happily, in her soft cree. when pierrot smiled at her like that, and began with "tomorrow," it always meant that she might go with him on the adventure he was contemplating. still another day later, at the end of the afternoon, baree crossed the gray loon on a bridge of driftwood that had wedged between two trees. this was to the north. just beyond the driftwood bridge there was a small clearing, and on the edge of it baree paused to enjoy the last of the setting sun. as he stood motionless and listening, his tail drooping low, his ears alert, his sharp-pointed nose sniffing the new country to the north, there was not a pair of eyes in the forest that would not have taken him for a young wolf. from behind a clump of young balsams, a hundred yards away, pierrot and nepeese had watched him come over the driftwood bridge. now was the time, and pierrot leveled his rifle. it was not until then that nepeese touched his arm softly. her breath came a little excitedly as she whispered: "nootawe, let me shoot. i can kill him!" with a low chuckle pierrot gave the gun to her. he counted the whelp as already dead. for nepeese, at that distance, could send a bullet into an inch square nine times out of ten. and nepeese, aiming carefully at baree, pressed steadily with her brown forefinger upon the trigger. chapter as the willow pulled the trigger of her rifle, baree sprang into the air. he felt the force of the bullet before he heard the report of the gun. it lifted him off his feet, and then sent him rolling over and over as if he had been struck a hideous blow with a club. for a flash he did not feel pain. then it ran through him like a knife of fire, and with that pain the dog in him rose above the wolf, and he let out a wild outcry of puppyish yapping as he rolled and twisted on the ground. pierrot and nepeese had stepped from behind the balsams, the willow's beautiful eyes shining with pride at the accuracy of her shot. instantly she caught her breath. her brown fingers clutched at the barrel of her rifle. the chuckle of satisfaction died on pierrot's lips as baree's cries of pain filled the forest. "uchi moosis!" gasped nepeese, in her cree. pierrot caught the rifle from her. "diable! a dog--a puppy!" he cried. he started on a run for baree. but in their amazement they had lost a few seconds and baree's dazed senses were returning. he saw them clearly as they came across the open--a new kind of monster of the forests! with a final wail he darted back into the deep shadows of the trees. it was almost sunset, and he ran for the thick gloom of the heavy spruce near the creek. he had shivered at sight of the bear and the moose, but for the first time he now sensed the real meaning of danger. and it was close after him. he could hear the crashing of the two-legged beasts in pursuit; strange cries were almost at his heels--and then suddenly he plunged without warning into a hole. it was a shock to have the earth go out from under his feet like that, but baree did not yelp. the wolf was dominant in him again. it urged him to remain where he was, making no move, no sound--scarcely breathing. the voices were over him; the strange feet almost stumbled in the hole where he lay. looking out of his dark hiding place, he could see one of his enemies. it was nepeese, the willow. she was standing so that a last glow of the day fell upon her face. baree did not take his eyes from her. above his pain there rose in him a strange and thrilling fascination. the girl put her two hands to her mouth and in a voice that was soft and plaintive and amazingly comforting to his terrified little heart, cried: "uchimoo--uchimoo--uchimoo!" and then he heard another voice; and this voice, too, was far less terrible than many sounds he had listened to in the forests. "we cannot find him, nepeese," the voice was saying. "he has crawled off to die. it is too bad. come." where baree had stood in the edge of the open pierrot paused and pointed to a birch sapling that had been cut clean off by the willow's bullet. nepeese understood. the sapling, no larger than her thumb, had turned her shot a trifle and had saved baree from instant death. she turned again, and called: "uchimoo--uchimoo--uchimoo!" her eyes were no longer filled with the thrill of slaughter. "he would not understand that," said pierrot, leading the way across the open. "he is wild--born of the wolves. perhaps he was of koomo's lead bitch, who ran away to hunt with the packs last winter." "and he will die--" "ayetun--yes, he will die." but baree had no idea of dying. he was too tough a youngster to be shocked to death by a bullet passing through the soft flesh of his foreleg. that was what had happened. his leg was torn to the bone, but the bone itself was untouched. he waited until the moon had risen before he crawled out of his hole. his leg had grown stiff, but it had stopped bleeding, though his whole body was racked by a terrible pain. a dozen papayuchisews, all holding right to his ears and nose, could not have hurt him more. every time he moved, a sharp twinge shot through him; and yet he persisted in moving. instinctively he felt that by traveling away from the hole he would get away from danger. this was the best thing that could have happened to him, for a little later a porcupine came wandering along, chattering to itself in its foolish, good-humored way, and fell with a fat thud into the hole. had baree remained, he would have been so full of quills that he must surely have died. in another way the exercise of travel was good for baree. it gave his wound no opportunity to "set," as pierrot would have said, for in reality his hurt was more painful than serious. for the first hundred yards he hobbled along on three legs, and after that he found that he could use his fourth by humoring it a great deal. he followed the creek for a half mile. whenever a bit of brush touched his wound, he would snap at it viciously, and instead of whimpering when he felt one of the sharp twinges shooting through him, an angry little growl gathered in his throat, and his teeth clicked. now that he was out of the hole, the effect of the willow's shot was stirring every drop of wolf blood in his body. in him there was a growing animosity--a feeling of rage not against any one thing in particular, but against all things. it was not the feeling with which he had fought papayuchisew, the young owl. on this night the dog in him had disappeared. an accumulation of misfortunes had descended upon him, and out of these misfortunes--and his present hurt--the wolf had risen savage and vengeful. this was the first time baree had traveled at night. he was, for the time, unafraid of anything that might creep up on him out of the darkness. the blackest shadows had lost their terror. it was the first big fight between the two natures that were born in him--the wolf and the dog--and the dog was vanquished. now and then he stopped to lick his wound, and as he licked it he growled, as though for the hurt itself he held a personal antagonism. if pierrot could have seen and heard, he would have understood very quickly, and he would have said: "let him die. the club will never take that devil out of him." in this humor baree came, an hour later, out of the heavy timber of the creek bottom into the more open spaces of a small plain that ran along the foot of a ridge. it was in this plain that oohoomisew hunted. oohoomisew was a huge snow owl. he was the patriarch among all the owls of pierrot's trapping domain. he was so old that he was almost blind, and therefore he never hunted as other owls hunted. he did not hide himself in the black cover of spruce and balsam tops, or float softly through the night, ready in an instant to swoop down upon his prey. his eyesight was so poor that from a spruce top he could not have seen a rabbit at all, and he might have mistaken a fox for a mouse. so old oohoomisew, learning wisdom from experience, hunted from ambush. he would squat on the ground, and for hours at a time he would remain there without making a sound and scarcely moving a feather, waiting with the patience of job for something to eat to come his way. now and then he had made mistakes. twice he had mistaken a lynx for a rabbit, and in the second attack he had lost a foot, so that when he slumbered aloft during the day he clung to his perch with one claw. crippled, nearly blind, and so old that he had long ago lost the tufts of feathers over his ears, he was still a giant in strength, and when he was angry, one could hear the snap of his beak twenty yards away. for three nights he had been unlucky, and tonight he had been particularly unfortunate. two rabbits had come his way, and he had lunged at each of them from his cover. the first he had missed entirely; the second had left with him a mouthful of fur--and that was all. he was ravenously hungry, and he was gritting his bill in his bad temper when he heard baree approaching. even if baree could have seen under the dark bush ahead, and had discovered oohoomisew ready to dart from his ambush, it is not likely that he would have gone very far aside. his own fighting blood was up. he, too, was ready for war. very indistinctly oohoomisew saw him at last, coming across the little open space which he was watching. he squatted down. his feathers ruffled up until he was like a ball. his almost sightless eyes glowed like two bluish pools of fire. ten feet away, baree stopped for a moment and licked his wound. oohoomisew waited cautiously. again baree advanced, passing within six feet of the bush. with a swift hop and a sudden thunder of his powerful wings the great owl was upon him. this time baree let out no cry of pain or of fright. the wolf is kipichi-mao, as the indians say. no hunter ever heard a trapped wolf whine for mercy at the sting of a bullet or the beat of a club. he dies with his fangs bared. tonight it was a wolf whelp that oohoomisew was attacking, and not a dog pup. the owl's first rush keeled baree over, and for a moment he was smothered under the huge, outspread wings, while oohoomisew--pinioning him down--hopped for a claw hold with his one good foot, and struck fiercely with his beak. one blow of that beak anywhere about the head would have settled for a rabbit, but at the first thrust oohoomisew discovered that it was not a rabbit he was holding under his wings. a bloodcurdling snarl answered the blow, and oohoomisew remembered the lynx, his lost foot, and his narrow escape with his life. the old pirate might have beaten a retreat, but baree was no longer the puppyish baree of that hour in which he had fought young papayuchisew. experience and hardship had aged and strengthened him. his jaws had passed quickly from the bone-licking to the bone-cracking age--and before oohoomisew could get away, if he was thinking of flight at all, baree's fangs closed with a vicious snap on his one good leg. in the stillness of night there rose a still greater thunder of wings, and for a few moments baree closed his eyes to keep from being blinded by oohoomisew's furious blows. but he hung on grimly, and as his teeth met through the flesh of the old night-pirate's leg, his angry snarl carried defiance to oohoomisew's ears. rare good fortune had given him that grip on the leg, and baree knew that triumph or defeat depended on his ability to hold it. the old owl had no other claw to sink into him, and it was impossible--caught as he was--for him to tear at baree with his beak. so he continued to beat that thunder of blows with his four-foot wings. the wings made a great tumult about baree, but they did not hurt him. he buried his fangs deeper. his snarls rose more fiercely as he got the taste of oohoomisew's blood, and through him there surged more hotly the desire to kill this monster of the night, as though in the death of this creature he had the opportunity of avenging himself for all the hurts and hardships that had befallen him since he had lost his mother. oohoomisew had never felt a great fear until now. the lynx had snapped at him but once--and was gone, leaving him crippled. but the lynx had not snarled in that wolfish way, and it had not hung on. a thousand and one nights oohoomisew had listened to the wolf howl. instinct had told him what it meant. he had seen the packs pass swiftly through the night, and always when they passed he had kept in the deepest shadows. to him, as for all other wild things, the wolf howl stood for death. but until now, with baree's fangs buried in his leg, he had never sensed fully the wolf fear. it had taken it years to enter into his slow, stupid head--but now that it was there, it possessed him as no other thing had ever possessed him in all his life. suddenly oohoomisew ceased his beating and launched himself upward. like huge fans his powerful wings churned the air, and baree felt himself lifted suddenly from the earth. still he held on--and in a moment both bird and beast fell back with a thud. oohoomisew tried again. this time he was more successful, and he rose fully six feet into the air with baree. they fell again. a third time the old outlaw fought to wing himself free of baree's grip; and then, exhausted, he lay with his giant wings outspread, hissing and cracking his bill. under those wings baree's mind worked with the swift instincts of the killer. suddenly he changed his hold, burying his fangs into the under part of oohoomisew's body. they sank into three inches of feathers. swift as baree had been, oohoomisew was equally swift to take advantage of his opportunity. in an instant he had swooped upward. there was a jerk, a rending of feathers from flesh--and baree was alone on the field of battle. baree had not killed, but he had conquered. his first great day--or night--had come. the world was filled with a new promise for him, as vast as the night itself. and after a moment he sat back on his haunches, sniffing the air for his beaten enemy. then, as if defying the feathered monster to come back and fight to the end, he pointed his sharp little muzzle up to the stars and sent forth his first babyish wolf howl into the night. chapter baree's fight with oohoomisew was good medicine for him. it not only gave him great confidence in himself, but it also cleared the fever of ugliness from his blood. he no longer snapped and snarled at things as he went on through the night. it was a wonderful night. the moon was straight overhead, and the sky was filled with stars, so that in the open spaces the light was almost like that of day, except that it was softer and more beautiful. it was very still. there was no wind in the treetops, and it seemed to baree that the howl he had given must have echoed to the end of the world. now and then baree heard a sound--and always he stopped, attentive and listening. far away he heard the long, soft mooing of a cow moose. he heard a great splashing in the water of a small lake that he came to, and once there came to him the sharp cracking of horn against horn--two bucks settling a little difference of opinion a quarter of a mile away. but it was always the wolf howl that made him sit and listen longest, his heart beating with a strange impulse which he did not as yet understand. it was the call of his breed, growing in him slowly but insistently. he was still a wanderer--pupamootao, the indians call it. it is this "wander spirit" that inspires for a time nearly every creature of the wild as soon as it is able to care for itself--nature's scheme, perhaps, for doing away with too close family relations and possibly dangerous interbreeding. baree, like the young wolf seeking new hunting grounds, or the young fox discovering a new world, had no reason or method in his wandering. he was simply "traveling"--going on. he wanted something which he could not find. the wolf call brought it to him. the stars and the moon filled baree with a yearning for this something. the distant sounds impinged upon him his great aloneness. and instinct told him that only by questing could he find. it was not so much kazan and gray wolf that he missed now--not so much motherhood and home as it was companionship. now that he had fought the wolfish rage out of him in his battle with oohoomisew, the dog part of him had come into its own again--the lovable half of him, the part that wanted to snuggle up near something that was alive and friendly, small odds whether it wore feathers or fur, was clawed or hoofed. he was sore from the willow's bullet, and he was sore from battle, and toward dawn he lay down under a shelter of some alders at the edge of a second small lake and rested until midday. then he began questing in the reeds and close to the pond lilies for food. he found a dead jackfish, partly eaten by a mink, and finished it. his wound was much less painful this afternoon, and by nightfall he scarcely noticed it at all. since his almost tragic end at the hands of nepeese, he had been traveling in a general northeasterly direction, following instinctively the run of the waterways. but his progress had been slow, and when darkness came again he was not more than eight or ten miles from the hole into which he had fallen after the willow had shot him. baree did not travel far this night. the fact that his wound had come with dusk, and his fight with oohoomisew still later, filled him with caution. experience had taught him that the dark shadows and the black pits in the forest were possible ambuscades of danger. he was no longer afraid, as he had once been, but he had had fighting enough for a time, and so he accepted circumspection as the better part of valor and held himself aloof from the perils of darkness. it was a strange instinct that made him seek his bed on the top of a huge rock up which he had some difficulty in climbing. perhaps it was a harkening back to the days of long ago when gray wolf, in her first motherhood, sought refuge at the summit of the sun rock which towered high above the forest world of which she and kazan were a part, and where later she was blinded in her battle with the lynx. baree's rock, instead of rising for a hundred feet or more straight up, was possibly as high as a man's head. it was in the edge of the creek bottom, with the spruce forest close at his back. for many hours he did not sleep, but lay keenly alert, his ears tuned to catch every sound that came out of the dark world about him. there was more than curiosity in his alertness tonight. his education had broadened immensely in one way: he had learned that he was a very small part of all this wonderful earth that lay under the stars and the moon, and he was keenly alive with the desire to become better acquainted with it without any more fighting or hurt. tonight he knew what it meant when he saw now and then gray shadows float silently out of the forest into the moonlight--the owls, monsters of the breed with which he had fought. he heard the crackling of hoofed feet and the smashing of heavy bodies in the underbrush. he heard again the mooing of the moose. voices came to him that he had not heard before--the sharp yap-yap-yap of a fox, the unearthly, laughing cry of a great northern loon on a lake half a mile away, the scream of a lynx that came floating through miles of forest, the low, soft croaks of the nighthawks between himself and the stars. he heard strange whisperings in the treetops--whisperings of the wind. and once, in the heart of a dead stillness, a buck whistled shrilly close behind his rock--and at the wolf scent in the air shot away in a terror-stricken gray streak. all these sounds held their new meaning for baree. swiftly he was coming into his knowledge of the wilderness. his eyes gleamed; his blood thrilled. often for many minutes at a time he scarcely moved. but of all the sounds that came to him, the wolf cry thrilled him most. again and again he listened to it. at times it was far away, so far that it was like a whisper, dying away almost before it reached him. then again it would come to him full-throated, hot with the breath of the chase, calling him to the red thrill of the hunt, to the wild orgy of torn flesh and running blood--calling, calling, calling. that was it, calling him to his own kin, to the bone of his bone and the flesh of his flesh--to the wild, fierce hunting packs of his mother's tribe! it was gray wolf's voice seeking for him in the night--gray wolf's blood inviting him to the brotherhood of the pack. baree trembled as he listened. in his throat he whined softly. he edged to the sheer face of the rock. he wanted to go; nature was urging him to go. but the call of the wild was struggling against odds. for in him was the dog, with its generations of subdued and sleeping instincts--and all that night the dog in him kept baree to the top of his rock. next morning baree found many crayfish along the creek, and he feasted on their succulent flesh until he felt that he would never be hungry again. nothing had tasted quite so good since he had eaten the partridge of which he had robbed sekoosew the ermine. in the middle of the afternoon baree came into a part of the forest that was very quiet and very peaceful. the creek had deepened. in places its banks swept out until they formed small ponds. twice he made considerable detours to get around these ponds. he traveled very quietly, listening and watching. not since the ill-fated day he had left the old windfall had he felt quite so much at home as now. it seemed to him that at last he was treading country which he knew, and where he would find friends. perhaps this was another miracle mystery of instinct--of nature. for he was in old beaver tooth's domain. it was here that his father and mother had hunted in the days before he was born. it was not far from here that kazan and beaver tooth had fought that mighty duel under water, from which kazan had escaped with his life without another breath to lose. baree would never know these things. he would never know that he was traveling over old trails. but something deep in him gripped him strangely. he sniffed the air, as if in it he found the scent of familiar things. it was only a faint breath--an indefinable promise that brought him to the point of a mysterious anticipation. the forest grew deeper. it was wonderful virgin forest. there was no undergrowth, and traveling under the trees was like being in a vast, mystery-filled cavern through the roof of which the light of day broke softly, brightened here and there by golden splashes of the sun. for a mile baree made his way quietly through this forest. he saw nothing but a few winged flirtings of birds; there was almost no sound. then he came to a still larger pond. around this pond there was a thick growth of alders and willows where the larger trees had thinned out. he saw the glimmer of afternoon sunlight on the water--and then, all at once, he heard life. there had been few changes in beaver tooth's colony since the days of his feud with kazan and the otters. old beaver tooth was somewhat older. he was fatter. he slept a great deal, and perhaps he was less cautious. he was dozing on the great mud-and-brushwood dam of which he had been engineer-in-chief, when baree came out softly on a high bank thirty or forty feet away. so noiseless had baree been that none of the beavers had seen or heard him. he squatted himself flat on his belly, hidden behind a tuft of grass, and with eager interest watched every movement. beaver tooth was rousing himself. he stood on his short legs for a moment; then he tilted himself up on his broad, flat tail like a soldier at attention, and with a sudden whistle dived into the pond with a great splash. in another moment it seemed to baree that the pond was alive with beavers. heads and bodies appeared and disappeared, rushing this way and that through the water in a manner that amazed and puzzled him. it was the colony's evening frolic. tails hit the water like flat boards. odd whistlings rose above the splashing--and then as suddenly as it had begun, the play came to an end. there were probably twenty beavers, not counting the young, and as if guided by a common signal--something which baree had not heard--they became so quiet that hardly a sound could be heard in the pond. a few of them sank under the water and disappeared entirely, but most of them baree could watch as they drew themselves out on shore. the beavers lost no time in getting at their labor, and baree watched and listened without so much as rustling a blade of the grass in which he was concealed. he was trying to understand. he was striving to place these curious and comfortable-looking creatures in his knowledge of things. they did not alarm him; he felt no uneasiness at their number or size. his stillness was not the quiet of discretion, but rather of a strange and growing desire to get better acquainted with this curious four-legged brotherhood of the pond. already they had begun to make the big forest less lonely for him. and then, close under him--not more than ten feet from where he lay--he saw something that almost gave voice to the puppyish longing for companionship that was in him. down there, on a clean strip of the shore that rose out of the soft mud of the pond, waddled fat little umisk and three of his playmates. umisk was just about baree's age, perhaps a week or two younger. but he was fully as heavy, and almost as wide as he was long. nature can produce no four-footed creature that is more lovable than a baby beaver, unless it is a baby bear; and umisk would have taken first prize at any beaver baby show in the world. his three companions were a bit smaller. they came waddling from behind a low willow, making queer little chuckling noises, their little flat tails dragging like tiny sledges behind them. they were fat and furry, and mighty friendly looking to baree, and his heart beat a sudden swift-pit-a-pat of joy. but baree did not move. he scarcely breathed. and then, suddenly, umisk turned on one of his playmates and bowled him over. instantly the other two were on umisk, and the four little beavers rolled over and over, kicking with their short feet and spatting with their tails, and all the time emitting soft little squeaking cries. baree knew that it was not fight but frolic. he rose up on his feet. he forgot where he was--forgot everything in the world but those playing, furry balls. for the moment all the hard training nature had been giving him was lost. he was no longer a fighter, no longer a hunter, no longer a seeker after food. he was a puppy, and in him there rose a desire that was greater than hunger. he wanted to go down there with umisk and his little chums and roll and play. he wanted to tell them, if such a thing were possible, that he had lost his mother and his home, and that he had been having a mighty hard time of it, and that he would like to stay with them and their mothers and fathers if they didn't mind. in his throat there came the least bit of a whine. it was so low that umisk and his playmates did not hear it. they were tremendously busy. softly baree took his first step toward them, and then another--and at last he stood on the narrow strip of shore within half a dozen feet of them. his sharp little ears were pitched forward, and he was wiggling his tail as fast as he could, and every muscle in his body was trembling in anticipation. it was then that umisk saw him, and his fat little body became suddenly as motionless as a stone. "hello!" said baree, wiggling his whole body and talking as plainly as a human tongue could talk. "do you care if i play with you?" umisk made no response. his three playmates now had their eyes on baree. they didn't make a move. they looked stunned. four pairs of staring, wondering eyes were fixed on the stranger. baree made another effort. he groveled on his forelegs, while his tail and hind legs continued to wiggle, and with a sniff he grabbed a bit of stick between his teeth. "come on--let me in," he urged. "i know how to play!" he tossed the stick in the air as if to prove what he was saying, and gave a little yap. umisk and his brothers were like dummies. and then, of a sudden, someone saw baree. it was a big beaver swimming down the pond with a sapling timber for the new dam that was under way. instantly he loosed his hold and faced the shore. and then, like the report of a rifle, there came the crack of his big flat tail on the water--the beaver's signal of danger that on a quiet night can be heard half a mile away. "danger," it warned. "danger--danger--danger!" scarcely had the signal gone forth when tails were cracking in all directions--in the pond, in the hidden canals, in the thick willows and alders. to umisk and his companions they said: "run for your lives!" baree stood rigid and motionless now. in amazement he watched the four little beavers plunge into the pond and disappear. he heard the sounds of other and heavier bodies striking the water. and then there followed a strange and disquieting silence. softly baree whined, and his whine was almost a sobbing cry. why had umisk and his little mates run away from him? what had he done that they didn't want to make friends with him? a great loneliness swept over him--a loneliness greater even than that of his first night away from his mother. the last of the sun faded out of the sky as he stood there. darker shadows crept over the pond. he looked into the forest, where night was gathering--and with another whining cry he slunk back into it. he had not found friendship. he had not found comradeship. and his heart was very sad. chapter for two or three days baree's excursions after food took him farther and farther away from the pond. but each afternoon he returned to it--until the third day, when he discovered a new creek, and wakayoo. the creek was fully two miles back in the forest. this was a different sort of stream. it sang merrily over a gravelly bed and between chasm walls of split rock. it formed deep pools and foaming eddies, and where baree first struck it, the air trembled with the distant thunder of a waterfall. it was much pleasanter than the dark and silent beaver stream. it seemed possessed of life, and the rush and tumult of it--the song and thunder of the water--gave to baree entirely new sensations. he made his way along it slowly and cautiously, and it was because of this slowness and caution that he came suddenly and unobserved upon wakayoo, the big black bear, hard at work fishing. wakayoo stood knee-deep in a pool that had formed behind a sand bar, and he was having tremendously good luck. even as baree shrank back, his eyes popping at sight of this monster he had seen but once before, in the gloom of night, one of wakayoo's big paws sent a great splash of water high in the air, and a fish landed on the pebbly shore. a little while before, the suckers had run up the creek in thousands to spawn, and the rapid lowering of the water had caught many of them in these prison pools. wakayoo's fat, sleek body was evidence of the prosperity this circumstance had brought him. although it was a little past the "prime" season for bearskins, wakayoo's coat was splendidly thick and black. for a quarter of an hour baree watched him while he knocked fish out of the pool. when at last he stopped, there were twenty or thirty fish among the stones, some of them dead and others still flopping. from where he lay flattened out between two rocks, baree could hear the crunching of flesh and bone as the bear devoured his dinner. it sounded good, and the fresh smell of fish filled him with a craving that had never been roused by crayfish or even partridge. in spite of his fat and his size, wakayoo was not a glutton, and after he had eaten his fourth fish he pawed all the others together in a pile, partly covered them by raking up sand and stones with his long claws, and finished his work of caching by breaking down a small balsam sapling so that the fish were entirely concealed. then he lumbered slowly away in the direction of the rumbling waterfall. twenty seconds after the last of wakayoo had disappeared in a turn of the creek, baree was under the broken balsam. he dragged out a fish that was still alive. he ate the whole of it, and it tasted delicious. baree now found that wakayoo had solved the food problem for him, and this day he did not return to the beaver pond, nor the next. the big bear was incessantly fishing up and down the creek, and day after day baree continued his feasts. it was not difficult for him to find wakayoo's caches. all he had to do was to follow along the shore of the stream, sniffing carefully. some of the caches were getting old, and their perfume was anything but pleasant to baree. these he avoided--but he never missed a meal or two out of a fresh one. for a week life continued to be exceedingly pleasant. and then came the break--the change that was destined to meant for kazan, his father, when he killed the man-brute at the edge of the wilderness. this change came or the day when, in trotting around a great rock near the waterfall, baree found himself face to face with pierrot the hunter and nepeese, the star-eyed girl who had shot him in the edge of the clearing. it was nepeese whom he saw first. if it had been pierrot, he would have turned back quickly. but again the blood of his forebear was rousing strange tremblings within him. was it like this that the first woman had looked to kazan? baree stood still. nepeese was not more than twenty feet from him. she sat on a rock, full in the early morning sun, and was brushing out her wonderful hair. her lips parted. her eyes shone in an instant like stars. one hand remained poised, weighted with the jet tresses. she recognized him. she saw the white star on his breast and the white tip on his ear, and under her breath she whispered "uchi moosis!"--"the dog pup!" it was the wild dog she had shot--and thought had died! the evening before pierrot and nepeese had built a shelter of balsams behind the big rock, and on a small white plot of sand pierrot was kneeling over a fire preparing breakfast while the willow arranged her hair. he raised his head to speak to her, and saw baree. in that instant the spell was broken. baree saw the man-beast as he rose to his feet. like a shot he was gone. scarcely swifter was he than nepeese. "depechez vous, mon pere!" she cried. "it is the dog pup! quick--" in the floating cloud of her hair she sped after baree like the wind. pierrot followed, and in going he caught up his rifle. it was difficult for him to catch up with the willow. she was like a wild spirit, her little moccasined feet scarcely touching the sand as she ran up the long bar. it was wonderful to see the lithe swiftness of her, and that glorious hair streaming out in the sun. even now, in this moment's excitement, it made pierrot think of mctaggart, the hudson's bay company's factor over at lac bain, and what he had said yesterday. half the night pierrot had lain awake, gritting his teeth at thought of it. and this morning, before baree ran upon them, he had looked at nepeese more closely than ever before in his life. she was beautiful. she was lovelier even than wyola, her princess mother, who was dead. that hair--which made men stare as if they could not believe! those eyes--like pools filled with wonderful starlight! her slimness, that was like a flower! and mctaggart had said-- floating back to him there came an excited cry. "hurry, nootawe! he has turned into the blind canyon. he cannot escape us now." she was panting when he came up to her. the french blood in her glowed a vivid crimson in her cheeks and lips. her white teeth gleamed like pearls. "in there!" and she pointed. they went in. ahead of them baree was running for his life. he sensed instinctively the fact that these wonderful two-legged beings he had looked upon were all-powerful. and they were after him! he could hear them. nepeese was following almost as swiftly as he could run. suddenly he turned into a cleft between two great rocks. twenty feet in, his way was barred, and he ran back. when he darted out, straight up the canyon, nepeese was not a dozen yards behind him, and he saw pierrot almost at her side. the willow gave a cry. "mana--mana--there he is!" she caught her breath, and darted into a copse of young balsams where baree had disappeared. like a great entangling web her loose hair impeded her in the brush, and with an encouraging cry to pierrot she stopped to gather it over her shoulder as he ran past her. she lost only a moment or two, and then once again was after him. fifty yards ahead of her pierrot gave a warning shout. baree had turned. almost in the same breath he was tearing over his back trail, directly toward the willow. he did not see her in time to stop or swerve aside, and nepeese flung herself down in his path. for an instant or two they were together. baree felt the smother of her hair, and the clutch of her hands. then he squirmed away and darted again toward the blind end of the canyon. nepeese sprang to her feet. she was panting--and laughing. pierrot came back wildly, and the willow pointed beyond him. "i had him--and he didn't bite!" she said, breathing swiftly. she still pointed to the end of the canyon, and she said again: "i had him--and he didn't bite me, nootawe!" that was the wonder of it. she had been reckless--and baree had not bitten her! it was then, with her eyes shining at pierrot, and the smile fading slowly from her lips, that she spoke softly the word "baree," which in her tongue meant "the wild dog"--a little brother of the wolf. "come," cried pierrot, "or we will lose him!" pierrot was confident. the canyon had narrowed. baree could not get past them unseen. three minutes later baree came to the blind end of the canyon--a wall of rock that rose straight up like the curve of a dish. feasting on fish and long hours of sleep had fattened him, and he was half winded as he sought vainly for an exit. he was at the far end of the dishlike curve of rock, without a bush or a clump of grass to hide him, when pierrot and nepeese saw him again. nepeese made straight toward him. pierrot, foreseeing what baree would do, hurried to the left, at right angles to the end of the canyon. in and out among the rocks baree sought swiftly for a way of escape. in a moment more he had come to the "box," or cup of the canyon. this was a break in the wall, fifty or sixty feet wide, which opened into a natural prison about an acre in extent. it was a beautiful spot. on all sides but that leading into the coulee it was shut in by walls of rock. at the far end a waterfall broke down in a series of rippling cascades. the grass was thick underfoot and strewn with flowers. in this trap pierrot had got more than one fine haunch of venison. from it there was no escape, except in the face of his rifle. he called to nepeese as he saw baree entering it, and together they climbed the slope. baree had almost reached the edge of the little prison meadow when suddenly he stopped himself so quickly that he fell back on his haunches and his heart jumped up into his throat. full in his path stood wakayoo, the huge black bear! for perhaps a half-minute baree hesitated between the two perils. he heard the voices of nepeese and pierrot. he caught the rattle of stones under their feet. and he was filled with a great dread. then he looked at wakayoo. the big bear had not moved an inch. he, too, was listening. but to him there was a thing more disturbing than the sounds he heard. it was the scent which he caught in the air--the man scent. baree, watching him, saw his head swing slowly even as the footsteps of nepeese and pierrot became more and more distinct. it was the first time baree had ever stood face to face with the big bear. he had watched him fish; he had fattened on wakayoo's prowess; he had held him in splendid awe. now there was something about the bear that took away his fear and gave him in its place a new and thrilling confidence. wakayoo, big and powerful as he was, would not run from the two-legged creatures who pursued him! if baree could only get past wakayoo he was safe! baree darted to one side and ran for the open meadow. wakayoo did not stir as baree sped past him--no more than if he had been a bird or a rabbit. then came another breath of air, heavy with the scent of man. this, at last, put life into him. he turned and began lumbering after baree into the meadow trap. baree, looking back, saw him coming--and thought it was pursuit. nepeese and pierrot came over the slope, and at the same instant they saw both wakayoo and baree. where they entered into the grassy dip under the rock walls, baree turned sharply to the right. here was a great boulder, one end of it tilted up off the earth. it looked like a splendid hiding place, and baree crawled under it. but wakayoo kept straight ahead into the meadow. from where he lay baree could see what happened. scarcely had he crawled under the rock when nepeese and pierrot appeared through the break in the dip, and stopped. the fact that they stopped thrilled baree. they were afraid of wakayoo! the big bear was two thirds of the way across the meadow. the sun fell on him, so that his coat shone like black satin. pierrot stared at him for a moment. pierrot did not kill for the love of killing. necessity made him a conservationist. but he saw that in spite of the lateness of the season, wakayoo's coat was splendid--and he raised his rifle. baree saw this action. he saw, a moment later, something spit from the end of the gun, and then he heard that deafening crash that had come with his own hurt, when the willow's bullet had burned through his flesh. he turned his eyes swiftly to wakayoo. the big bear had stumbled; he was on his knees. and then he struggled to his feet and lumbered on. the roar of the rifle came again, and a second time wakayoo went down. pierrot could not miss at that distance. wakayoo made a splendid mark. it was slaughter. yet for pierrot and nepeese it was business--the business of life. baree was shivering. it was more from excitement than fear, for he had lost his own fear in the tragedy of these moments. a low whine rose in his throat as he looked at wakayoo, who had risen again and faced his enemies--his jaws gaping, his head swinging slowly, his legs weakening under him as the blood poured through his torn lungs. baree whined--because wakayoo had fished for him, because he had come to look on him as a friend, and because he knew it was death that wakayoo was facing now. there was a third shot--the last. wakayoo sank down in his tracks. his big head dropped between his forepaws. a racking cough or two came to baree's ears. and then there was silence. it was slaughter--but business. a minute later, standing over wakayoo, pierrot said to nepeese: "mon dieu, but it is a fine skin, sakahet! it is worth twenty dollars over at lac bain!" he drew forth his knife and began whetting it on a stone which he carried in his pocket. in these minutes baree might have crawled out from under his rock and escaped down the canyon; for a space he was forgotten. then nepeese thought of him, and in that same strange, wondering voice she spoke again the word "baree." pierrot, who was kneeling, looked up at her. "oui, sakahet. he was born of the wild. and now he is gone--" the willow shook her head. "non, he is not gone," she said, and her dark eyes searched the sunlit meadow. chapter as nepeese gazed about the rock-walled end of the canyon, the prison into which they had driven wakayoo and baree, pierrot looked up again from his skinning of the big black bear, and he muttered something that no one but himself could have heard. "non, it is not possible," he had said a moment before; but to nepeese it was possible--the thought that was in her mind. it was a wonderful thought. it thrilled her to the depth of her wild, young soul. it sent a glow into her eyes and a deeper flush of excitement into her cheeks and lips. as she searched the ragged edges of the little meadow for signs of the dog pup, her thoughts flashed back swiftly. two years ago they had buried her princess mother under the tall spruce near their cabin. that day pierrot's sun had set for all time, and her own life became filled with a vast loneliness. there had been three at the graveside that afternoon as the sun went down--pierrot, herself, and a dog, a great, powerful husky with a white star on his breast and a white-tipped ear. he had been her dead mother's pet from puppyhood--her bodyguard, with her always, even with his head resting on the side of her bed as she died. and that night, the night of the day they buried her, the dog had disappeared. he had gone as quietly and as completely as her spirit. no one ever saw him after that. it was strange, and to pierrot it was a miracle. deep in his heart he was filled with the wonderful conviction that the dog had gone with his beloved wyola into heaven. but nepeese had spent three winters at the missioner's school at nelson house. she had learned a great deal about white people and the real god, and she knew that pierrot's idea was impossible. she believed that her mother's husky was either dead or had joined the wolves. probably he had gone to the wolves. so--was it not possible that this youngster she and her father had pursued was of the flesh and blood of her mother's pet? it was more than possible. the white star on his breast, the white-tipped ear--the fact that he had not bitten her when he might easily have buried his fangs in the soft flesh of her arms! she was convinced. while pierrot skinned the bear, she began hunting for baree. baree had not moved an inch from under his rock. he lay like a thing stunned, his eyes fixed steadily on the scene of the tragedy out in the meadow. he had seen something that he would never forget--even as he would never quite forget his mother and kazan and the old windfall. he had witnessed the death of the creature he had thought all-powerful. wakayoo, the big bear, had not even put up a fight. pierrot and nepeese had killed him without touching him. now pierrot was cutting him with a knife which shot silvery flashes in the sun; and wakayoo made no movement. it made baree shiver, and he drew himself an inch farther back under the rock, where he was already wedged as if he had been shoved there by a strong hand. he could see nepeese. she came straight back to the break through which his flight had taken him, and stood at last not more than twenty feet from where he was hidden. now that she stood where he could not escape, she began weaving her shining hair into two thick braids. baree had taken his eyes from pierrot, and he watched her curiously. he was not afraid now. his nerves tingled. in him a strange and growing force was struggling to solve a great mystery--the reason for his desire to creep out from under his rock and approach that wonderful creature with the shining eyes and the beautiful hair. baree wanted to approach. it was like an invisible string tugging at his very heart. it was kazan, and not gray wolf, calling to him back through the centuries, a "call" that was as old as the egyptian pyramids and perhaps ten thousand years older. but against that desire gray wolf was pulling from out the black ages of the forests. the wolf held him quiet and motionless. nepeese was looking about her. she was smiling. for a moment her face was turned toward him, and he saw the white shine of her teeth, and her beautiful eyes seemed glowing straight at him. and then, suddenly, she dropped on her knees and peered under the rock. their eyes met. for at least half a minute there was not a sound. nepeese did not move, and her breath came so softly that baree could not hear it. then she said, almost in a whisper: "baree! baree! upi baree!" it was the first time baree had heard his name, and there was something so soft and assuring in the sound of it that in spite of himself the dog in him responded to it in a whimper that just reached the willow's ears. slowly she stretched in an arm. it was bare and round and soft. he might have darted forward the length of his body and buried his fangs in it easily. but something held him back. he knew that it was not an enemy. he knew that the dark eyes shining at him so wonderfully were not filled with the desire to harm--and the voice that came to him softly was like a strange and thrilling music. "baree! baree! upi baree!" over and over again the willow called to him like that, while on her face she tried to draw herself a few inches farther under the rock. she could not reach him. there was still a foot between her hand and baree, and she could not wedge herself forward an inch more. and then she saw where on the other side of the rock there was a hollow, shut in by a stone. if she had removed the stone, and come in that way-- she drew herself out and stood once more in the sunshine. her heart thrilled. pierrot was busy over his bear--and she would not call him. she made an effort to move the stone which closed in the hollow under the big boulder, but it was wedged in tightly. then she began digging with a stick. if pierrot had been there, his sharp eyes would have discovered the significance of that stone, which was not larger than a water pail. possibly for centuries it had lain there, its support keeping the huge rock from toppling down, just as an ounce weight may swing the balance of a wheel that weighs a ton. five minutes--and nepeese could move the stone. she tugged at it. inch by inch she dragged it out until at last it lay at her feet and the opening was ready for her body. she looked again toward pierrot. he was still busy, and she laughed softly as she untied a big red-and-white bay handkerchief from about her shoulders. with this she would secure baree. she dropped on her hands and knees and then lowered herself flat on the ground and began crawling into the hollow under the boulder. baree had moved. with the back of his head flattened against the rock, he had heard something which nepeese had not heard. he had felt a slow and growing pressure, and from this pressure he had dragged himself slowly--and the pressure still followed. the mass of rock was settling! nepeese did not see or hear or understand. she was calling to him more and more pleadingly: "baree--baree--baree--" her head and shoulders and both arms were under the rock now. the glow of her eyes was very close to baree. he whined. the thrill of a great and impending danger stirred in his blood. and then-- in that moment nepeese felt the pressure of the rock on her shoulder, and into the eyes that had been glowing softly at baree there shot a sudden wild look of horror. and then there came from her lips a cry that was not like any other sound baree had ever heard in the wilderness--wild, piercing, filled with agonized fear. pierrot did not hear that first cry. but he heard the second and the third--and then scream after scream as the willow's tender body was slowly crushed under the settling mass. he ran toward it with the speed of the wind. the cries were now weaker--dying away. he saw baree as he came out from under the rock and ran into the canyon, and in the same instant he saw a part of the willow's dress and her moccasined feet. the rest of her was hidden under the deathtrap. like a madman pierrot began digging. when a few moments later he drew nepeese out from under the boulder she was white and deathly still. her eyes were closed. his hand could not feel that she was living, and a great moan of anguish rose out of his soul. but he knew how to fight for a life. he tore open her dress and found that she was not crushed as he had feared. then he ran for water. when he returned, the willow's eyes were open and she was gasping for breath. "the blessed saints be praised!" sobbed pierrot, falling on his knees at her side. "nepeese, ma nepeese!" she smiled at him, and pierrot drew her up to him, forgetting the water he had run so hard to get. still later, when he got down on his knees and peered under the rock, his face turned white and he said: "mon dieu, if it had not been for that little hollow in the earth, nepeese--" he shuddered, and said no more. but nepeese, happy in her salvation, made a movement with her hand and said, smiling at him: "i would have been like--that." and she held her thumb and forefinger close together. "but where did baree go, mon pere?" nepeese cried. chapter impelled by the wild alarm of the willow's terrible cries and the sight of pierrot dashing madly toward him from the dead body of wakayoo, baree did not stop running until it seemed as though his lungs could not draw another breath. when he stopped, he was well out of the canyon and headed for the beaver pond. for almost a week baree had not been near the pond. he had not forgotten beaver tooth and umisk and the other little beavers, but wakayoo and his daily catch of fresh fish had been too big a temptation for him. now wakayoo was gone. he sensed the fact that the big black bear would never fish again in the quiet pools and shimmering eddies, and that where for many days there had been peace and plenty, there was now great danger. and just as in another country he would have fled for safety to the old windfall, he now fled desperately for the beaver pond. exactly wherein lay baree's fears it would be difficult to say--but surely it was not because of nepeese. the willow had chased him hard. she had flung herself upon him. he had felt the clutch of her hands and the smother of her soft hair, and yet of her he was not afraid! if he stopped now and then in his flight and looked back, it was to see if nepeese was following. he would not have run hard from her--alone. her eyes and voice and hands had set something stirring in him; he was filled with a greater yearning and a greater loneliness now. and that night he dreamed troubled dreams. he found himself a bed under a spruce root not far from the beaver pond, and all through the night his sleep was filled with that restless dreaming--dreams of his mother, of kazan, the old windfall, of umlsk--and of nepeese. once, when he awoke, he thought the spruce root was gray wolf; and when he found that she was not there, pierrot and the willow could have told what his crying meant if they had heard it. again and again he had visions of the thrilling happenings of that day. he saw the flight of wakayoo over the little meadow--he saw him die again. he saw the glow of the willow's eyes close to his own, heard her voice--so sweet and low that it seemed like strange music to him--and again he heard her terrible screams. baree was glad when the dawn came. he did not seek for food, but went down to the pond. there was little hope and anticipation in his manner now. he remembered that, as plainly as animal ways could talk, umisk and his playmates had told him they wanted nothing to do with him. and yet the fact that they were there took away some of his loneliness. it was more than loneliness. the wolf in him was submerged. the dog was master. and in these passing moments, when the blood of the wild was almost dormant in him, he was depressed by the instinctive and growing feeling that he was not of that wild, but a fugitive in it, menaced on all sides by strange dangers. deep in the northern forests the beaver does not work and play in darkness only, but uses day even more than night, and many of beaver tooth's people were awake when baree began disconsolately to investigate the shores of the pond. the little beavers were still with their mothers in the big houses that looked like great domes of sticks and mud out in the middle of the lake. there were three of these houses, one of them at least twenty feet in diameter. baree had some difficulty in following his side of the pond. when he got back among the willows and alders and birch, dozens of little canals crossed and crisscrossed in his path. some of these canals were a foot wide, and others three or four feet, and all were filled with water. no country in the world ever had a better system of traffic than this domain of the beavers, down which they brought their working materials and food into the main reservoir--the pond. in one of the larger canals baree surprised a big beaver towing a four-foot cutting of birch as thick through as a man's leg--half a dozen breakfasts and dinners and suppers in that one cargo. the four or five inner barks of the birch are what might be called the bread and butter and potatoes of the beaver menu, while the more highly prized barks of the willow and young alder take the place of meat and pie. baree smelled curiously of the birch cutting after the old beaver had abandoned it in flight, and then went on. he did not try to conceal himself now, and at least half a dozen beavers had a good look at him before he came to the point where the pond narrowed down to the width of the stream, almost half a mile from the dam. then he wandered back. all that morning he hovered about the pond, showing himself openly. in their big mud-and-stick strongholds the beavers held a council of war. they were distinctly puzzled. there were four enemies which they dreaded above all others: the otter, who destroyed their dams in the wintertime and brought death to them from cold and by lowering the water so they could not get to their food supplies; the lynx, who preyed on them all, young and old alike; and the fox and wolf, who would lie in ambush for hours in order to pounce on the very young, like umisk and his playmates. if baree had been any one of these four, wily beaver tooth and his people would have known what to do. but baree was surely not an otter, and if he was a fox or a wolf or a lynx, his actions were very strange, to say the least. half a dozen times he had had the opportunity to pounce on his prey, if he had been seeking prey. but at no time had he shown the least desire to harm them. it may be that the beavers discussed the matter fully among themselves. it is possible that umisk and his playmates told their parents of their adventure, and of how baree had made no move to harm them when he could quite easily have caught them. it is also more than likely that the older beavers who had fled from baree that morning gave an account of their adventures, again emphasizing the fact that the stranger, while frightening them, had shown no disposition to attack them. all this is quite possible, for if beavers can make a large part of a continent's history, and can perform engineering feats that nothing less than dynamite can destroy, it is only reasonable to suppose that they have some way of making one another understand. however this may be, courageous old beaver tooth took it upon himself to end the suspense. it was early in the afternoon that for the third or fourth time baree walked out on the dam. this dam was fully two hundred feet in length, but at no point did the water run over it, the overflow finding its way through narrow sluices. a week or two ago baree could have crossed to the opposite side of the pond on this dam, but now--at the far end--beaver tooth and his engineers were adding a new section of dam, and in order to accomplish their work more easily, they had flooded fully fifty yards of the low ground on which they were working. the main dam held a strange fascination for baree. it was strong with the smell of beaver. the top of it was high and dry, and there were dozens of smoothly worn little hollows in which the beavers had taken their sun baths. in one of these hollows baree stretched himself out, with his eyes on the pond. not a ripple stirred its velvety smoothness. not a sound broke the drowsy stillness of the afternoon. the beavers might have been dead or asleep, for all the stir they made. and yet they knew that baree was on the dam. where he lay, the sun fell in a warm flood, and it was so comfortable that after a time he had difficulty in keeping his eyes open to watch the pond. then he fell asleep. just how beaver tooth sensed this fact is a mystery. five minutes later he came up quietly, without a splash or a sound, within fifty yards of baree. for a few moments he scarcely moved in the water. then he swam very slowly parallel with the dam across the pond. at the other side he drew himself ashore, and for another minute sat as motionless as a stone, with his eyes on that part of the dam where baree was lying. not another beaver was moving, and it was very soon apparent that beaver tooth had but one object in mind--getting a closer observation of baree. when he entered the water again, he swam along close to the dam. ten feet beyond baree he began to climb out. he did this with great slowness and caution. at last he reached the top of the dam. a few yards away baree was almost hidden in his hollow, only the top of his shiny black body appearing to beaver tooth's scrutiny. to get a better look, the old beaver spread his flat tail out beyond him and rose to a sitting posture on his hindquarters, his two front paws held squirrel-like over his breast. in this pose he was fully three feet tall. he probably weighed forty pounds, and in some ways he resembled one of those fat, good-natured, silly-looking dogs that go largely to stomach. but his brain was working with amazing celerity. suddenly he gave the hard mud of the dam a single slap with his tail--and baree sat up. instantly he saw beaver tooth, and stared. beaver tooth stared. for a full half-minute neither moved the thousandth part of an inch. then baree stood up and wagged his tail. that was enough. dropping to his forefeet. beaver tooth waddled leisurely to the edge of the dam and dived over. he was neither cautious nor in very great haste now. he made a great commotion in the water and swam boldly back and forth under baree. when he had done this several times, he cut straight up the pond to the largest of the three houses and disappeared. five minutes after beaver tooth's exploit word was passing quickly among the colony. the stranger--baree--was not a lynx. he was not a fox. he was not a wolf. moreover, he was very young--and harmless. work could be resumed. play could be resumed. there was no danger. such was beaver tooth's verdict. if someone had shouted these facts in beaver language through a megaphone, the response could not have been quicker. all at once it seemed to baree, who was still standing on the edge of the dam, that the pond was alive with beavers. he had never seen so many at one time before. they were popping up everywhere, and some of them swam up within a dozen feet of him and looked him over in a leisurely and curious way. for perhaps five minutes the beavers seemed to have no particular object in view. then beaver tooth himself struck straight for the shore and climbed out. others followed him. half a dozen workers disappeared in the canals. as many more waddled out among the alders and willows. eagerly baree watched for umisk and his chums. at last he saw them, swimming forth from one of the smaller houses. they climbed out on their playground--the smooth bar above the shore of mud. baree wagged his tail so hard that his whole body shook, and hurried along the dam. when he came out on the level strip of shore, umisk was there alone, nibbling his supper from a long, freshly cut willow. the other little beavers had gone into a thick clump of young alders. this time umisk did not run. he looked up from his stick. baree squatted himself, wiggling in a most friendly and ingratiating manner. for a few seconds umisk regarded him. then, very coolly, he resumed his supper. chapter just as in the life of every man there is one big, controlling influence, either for good or bad, so in the life of baree the beaver pond was largely an arbiter of destiny. where he might have gone if he had not discovered it, and what might have happened to him, are matters of conjecture. but it held him. it began to take the place of the old windfall, and in the beavers themselves he found a companionship which made up, in a way, for his loss of the protection and friendship of kazan and gray wolf. this companionship, if it could be called that, went just so far and no farther. with each day that passed the older beavers became more accustomed to seeing baree. at the end of two weeks, if baree had gone away, they would have missed him--but not in the same way that baree would have missed the beavers. it was a matter of good-natured toleration on their part. with baree it was different. he was still uskahis, as nepeese would have said. he still wanted mothering; he was still moved by the puppyish yearnings which he had not yet had the time to outgrow; and when night came--to speak that yearning quite plainly--he had the desire to go into the big beaver house with umisk and his chums and sleep. during this fortnight that followed beaver tooth's exploit on the dam baree ate his meals a mile up the creek, where there were plenty of crayfish. but the pond was home. night always found him there, and a large part of his day. he slept at the end of the dam, or on top of it on particularly clear nights, and the beavers accepted him as a permanent guest. they worked in his presence as if he did not exist. baree was fascinated by this work, and he never grew tired of watching it. it puzzled and bewildered him. day after day he saw them float timber and brush through the water for the new dam. he saw this dam growing steadily under their efforts. one day he lay within a dozen feet of an old beaver who was cutting down a tree six inches through. when the tree fell, and the old beaver scurried away, baree scurried, too. then he came back and smelled of the cutting, wondering what it was all about, and why umisk's uncle or grandfather or aunt had gone to all that trouble. he still could not induce umisk and the other young beavers to join him in play, and after the first week or so he gave up his efforts. in fact, their play puzzled him almost as much as the dam-building operations of the older beavers. umisk, for instance, was fond of playing in the mud at the edge of the pond. he was like a very small boy. where his elders floated timbers from three inches to a foot in diameter to the big dam, umisk brought small sticks and twigs no larger around than a lead pencil to his playground, and built a make-believe dam of his own. umisk would work an hour at a time on this play dam as industriously as his father and mother were working on the big dam, and baree would lie flat on his belly a few feet away, watching him and wondering mightily. and through this half-dry mud umisk would also dig his miniature canals, just as a small boy might have dug his mississippi river and pirate-infested oceans in the outflow of some back-lot spring. with his sharp little teeth he cut down his big timber--willow sprouts never more than an inch in diameter; and when one of these four or five-foot sprouts toppled down, he undoubtedly felt as great a satisfaction as beaver tooth felt when he sent a seventy-foot birch crashing into the edge of the pond. baree could not understand the fun of all this. he could see some reason for nibbling at sticks--he liked to sharpen his teeth on sticks himself; but it puzzled him to explain why umisk so painstakingly stripped the bark from the sticks and swallowed it. another method of play still further discouraged baree's advances. a short distance from the spot where he had first seen umisk there was a shelving bank that rose ten or twelve feet from the water, and this bank was used by the young beavers as a slide. it was worn smooth and hard. umisk would climb up the bank at a point where it was not so steep. at the top of the slide he would put his tail out flat behind him and give himself a shove, shooting down the toboggan and landing in the water with a big splash. at times there were from six to ten young beavers engaged in this sport, and now and then one of the older beavers would waddle to the top of the slide and take a turn with the youngsters. one afternoon, when the toboggan was particularly wet and slippery from recent use, baree went up the beaver path to the top of the bank, and began investigating. nowhere had he found the beaver smell so strong as on the slide. he began sniffing and incautiously went too far. in an instant his feet shot out from under him, and with a single wild yelp he went shooting down the toboggan. for the second time in his life he found himself struggling under water, and when a minute or two later he dragged himself up through the soft mud to the firmer footing of the shore, he had at last a very well-defined opinion of beaver play. it may be that umisk saw him. it may be that very soon the story of his adventure was known by all the inhabitants of beaver town. for when baree came upon umisk eating his supper of alder bark that evening, umisk stood his ground to the last inch, and for the first time they smelled noses. at least baree sniffed audibly, and plucky little umisk sat like a rolled-up sphinx. that was the final cementing of their friendship--on baree's part. he capered about extravagantly for a few moments, telling umisk how much he liked him, and that they'd be great chums. umisk didn't talk. he didn't make a move until he resumed his supper. but he was a companionable-looking little fellow, for all that, and baree was happier than he had been since the day he left the old windfall. this friendship, even though it outwardly appeared to be quite one-sided, was decidedly fortunate for umisk. when baree was at the pond, he always kept as near to umisk as possible, when he could find him. one day he was lying in a patch of grass, half asleep, while umisk busied himself in a clump of alder shoots a few yards away. it was the warning crack of a beaver tail that fully roused baree; and then another and another, like pistol shots. he jumped up. everywhere beavers were scurrying for the pond. just then umisk came out of the alders and hurried as fast as his short, fat legs would carry him toward the water. he had almost reached the mud when a lightning flash of red passed before baree's eyes in the afternoon sun, and in another instant napakasew--the he-fox--had fastened his sharp fangs in umisk's throat. baree heard his little friend's agonized cry; he heard the frenzied flap-flap-flap of many tails--and his blood pounded suddenly with the thrill of excitement and rage. as swiftly as the red fox himself, baree darted to the rescue. he was as big and as heavy as the fox, and when he struck napakasew, it was with a ferocious snarl that pierrot might have heard on the farther side of the pond, and his teeth sank like knives into the shoulder of umisk's assailant. the fox was of a breed of forest highwaymen which kills from behind. he was not a fighter when it came fang-to-fang, unless cornered--and so fierce and sudden was baree's assault that napakasew took to flight almost as quickly as he had begun his attack on umisk. baree did not follow him, but went to umisk, who lay half in the mud, whimpering and snuffling in a curious sort of way. gently baree nosed him, and after a moment or two umisk got up on his webbed feet, while fully twenty or thirty beavers were making a tremendous fuss in the water near the shore. after this the beaver pond seemed more than ever like home to baree. chapter while lovely nepeese was still shuddering over her thrilling experience under the rock--while pierrot still offered grateful thanks in his prayers for her deliverance and baree was becoming more and more a fixture at the beaver pond--bush mctaggart was perfecting a little scheme of his own up at post lac bain, about forty miles north and west. mctaggart had been factor at lac bain for seven years. in the company's books down in winnipeg he was counted a remarkably successful man. the expense of his post was below the average, and his semiannual report of furs always ranked among the first. after his name, kept on file in the main office, was one notation which said: "gets more out of a dollar than any other man north of god's lake." the indians knew why this was so. they called him napao wetikoo--the man-devil. this was under their breath--a name whispered sinisterly in the glow of tepee fires, or spoken softly where not even the winds might carry it to the ears of bush mctaggart. they feared him; they hated him. they died of starvation and sickness, and the tighter bush mctaggart clenched the fingers of his iron rule, the more meekly, it seemed to him, did they respond to his mastery. his was a small soul, hidden in the hulk of a brute, which rejoiced in power. and here--with the raw wilderness on four sides of him--his power knew no end. the big company was behind him. it had made him king of a domain in which there was little law except his own. and in return he gave back to the company bales and bundles of furs beyond their expectation. it was not for them to have suspicions. they were a thousand or more miles away--and dollars were what counted. gregson might have told. gregson was the investigating agent of that district, who visited mctaggart once each year. he might have reported that the indians called mctaggart napao wetikoo because he gave them only half price for their furs. he might have told the company quite plainly that he kept the people of the trap lines at the edge of starvation through every month of the winter, that he had them on their knees with his hands at their throats--putting the truth in a mild and pretty way--and that he always had a woman or a girl, indian or half-breed, living with him at the post. but gregson enjoyed his visits too much at lac bain. always he could count on two weeks of coarse pleasures. and in addition to that, his own womenfolk at home wore a rich treasure of fur that came to them from mctaggart. one evening, a week after the adventure of nepeese and baree under the rock, mctaggart sat under the glow of an oil lamp in his "store." he had sent his little pippin-faced english clerk to bed, and he was alone. for six weeks there had been in him a great unrest. it was just six weeks ago that pierrot had brought nepeese on her first visit to lac bain since mctaggart had been factor there. she had taken his breath away. since then he had been able to think of nothing but her. twice in that six weeks he had gone down to pierrot's cabin. tomorrow he was going again. marie, the slim cree girl over in his cabin, he had forgotten--just as a dozen others before marie had slipped out of his memory. it was nepeese now. he had never seen anything quite so beautiful as pierrot's girl. audibly he cursed pierrot as he looked at a sheet of paper under his hand, on which for an hour or more he had been making notes out of worn and dusty company ledgers. it was pierrot who stood in his way. pierrot's father, according to those notes, had been a full-blooded frenchman. therefore pierrot was half french, and nepeese was quarter french--though she was so beautiful he could have sworn there was not more than a drop or two of indian blood in her veins. if they had been all indian--chipewyan, cree, ojibway, dog rib--anything--there would have been no trouble at all in the matter. he would have bent them to his power, and nepeese would have come to his cabin, as marie had come six months ago. but there was the accursed french of it! pierrot and nepeese were different. and yet-- he smiled grimly, and his hands clenched tighter. after all, was not his power sufficient? would even pierrot dare stand up against that? if pierrot objected, he would drive him from the country--from the trapping regions that had come down to him as heritage from father and grandfather, and even before their day. he would make of pierrot a wanderer and an outcast, as he had made wanderers and outcasts of a score of others who had lost his favor. no other post would sell to or buy from pierrot if le bete--the black cross--was put after his name. that was his power--a law of the factors that had come down through the centuries. it was a tremendous power for evil. it had brought him marie, the slim, dark-eyed cree girl, who hated him--and who in spite of her hatred "kept house for him." that was the polite way of explaining her presence if explanations were ever necessary. mctaggart looked again at the notes he had made on the sheet of paper. pierrot's trapping country, his own property according to the common law of the wilderness, was very valuable. during the last seven years he had received an average of a thousand dollars a year for his furs, for mctaggart had been unable to cheat pierrot quite as completely as he had cheated the indians. a thousand dollars a year! pierrot would think twice before he gave that up. mctaggart chuckled as he crumpled the paper in his hand and prepared to put out the light. under his close-cropped beard his reddish face blazed with the fire that was in his blood. it was an unpleasant face--like iron, merciless, filled with the look that gave him his name of napao wetikoo. his eyes gleamed, and he drew a quick breath as he put out the light. he chuckled again as he made his way through the darkness to the door. nepeese as good as belonged to him. he, would have her if it cost--pierrot's life. and--why not? it was all so easy. a shot on a lonely trap line, a single knife thrust--and who would know? who would guess where pierrot had gone? and it would all be pierrot's fault. for the last time he had seen pierrot, he had made an honest proposition: he would marry nepeese. yes, even that. he had told pierrot so. he had told pierrot that when the latter was his father-in-law, he would pay him double price for furs. and pierrot had stared--had stared with that strange, stunned look in his face, like a man dazed by a blow from a club. and so if he did not get nepeese without trouble it would all be pierrot's fault. tomorrow mctaggart would start again for the half-breed's country. and the next day pierrot would have an answer for him. bush mctaggart chuckled again as he went to bed. until the next to the last day pierrot said nothing to nepeese about what had passed between him and the factor at lac bain. then he told her. "he is a beast--a man-devil," he said, when he had finished. "i would rather see you out there--with her--dead." and he pointed to the tall spruce under which the princess mother lay. nepeese had not uttered a sound. but her eyes had grown bigger and darker, and there was a flush in her cheeks which pierrot had never seen there before. she stood up when he had finished, and she seemed taller to him. never had she looked quite so much like a woman, and pierrot's eyes were deep-shadowed with fear and uneasiness as he watched her while she gazed off into the northwest--toward lac bain. she was wonderful, this slip of a girl-woman. her beauty troubled him. he had seen the look in bush mctaggart's eyes. he had heard the thrill in mctaggart's voice. he had caught the desire of a beast in mctaggart's face. it had frightened him at first. but now--he was not frightened. he was uneasy, but his hands were clenched. in his heart there was a smoldering fire. at last nepeese turned and came and sat down beside him again, at his feet. "he is coming tomorrow, ma cherie," he said. "what shall i tell him?" the willow's lips were red. her eyes shone. but she did not look up at her father. "nothing, nootawe--except that you are to say to him that i am the one to whom he must come--for what he seeks." pierrot bent over and caught her smiling. the sun went down. his heart sank with it, like cold lead. from lac bain to pierrot's cabin the trail cut within half a mile of the beaver pond, a dozen miles from where pierrot lived. and it was here, on a twist of the creek in which wakayoo had caught fish for baree, that bush mctaggart made his camp for the night. only twenty miles of the journey could be made by canoe, and as mctaggart was traveling the last stretch afoot, his camp was a simple affair--a few cut balsams, a light blanket, a small fire. before he prepared his supper, the factor drew a number of copper wire snares from his small pack and spent half an hour in setting them in rabbit runways. this method of securing meat was far less arduous than carrying a gun in hot weather, and it was certain. half a dozen snares were good for at least three rabbits, and one of these three was sure to be young and tender enough for the frying pan. after he had placed his snares mctaggart set a skillet of bacon over the coals and boiled his coffee. of all the odors of a camp, the smell of bacon reaches farthest in the forest. it needs no wind. it drifts on its own wings. on a still night a fox will sniff it a mile away--twice that far if the air is moving in the right direction. it was this smell of bacon that came to baree where he lay in his hollow on top of the beaver dam. since his experience in the canyon and the death of wakayoo, he had not fared particularly well. caution had kept him near the pond, and he had lived almost entirely on crayfish. this new aroma that came with the night wind roused his hunger. but it was elusive: now he could smell it--the next instant it was gone. he left the dam and began questing for the source of it in the forest, until after a time he lost it altogether. mctaggart had finished frying his bacon and was eating it. it was a splendid night that followed. perhaps baree would have slept through it in his nest on the top of the dam if the bacon smell had not stirred the new hunger in him. since his adventure in the canyon, the deeper forest had held a dread for him, especially at night. but this night was like a pale, golden day. it was moonless; but the stars shone like a billion distant lamps, flooding the world in a soft and billowy sea of light. a gentle whisper of wind made pleasant sounds in the treetops. beyond that it was very quiet, for it was puskowepesim--the molting moon--and the wolves were not hunting, the owls had lost their voice, the foxes slunk with the silence of shadows, and even the beavers had begun to cease their labors. the horns of the moose, the deer, and the caribou were in tender velvet, and they moved but little and fought not at all. it was late july, molting moon of the cree, moon of silence for the chipewyan. in this silence baree began to hunt. he stirred up a family of half-grown partridges, but they escaped him. he pursued a rabbit that was swifter than he. for an hour he had no luck. then he heard a sound that made every drop of blood in him thrill. he was close to mctaggart's camp, and what he had heard was a rabbit in one of mctaggart's snares. he came out into a little starlit open and there he saw the rabbit going through a most marvelous pantomime. it amazed him for a moment, and he stopped in his tracks. wapoos, the rabbit, had run his furry head into the snare, and his first frightened jump had "shot" the sapling to which the copper wire was attached so that he was now hung half in mid-air, with only his hind feet touching the ground. and there he was dancing madly while the noose about his neck slowly choked him to death. baree gave a sort of gasp. he could understand nothing of the part that the wire and the sapling were playing in this curious game. all he could see was that wapoos was hopping and dancing about on his hind legs in a most puzzling and unrabbitlike fashion. it may be that he thought it some sort of play. in this instance, however, he did not regard wapoos as he had looked on umisk the beaver. he knew that wapoos made mighty fine eating, and after another moment or two of hesitation he darted upon his prey. wapoos, half gone already, made almost no struggle, and in the glow of the stars baree finished him, and for half an hour afterward he feasted. mctaggart had heard no sound, for the snare into which wapoos had run his head was the one set farthest from his camp. beside the smoldering coals of his fire he sat with his back to a tree, smoking his black pipe and dreaming covetously of nepeese, while baree continued his night wandering. baree no longer had the desire to hunt. he was too full. but he nosed in and out of the starlit spaces, enjoying immensely the stillness and the golden glow of the night. he was following a rabbit-run when he came to a place where two fallen logs left a trail no wider than his body. he squeezed through; something tightened about his neck. there was a sudden snap--a swish as the sapling was released from its "trigger"--and baree was jerked off his feet so suddenly that he had no time to conjecture as to what was happening. the yelp in his throat died in a gurgle, and the next moment he was going through the pantomimic actions of wapoos, who was having his vengeance inside him. for the life of him baree could not keep from dancing about, while the wire grew tighter and tighter about his neck. when he snapped at the wire and flung the weight of his body to the ground, the sapling would bend obligingly, and then--in its rebound--would yank him for an instant completely off the earth. furiously he struggled. it was a miracle that the fine wire held him. in a few moments more it must have broken--but mctaggart had heard him! the factor caught up his blanket and a heavy stick as he hurried toward the snare. it was not a rabbit making those sounds--he knew that. perhaps a fishercat--a lynx, a fox, a young wolf-- it was the wolf he thought of first when he saw baree at the end of the wire. he dropped the blanket and raised the club. if there had been clouds overhead, or the stars had been less brilliant, baree would have died as surely as wapoos had died. with the club raised over his head mctaggart saw in time the white star, the white-tipped ear, and the jet black of baree's coat. with a swift movement he exchanged the club for the blanket. in that hour, could mctaggart have looked ahead to the days that were to come, he would have used the club. could he have foreseen the great tragedy in which baree was to play a vital part, wrecking his hopes and destroying his world, he would have beaten him to a pulp there under the light of the stars. and baree, could he have foreseen what was to happen between this brute with a white skin and the most beautiful thing in the forests, would have fought even more bitterly before he surrendered himself to the smothering embrace of the factor's blanket. on this night fate had played a strange hand for them both, and only that fate, and perhaps the stars above, held a knowledge of what its outcome was to be. chapter half an hour later bush mctaggart's fire was burning brightly again. in the glow of it baree lay trussed up like an indian papoose, tied into a balloon-shaped ball with babiche thong, his head alone showing where his captor had cut a hole for it in the blanket. he was hopelessly caught--so closely imprisoned in the blanket that he could scarcely move a muscle of his body. a few feet away from him mctaggart was bathing a bleeding hand in a basin of water. there was also a red streak down the side of mctaggart's bullish neck. "you little devil!" he snarled at baree. "you little devil!" he reached over suddenly and gave baree's head a vicious blow with his heavy hand. "i ought to beat your brains out, and--i believe i will!" baree watched him as he picked up a stick close at his side--a bit of firewood. pierrot had chased him, but this was the first time he had been near enough to the man-monster to see the red glow in his eyes. they were not like the eyes of the wonderful creature who had almost caught him in the web of her hair, and who had crawled after him under the rock. they were the eyes of a beast. they made him shrink and try to draw his head back into the blanket as the stick was raised. at the same time he snarled. his white fangs gleamed in the firelight. his ears were flat. he wanted to sink his teeth in the red throat where he had already drawn blood. the stick fell. it fell again and again, and when mctaggart was done, baree lay half stunned, his eyes partly closed by the blows, and his mouth bleeding. "that's the way we take the devil out of a wild dog," snarled mctaggart. "i guess you won't try the biting game again, eh, youngster? a thousand devils--but you went almost to the bone of this hand!" he began washing the wound again. baree's teeth had sunk deep, and there was a troubled look in the factor's face. it was july--a bad month for bites. from his kit he got a small flask of whisky and turned a bit of the raw liquor on the wound, cursing baree as it burned into his flesh. baree's half-shut eyes were fixed on him steadily. he knew that at last he had met the deadliest of all his enemies. and yet he was not afraid. the club in bush mctaggart's hand had not killed his spirit. it had killed his fear. it had roused in him a hatred such as he had never known--not even when he was fighting oohoomisew, the outlaw owl. the vengeful animosity of the wolf was burning in him now, along with the savage courage of the dog. he did not flinch when mctaggart approached him again. he made an effort to raise himself, that he might spring at this man-monster. in the effort, swaddled as he was in the blanket, he rolled over in a helpless and ludicrous heap. the sight of it touched mctaggart's risibilities, and he laughed. he sat down with his back to the tree again and filled his pipe. baree did not take his eyes from mctaggart as he smoked. he watched the man when the latter stretched himself out on the bare ground and went to sleep. he listened, still later, to the man-monster's heinous snoring. again and again during the long night he struggled to free himself. he would never forget that night. it was terrible. in the thick, hot folds of the blanket his limbs and body were suffocated until the blood almost stood still in his veins. yet he did not whine. they began to journey before the sun was up, for if baree's blood was almost dead within him, bush mctaggart's was scorching his body. he made his last plans as he walked swiftly through the forest with baree under his arm. he would send pierrot at once for father grotin at his mission seventy miles to the west. he would marry nepeese--yes, marry her! that would tickle pierrot. and he would be alone with nepeese while pierrot was gone for the missioner. this thought flamed mctaggart's blood like strong whisky. there was no thought in his hot and unreasoning brain of what nepeese might say--of what she might think. his hand clenched, and he laughed harshly as there flashed on him for an instant the thought that perhaps pierrot would not want to give her up. pierrot! bah! it would not be the first time he had killed a man--or the second. mctaggart laughed again, and he walked still faster. there was no chance of his losing--no chance for nepeese to get away from him. he--bush mctaggart--was lord of this wilderness, master of its people, arbiter of their destinies. he was power--and the law. the sun was well up when pierrot, standing in front of his cabin with nepeese, pointed to a rise in the trail three or four hundred yards away, over which mctaggart had just appeared. "he is coming." with a face which had aged since last night he looked at nepeese. again he saw the dark glow in her eyes and the deepening red of her parted lips, and his heart was sick again with dread. was it possible-- she turned on him, her eyes shining, her voice trembling. "remember, nootawe--you must send him to me for his answer," she cried quickly, and she darted into the cabin. with a cold, gray face pierrot faced bush mctaggart. chapter from the window, her face screened by the folds of the curtain which she had made for it, the willow could see what happened outside. she was not smiling now. she was breathing quickly, and her body was tense. bush mctaggart paused not a dozen feet from the window and shook hands with pierrot, her father. she heard mctaggart's coarse voice, his boisterous greeting, and then she saw him showing pierrot what he carried under his arm. there came to her distinctly his explanation of how he had caught his captive in a rabbit snare. he unwrapped the blanket. nepeese gave a cry of amazement. in an instant she was out beside them. she did not look at mctaggart's red face, blazing in its joy and exultation. "it is baree!" she cried. she took the bundle from mctaggart and turned to pierrot. "tell him that baree belongs to me," she said. she hurried into the cabin. mctaggart looked after her, stunned and amazed. then he looked at pierrot. a man half blind could have seen that pierrot was as amazed as he. nepeese had not spoken to him--the factor of lac bain! she had not looked at him! and she had taken the dog from him with as little concern as though he had been a wooden man. the red in his face deepened as he stared from pierrot to the door through which she had gone, and which she had closed behind her. on the floor of the cabin nepeese dropped on her knees and finished unwrapping the blanket. she was not afraid of baree. she had forgotten mctaggart. and then, as baree rolled in a limp heap on the floor, she saw his half-closed eyes and the dry blood on his jaws, and the light left her face as swiftly as the sun is shadowed by a cloud. "baree," she cried softly. "baree--baree!" she partly lifted him in her two hands. baree's head sagged. his body was numbed until he was powerless to move. his legs were without feeling. he could scarcely see. but he heard her voice! it was the same voice that had come to him that day he had felt the sting of the bullet, the voice that had pleaded with him under the rock! the voice of the willow thrilled baree. it seemed to stir the sluggish blood in his veins, and he opened his eyes wider and saw again the wonderful stars that had glowed at him so softly the day of wakayoo's death. one of the willow's long braids fell over her shoulder, and he smelled again the sweet scent of her hair as her hand caressed him and her voice talked to him. then she got up suddenly and left him, and he did not move while he waited for her. in a moment she was back with a basin of water and a cloth. gently she washed the blood from his eyes and mouth. and still baree made no move. he scarcely breathed. but nepeese saw the little quivers that shot through his body when her hand touched him, like electric shocks. "he beat you with a club," she was saying, her dark eyes within a foot of baree's. "he beat you! that man-beast!" there came an interruption. the door opened, and the man-beast stood looking down on them, a grin on his red face. instantly baree showed that he was alive. he sprang back from under the willow's hand with a sudden snarl and faced mctaggart. the hair of his spine stood up like a brush; his fangs gleamed menacingly, and his eyes burned like living coals. "there is a devil in him," said mctaggart. "he is wild--born of the wolf. you must be careful or he will take off a hand, kit sakahet." it was the first time he had called her that lover's name in cree--sweetheart! her heart pounded. she bent her head for a moment over her clenched hands, and mctaggart--looking down on what he thought was her confusion--laid his hand caressingly on her hair. from the door pierrot had heard the word, and now he saw the caress, and he raised a hand as if to shut out the sight of a sacrilege. "mon dieu!" he breathed. in the next instant he had given a sharp cry of wonder that mingled with a sudden yell of pain from mctaggart. like a flash baree had darted across the floor and fastened his teeth in the factor's leg. they had bitten deep before mctaggart freed himself with a powerful kick. with an oath he snatched his revolver from its holster. the willow was ahead of him. with a little cry she darted to baree and caught him in her arms. as she looked up at mctaggart, her soft, bare throat was within a few inches of baree's naked fangs. her eyes blazed. "you beat him!" she cried. "he hates you--hates you--" "let him go!" called pierrot in an agony of fear. "mon dieu! i say let him go, or he will tear the life from you!" "he hates you--hates you--hates you--" the willow was repeating over and over again into mctaggart's startled face. then suddenly she turned to her father. "no, he will not tear the life from me," she cried. "see! it is baree. did i not tell you that? it is baree! is it not proof that he defended me--" "from me!" gasped mctaggart, his face darkening. pierrot advanced and laid a hand on mctaggart's arm. he was smiling. "let us leave them to fight it out between themselves, m'sieu," he said. "they are two little firebrands, and we are not safe. if she is bitten--" he shrugged his shoulders. a great load had been lifted from them suddenly. his voice was soft and persuasive. and now the anger had gone out of the willow's face. a coquettish uplift of her eyes caught mctaggart, and she looked straight at him half smiling, as she spoke to her father: "i will join you soon, mon pere--you and m'sieu the factor from lac bain!" there were undeniable little devils in her eyes, mctaggart thought--little devils laughing full at him as she spoke, setting his brain afire and his blood to throbbing wildly. those eyes--full of dancing witches! how he would take pleasure in taming them--very soon now! he followed pierrot outside. in his exultation he no longer felt the smart of baree's teeth. "i will show you my new cariole that i have made for winter, m'sieu," said pierrot as the door closed behind them. half an hour later nepeese came out of the cabin. she could see that pierrot and the factor had been talking about something that had not been pleasant to her father. his face was strained. she caught in his eyes the smolder of fire which he was trying to smother, as one might smother flames under a blanket. mctaggart's jaws were set, but his eyes lighted up with pleasure when he saw her. she knew what it was about. the factor from lac bain had been demanding his answer of pierrot, and pierrot had been telling him what she had insisted upon--that he must come to her. and he was coming! she turned with a quick beating of the heart and hurried down a little path. she heard mctaggart's footsteps behind her, and threw the flash of a smile over her shoulder. but her teeth were set tight. the nails of her fingers were cutting into the palms of her hands. pierrot stood without moving. he watched them as they disappeared into the edge of the forest, nepeese still a few steps ahead of mctaggart. out of his breast rose a sharp breath. "par les milles cornes du diable!" he swore softly. "is it possible--that she smiles from her heart at that beast? non! it is impossible. and yet--if it is so--" one of his brown hands tightened convulsively about the handle of the knife in his belt, and slowly he began to follow them. mctaggart did not hurry to overtake nepeese. she was following the narrow path deeper into the forest, and he was glad of that. they would be alone--away from pierrot. he was ten steps behind her, and again the willow smiled at him over her shoulder. her body moved sinuously and swiftly. she was keeping accurate measurement of the distance between them--but mctaggart did not guess that this was why she looked back every now and then. he was satisfied to let her go on. when she turned from the narrow trail into a side path that scarcely bore the mark of travel, his heart gave an exultant jump. if she kept on, he would very soon have her alone--a good distance from the cabin. the blood ran hot in his face. he did not speak to her, through fear that she would stop. ahead of them he heard the rumble of water. it was the creek running through the chasm. nepeese was making straight for that sound. with a little laugh she started to run, and when she stood at the edge of the chasm, mctaggart was fully fifty yards behind her. twenty feet sheer down there was a deep pool between the rock walls, a pool so deep that the water was the color of blue ink. she turned to face the factor from lac bain. he had never looked more like a red beast to her. until this moment she had been unafraid. but now--in an instant--he terrified her. before she could speak what she had planned to say, he was at her side, and had taken her face between his two great hands, his coarse fingers twining in the silken strands of her thick braids where they fell over her shoulders at the neck. "ka sakahet!" he cried passionately. "pierrot said you would have an answer for me. but i need no answer now. you are mine! mine!" she gave a cry. it was a gasping, broken cry. his arms were about her like bands of iron, crushing her slender body, shutting off her breath, turning the world almost black before her eyes. she could neither struggle nor cry out. she felt the hot passion of his lips on her face, heard his voice--and then came a moment's freedom, and air into her strangled lungs. pierrot was calling! he had come to the fork in the trail, and he was calling the willow's name! mctaggart's hot hand came over her mouth. "don't answer," she heard him say. strength--anger--hatred flared up in her, and fiercely she struck the hand down. something in her wonderful eyes held mctaggart. they blazed into his very soul. "bete noir!" she panted at him, freeing herself from the last touch of his hands. "beast--black beast!" her voice trembled, and her face flamed. "see--i came to show you my pool--and tell you what you wanted to hear--and you--you--have crushed me like a beast--like a great rock-- see! down there--it is my pool!" she had not planned it like this. she had intended to be smiling, even laughing, in this moment. but mctaggart had spoiled them--her carefully made plans! and yet, as she pointed, the factor from lac bain looked for an instant over the edge of the chasm. and then she laughed--laughed as she gave him a sudden shove from behind. "and that is my answer, m'sieu le facteur from lac bain!" she cried tauntingly as he plunged headlong into the deep pool between the rock walls. chapter from the edge of the open pierrot saw what had happened, and he gave a great gasp of horror. he drew back among the balsams. this was not a moment for him to show himself. while his heart drummed like a hammer, his face was filled with joy. on her hands and knees the willow was peering over the edge. bush mctaggart had disappeared. he had gone down like the great clod he was. the water of her pool had closed over him with a dull splash that was like a chuckle of triumph. he appeared now, beating out with his arms and legs to keep himself afloat, while the willow's voice came to him in taunting cries. "bete noir! bete noir! beast! beast--" savagely she flung small sticks and tufts of earth down at him; and mctaggart, looking up as he gained his equilibrium, saw her leaning so far over that she seemed almost about to fall. her long braids hung down into the chasm, gleaming in the sun. her eyes were laughing while her lips taunted him. he could see the flash of her white teeth. "beast! beast!" he began swimming, still looking up at her. it was a hundred yards down the slow-going current to the beach of shale where he could climb out, and a half of that distance she followed him, laughing and taunting him, and flinging down sticks and pebbles. he noted that none of the sticks or stones was large enough to hurt him. when at last his feet touched bottom, she was gone. swiftly nepeese ran back over the trail, and almost into pierrot's arms. she was panting and laughing when for a moment she stopped. "i have given him the answer, nootawe! he is in the pool!" into the balsams she disappeared like a bird. pierrot made no effort to stop her or to follow. "tonnerre de dieu," he chuckled--and cut straight across for the other trail. nepeese was out of breath when she reached the cabin. baree, fastened to a table leg by a babiche thong, heard her pause for a moment at the door. then she entered and came straight to him. during the half-hour of her absence baree had scarcely moved. that half-hour, and the few minutes that had preceded it, had made tremendous impressions upon him. nature, heredity, and instinct were at work, clashing and readjusting, impinging on him a new intelligence--the beginning of a new understanding. a swift and savage impulse had made him leap at bush mctaggart when the factor put his hand on the willow's head. it was not reason. it was a hearkening back of the dog to that day long ago when kazan, his father, had lulled the man-brute in the tent, the man-brute who had dared to molest thorpe's wife, whom kazan worshiped. then it had been the dog--and the woman. and here again it was the woman. she had appealed to the great hidden passion that was in baree and that had come to him from kazan. of all the living things in the world, he knew that he must not hurt this creature that appeared to him through the door. he trembled as she knelt before him again, and up through the years came the wild and glorious surge of kazan's blood, overwhelming the wolf, submerging the savagery of his birth--and with his head flat on the floor he whined softly, and wagged his tail. nepeese gave a cry of joy. "baree!" she whispered, taking his head in her hands. "baree!" her touch thrilled him. it sent little throbs through his body, a tremulous quivering which she could feel and which deepened the glow in her eyes. gently her hand stroked his head and his back. it seemed to nepeese that he did not breathe. under the caress of her hand his eyes closed. in another moment she was talking to him, and at the sound of her voice his eyes shot open. "he will come here--that beast--and he will kill us," she was saying. "he will kill you because you bit him, baree. ugh, i wish you were bigger, and stronger, so that you could take off his head for me!" she was untying the babiche from about the table leg, and under her breath she laughed. she was not frightened. it was a tremendous adventure--and she throbbed with exultation at the thought of having beaten the man-beast in her own way. she could see him in the pool struggling and beating about like a great fish. he was just about crawling out of the chasm now--and she laughed again as she caught baree up under her arm. "oh--oopi-nao--but you are heavy!" she gasped, "and yet i must carry you--because i am going to run!" she hurried outside. pierrot had not come, and she darted swiftly into the balsams back of the cabin, with baree hung in the crook of her arm, like a sack filled at both ends and tied in the middle. he felt like that, too. but he still had no inclination to wriggle himself free. nepeese ran with him until her arm ached. then she stopped and put him down on his feet, holding to the end of the caribou-skin thong that was tied about his neck. she was prepared for any lunge he might make to escape. she expected that he would make an attempt, and for a few moments she watched him closely, while baree, with his feet on earth once more, looked about him. and then the willow spoke to him softly. "you are not going to run away, baree. non, you are going to stay with me, and we will kill that man-beast if he dares do to me again what he did back there." she flung back the loose hair from about her flushed face, and for a moment she forgot baree as she thought of that half-minute at the edge of the chasm. he was looking straight up at her when her glance fell on him again. "non, you are not going to run away--you are going to follow me," she whispered. "come." the babiche string tightened about baree's neck as she urged him to follow. it was like another rabbit snare, and he braced his forefeet and bared his fangs just a little. the willow did not pull. fearlessly she put her hand on his head again. from the direction of the cabin came a shout, and at the sound of it she took baree up under her arm once more. "bete noir--bete noir!" she called back tauntingly, but only loud enough to be heard a few yards away. "go back to lac bain--owases--you wild beast!" nepeese began to make her way swiftly through the forest. it grew deeper and darker, and there were no trails. three times in the next half-hour she stopped to put baree down and rest her arm. each time she pleaded with him coaxingly to follow her. the second and third times baree wriggled and wagged his tail, but beyond those demonstrations of his satisfaction with the turn his affairs had taken he would not go. when the string tightened around his neck, he braced himself; once he growled--again he snapped viciously at the babiche. so nepeese continued to carry him. they came at last into a clearing. it was a tiny meadow in the heart of the forest, not more than three or four times as big as the cabin. underfoot the grass was soft and green, and thickly strewn with flowers. straight through the heart of this little oasis trickled a streamlet across which the willow jumped with baree under her arm, and on the edge of the rill was a small wigwam made of freshly cut spruce and balsam boughs. into her diminutive mekewap the willow thrust her head to see that things were as she had left them yesterday. then, with a long breath of relief, she put down her four-legged burden and fastened the end of the babiche to one of the cut spruce limbs. baree burrowed himself back into the wall of the wigwam, and with head alert--and eyes wide open--watched his companion attentively. not a movement of the willow escaped him. she was radiant--and happy. her laugh, sweet and wild as a bird's trill, set baree's heart throbbing with a desire to jump about with her among the flowers. for a time nepeese seemed to forget baree. her wild blood raced with the joy of her triumph over the factor from lac bain. she saw him again, floundering about in the pool--pictured him at the cabin now, soaked and angry, demanding of mon pere where she had gone. and mon pere, with a shrug of his shoulders, was telling him that he didn't know--that probably she had run off into the forest. it did not enter into her head that in tricking bush mctaggart in that way she was playing with dynamite. she did not foresee the peril that in an instant would have stamped the wild flush from her face and curdled the blood in her veins--she did not guess that mctaggart had become for her a deadlier menace than ever. nepeese knew that he must be angry. but what had she to fear? mon pere would be angry, too, if she told him what had happened at the edge of the chasm. but she would not tell him. he might kill the man from lac bain. a factor was great. but pierrot, her father, was greater. it was an unlimited faith in her, born of her mother. perhaps even now pierrot was sending him back to lac bain, telling him that his business was there. but she would not return to the cabin to see. she would wait here. mon pere would understand--and he knew where to find her when the man was gone. but it would have been such fun to throw sticks at him as he went! after a little nepeese returned to baree. she brought him water and gave him a piece of raw fish. for hours they were alone, and with each hour there grew stronger in baree the desire to follow the girl in every movement she made, to crawl close to her when she sat down, to feel the touch of her dress, of her hand--and to hear her voice. but he did not show this desire. he was still a little savage of the forests--a four-footed barbarian born half of a wolf and half of a dog; and he lay still. with umisk he would have played. with oohoomisew he would have fought. at bush mctaggart he would have bared his fangs, and buried them deep when the chance came. but the girl was different. like the kazan of old, he had begun to worship. if the willow had freed baree, he would not have run away. if she had left him, he would possibly have followed her--at a distance. his eyes were never away from her. he watched her build a small fire and cook a piece of the fish. he watched her eat her dinner. it was quite late in the afternoon when she came and sat down close to him, with her lap full of flowers which she twined in the long, shining braids of her hair. then, playfully, she began beating baree with the end of one of these braids. he shrank under the soft blows, and with that low, birdlike laughter in her throat, nepeese drew his head into her lap where the scatter of flowers lay. she talked to him. her hand stroked his head. then it remained still, so near that he wanted to thrust out his warm red tongue and caress it. he breathed in the flower-scented perfume of it--and lay as if dead. it was a glorious moment. nepeese, looking down on him, could not see that he was breathing. there came an interruption. it was the snapping of a dry stick. through the forest pierrot had come with the stealth of a cat, and when they looked up, he stood at the edge of the open. baree knew that it was not bush mctaggart. but it was a man-beast! instantly his body stiffened under the willow's hand. he drew back slowly and cautiously from her lap, and as pierrot advanced, baree snarled. the next instant nepeese had risen and had run to pierrot. the look in her father's face alarmed her. "what has happened, mon pere?" she cried. pierrot shrugged his shoulders. "nothing, ma nepeese--except that you have roused a thousand devils in the heart of the factor from lac barn, and that--" he stopped as he saw baree, and pointed at him. "last night when m'sieu the factor caught him in a snare, he bit m'sieu's hand. m'sieu's hand is swollen twice its size, and i can see his blood turning black. it is pechipoo." "pechipoo!" gasped nepeese. she looked into pierrot's eyes. they were dark, and filled with a sinister gleam--a flash of exultation, she thought. "yes, it is the blood poison," said pierrot. a gleam of cunning shot into his eyes as he looked over his shoulder, and nodded. "i have hidden the medicine--and told him there is no time to lose in getting back to lac bain. and he is afraid--that devil! he is waiting. with that blackening hand, he is afraid to start back alone--and so i go with him. and--listen, ma nepeese. we will be away by sundown, and there is something you must know before i go." baree saw them there, close together in the shadows thrown by the tall spruce trees. he heard the low murmur of their voices--chiefly of pierrot's, and at last he saw nepeese put her two arms up around the man-beast's neck, and then pierrot went away again into the forest. he thought that the willow would never turn her face toward him after that. for a long time she stood looking in the direction which pierrot had taken. and when after a time she turned and came back to baree, she did not look like the nepeese who had been twining flowers in her hair. the laughter was gone from her face and eyes. she knelt down beside him and with sudden fierceness she cried: "it is pechipoo, baree! it was you--you--who put the poison in his blood. and i hope he dies! for i am afraid--afraid!" she shivered. perhaps it was in this moment that the great spirit of things meant baree to understand--that at last it was given him to comprehend that his day had dawned, that the rising and the setting of his sun no longer existed in the sky but in this girl whose hand rested on his head. he whined softly, and inch by inch he dragged himself nearer to her until again his head rested in the hollow of her lap. chapter for a long time after pierrot left them the willow did not move from the spot where she had seated herself beside baree. it was at last the deepening shadows and a low rumble in the sky that roused her from the fear of the things pierrot had told her. when she looked up, black clouds were massing slowly over the open space above the spruce tops. darkness was falling. in the whisper of the wind and the dead stillness of the thickening gloom there was the sullen brewing of storm. tonight there would be no glorious sunset. there would be no twilight hour in which to follow the trail, no moon, no stars--and unless pierrot and the factor were already on their way, they would not start in the face of the pitch blackness that would soon shroud the forest. nepeese shivered and rose to her feet. for the first time baree got up, and he stood close at her side. above them a flash of lightning cut the clouds like a knife of fire, followed in an instant by a terrific crash of thunder. baree shrank back as if struck a blow. he would have slunk into the shelter of the brush wall of the wigwam, but there was something about the willow as he looked at her which gave him confidence. the thunder crashed again. but he retreated no farther. his eyes were fixed on nepeese. she stood straight and slim in that gathering gloom riven by the lightning, her beautiful head thrown back, her lips parted, and her eyes glowing with an almost eager anticipation--a sculptured goddess welcoming with bated breath the onrushing forces of the heavens. perhaps it was because she was born during a night of storm. many times pierrot and the dead princess mother had told her that--how on the night she had come into the world the crash of thunder and the flare of lightning had made the hours an inferno, how the streams had burst over their banks and the stems of ten thousand forest trees had snapped in its fury--and the beat of the deluge on their cabin roof had drowned the sound of her mother's pain, and of her own first babyish cries. on that night, it may be, the spirit of storm was born in nepeese. she loved to face it, as she was facing it now. it made her forget all things but the splendid might of nature. her half-wild soul thrilled to the crash and fire of it. often she had reached up her bare arms and laughed with joy as the deluge burst about her. even now she might have stood there in the little open until the rain fell, if a whine from baree had not caused her to turn. as the first big drops struck with the dull thud of leaden bullets about them, she went with him into the balsam shelter. once before baree had passed through a night of terrible storm--the night he had hidden himself under a root and had seen the tree riven by lightning; but now he had company, and the warmth and soft pressure of the willow's hand on his head and neck filled him with a strange courage. he growled softly at the crashing thunder. he wanted to snap at the lightning flashes. under her hand nepeese felt the stiffening of his body, and in a moment of uncanny stillness she heard the sharp, uneasy click of his teeth. then the rain fell. it was not like other rains baree had known. it was an inundation sweeping down out of the blackness of the skies. within five minutes the interior of the balsam shelter was a shower bath. after half an hour of that torrential downpour, nepeese was soaked to the skin. the water ran in little rivulets down her body. it trickled in tiny streams from her drenched braids and dropped from her long lashes, and the blanket under her became wet as a mop. to baree it was almost as bad as his near-drowning in the stream after his fight with papayuchisew, and he snuggled closer and closer under the sheltering arm of the willow. it seemed an interminable time before the thunder rolled far to the east, and the lightning died away into distant and intermittent flashings. even after that the rain fell for another hour. then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. with a laughing gasp nepeese rose to her feet. the water gurgled in her moccasins as she walked out into the open. she paid no attention to baree--and he followed her. across the open in the treetops the last of the storm clouds were drifting away. a star shone--then another; and the willow stood watching them as they appeared until there were so many she could not count. it was no longer black. a wonderful starlight flooded the open after the inky gloom of the storm. nepeese looked down and saw baree. he was standing quietly and unleashed, with freedom on all sides of him. yet he did not run. he was waiting, wet as a water rat, with his eyes fixed on her expectantly. nepeese made a movement toward him, and hesitated. "no, you will not run away, baree. i will leave you free. and now we must have a fire!" a fire! anyone but pierrot might have said that she was crazy. not a stem or twig in the forest that was not dripping! they could hear the trickle of running water all about them. "a fire," she said again. "let us hunt for the wuskisi, baree." with her wet clothes clinging to her lightly, she was like a slim shadow as she crossed the soggy clearing and lost herself among the forest trees. baree still followed. she went straight to a birch tree that she had located that day and began tearing off the loose bark. an armful of this bark she carried close to the wigwam, and on it she heaped load after load of wet wood until she had a great pile. from a bottle in the wigwam she secured a dry match, and at the first touch of its tiny flame the birch bark flared up like paper soaked in oil. half an hour later the willow's fire--if there had been no forest walls to hide it--could have been seen at the cabin a mile away. not until it was blazing a dozen feet into the air did she cease piling wood on it. then she drove sticks into the soft ground and over these sticks she stretched the blanket out to dry. so their first night passed--storm, the cool, deep pool, the big fire; and later, when the willow's clothes and the blanket had dried, a few hours' sleep. at dawn they returned to the cabin. it was a cautious approach. there was no smoke coming from the chimney. the door was closed. pierrot and bush mctaggart were gone. chapter it was the beginning of august--the flying-up moon--when pierrot returned from lac bain, and in three days more it would be the willow's seventeenth birthday. he brought back with him many things for nepeese--ribbons for her hair, real shoes, which she wore at times like the two englishwomen at nelson house, and chief glory of all, some wonderful red cloth for a dress. in the three winters she had spent at the mission these women had made much of nepeese. they had taught her to sew as well as to spell and read and pray, and at times there came to the willow a compelling desire to do as they did. so for three days nepeese worked hard on her new dress and on her birthday she stood before pierrot in a fashion that took his breath away. she had piled her hair in great coils on the crown of her head, as yvonne, the younger of the englishwomen, had taught her, and in the rich jet of it had half buried a vivid sprig of the crimson fireflower. under this, and the glow in her eyes, and the red flush of her lips and cheeks came the wonderful red dress, fitted to the slim and sinuous beauty of her form--as the style had been two winters ago at nelson house. and below the dress, which reached just below the knees--nepeese had quite forgotten the proper length, or else her material had run out--came the coup de maitre of her toilet, real stockings and the gay shoes with high heels! she was a vision before which the gods of the forests might have felt their hearts stop beating. pierrot turned her round and round without a word, but smiling. when she left him, however, followed by baree, and limping a little because of the tightness of her shoes, the smile faded from his face, leaving it cold and bleak. "mon dieu," he whispered to himself in french, with a thought that was like a sharp stab at his heart, "she is not of her mother's blood--non. it is french. she is--yes--like an angel." a change had come over pierrot. during the three days she had been engaged in her dressmaking, nepeese had been quite too excited to notice this change, and pierrot had tried to keep it from her. he had been away ten days on the trip to lac bain, and he brought back to nepeese the joyous news that m'sieu mctaggart was very sick with pechipoo--the blood poison--news that made the willow clap her hands and laugh happily. but he knew that the factor would get well, and that he would come again to their cabin on the gray loon. and when next time he came-- it was while he was thinking of this that his face grew cold and hard, and his eyes burned. and he was thinking of it on this her birthday, even as her laughter floated to him like a song. dieu, in spite of her seventeen years, she was nothing but a child--a baby! she could not guess his horrible visions. and the dread of awakening her for all time from that beautiful childhood kept him from telling her the whole truth so that she might have understood fully and completely. non, it should not be that. his soul beat with a great and gentle love. he, pierrot du quesne, would do the watching. and she should laugh and sing and play--and have no share in the black forebodings that had come to spoil his life. on this day there came up from the south macdonald, the government map maker. he was gray and grizzled, with a great, free laugh and a clean heart. two days he remained with pierrot. he told nepeese of his daughters at home, of their mother, whom he worshiped more than anything else on earth--and before he went on in his quest of the last timber line of banksian pine, he took pictures of the willow as he had first seen her on her birthday: her hair piled in glossy coils, her red dress, the high-heeled shoes. he carried the negatives on with him, promising pierrot that he would get a picture back in some way. thus fate works in its strange and apparently innocent ways as it spins its webs of tragedy. for many weeks after macdonald's visit there followed tranquil days on the gray loon. they were wonderful days for baree. at first he was suspicious of pierrot. after a little he tolerated him, and at last accepted him as a part of the cabin--and nepeese. it was the willow whose shadow he became. pierrot noted the attachment with the deepest satisfaction. "ah, in a few months more, if he should leap at the throat of m'sieu the factor," he said to himself one day. in september, when he was six months old, baree was almost as large as gray wolf--big-boned, long-fanged, with a deep chest, and jaws that could already crack a bone as if it were a stick. he was with nepeese whenever and wherever she moved. they swam together in the two pools--the pool in the forest and the pool between the chasm walls. at first it alarmed baree to see nepeese dive from the rock wall over which she had pushed mctaggart, but at the end of a month she had taught him to plunge after her through that twenty feet of space. it was late in august when baree saw the first of his kind outside of kazan and gray wolf. during the summer pierrot allowed his dogs to run at large on a small island in the center of a lake two or three miles away, and twice a week he netted fish for them. on one of these trips nepeese accompanied him and took baree with her. pierrot carried his long caribou-gut whip. he expected a fight. but there was none. baree joined the pack in their rush for fish, and ate with them. this pleased pierrot more than ever. "he will make a great sledge dog," he chuckled. "it is best to leave him for a week with the pack, ma nepeese." reluctantly nepeese gave her consent. while the dogs were still at their fish, they started homeward. their canoe had slipped away before baree discovered the trick they had played on him. instantly he leaped into the water and swam after them--and the willow helped him into his canoe. early in september a passing indian brought pierrot word of bush mctaggart. the factor had been very sick. he had almost died from the blood poison, but he was well now. with the first exhilarating tang of autumn in the air a new dread oppressed pierrot. but at present he said nothing of what was in his mind to nepeese. the willow had almost forgotten the factor from lac bain, for the glory and thrill of wilderness autumn was in her blood. she went on long trips with pierrot, helping him to blaze out the new trap lines that would be used when the first snows came, and on these journeys she was always accompanied by baree. most of nepeese's spare hours she spent in training him for the sledge. she began with a babiche string and a stick. it was a whole day before she could induce baree to drag this stick without turning at every other step to snap and growl at it. then she fastened another length of babiche to him, and made him drag two sticks. thus little by little she trained him to the sledge harness, until at the end of a fortnight he was tugging heroically at anything she had a mind to fasten him to. pierrot brought home two of the dogs from the island, and baree was put into training with these, and helped to drag the empty sledge. nepeese was delighted. on the day the first light snow fell she clapped her hands and cried to pierrot: "by midwinter i will have him the finest dog in the pack, mon pere!" this was the time for pierrot to say what was in his mind. he smiled. diantre--would not that beast the factor fall into the very devil of a rage when he found how he had been cheated! and yet-- he tried to make his voice quiet and commonplace. "i am going to send you down to the school at nelson house again this winter, ma cherie," he said. "baree will help draw you down on the first good snow." the willow was tying a knot in baree's babiche, and she rose slowly to her feet and looked at pierrot. her eyes were big and dark and steady. "i am not going, mon pere!" it was the first time nepeese had ever said that to pierrot--in just that way. it thrilled him. and he could scarcely face the look in her eyes. he was not good at bluffing. she saw what was in his face; it seemed to him that she was reading what was in his mind, and that she grew a little taller as she stood there. certainly her breath came quicker, and he could see the throb of her breast. nepeese did not wait for him to gather speech. "i am not going!" she repeated with even greater finality, and bent again over baree. with a shrug of his shoulders pierrot watched her. after all, was he not glad? would his heart not have turned sick if she had been happy at the thought of leaving him? he moved to her side and with great gentleness laid a hand on her glossy head. up from under it the willow smiled at him. between them they heard the click of baree's jaws as he rested his muzzle on the willow's arm. for the first time in weeks the world seemed suddenly filled with sunshine for pierrot. when he went back to the cabin he held his head higher. nepeese would not leave him! he laughed softly. he rubbed his hands together. his fear of the factor from lac bain was gone. from the cabin door he looked back at nepeese and baree. "the saints be blessed!" he murmured. "now--now--it is pierrot du quesne who knows what to do!" chapter back to lac bain, late in september, came macdonald the map maker. for ten days gregson, the investigating agent, had been bush mctaggart's guest at the post, and twice in that time it had come into marie's mind to creep upon him while he slept and kill him. the factor himself paid little attention to her now, a fact which would have made her happy if it had not been for gregson. he was enraptured with the wild, sinuous beauty of the cree girl, and mctaggart, without jealousy, encouraged him. he was tired of marie. mctaggart told gregson this. he wanted to get rid of her, and if he--gregson--could possibly take her along with him it would be a great favor. he explained why. a little later, when the deep snows came, he was going to bring the daughter of pierrot du quesne to the post. in the rottenness of their brotherhood he told of his visit, of the manner of his reception, and of the incident at the chasm. in spite of all this, he assured gregson, pierrot's girl would soon be at lac bain. it was at this time that macdonald came. he remained only one night, and without knowing that he was adding fuel to a fire already dangerously blazing, he gave the photograph he had taken of nepeese to the factor. it was a splendid picture. "if you can get it down to that girl some day i'll be mightily obliged," he said to mctaggart. "i promised her one. her father's name is du quesne--pierrot du quesne. you probably know them. and the girl--" his blood warmed as he described to mctaggart how beautiful she was that day in her red dress, which appeared black in the photograph. he did not guess how near mctaggart's blood was to the boiling point. the next day macdonald started for norway house. mctaggart did not show gregson the picture. he kept it to himself and at night, under the glow of his lamp, he looked at it with thoughts that filled him with a growing resolution. there was but one way. the scheme had been in his mind for weeks--and the picture determined him. he dared not whisper his secret even to gregson. but it was the one way. it would give him nepeese. only--he must wait for the deep snows, the midwinter snows. they buried their tragedies deepest. mctaggart was glad when gregson followed the map maker to norway house. out of courtesy he accompanied him a day's journey on his way. when he returned to the post, marie was gone. he was glad. he sent off a runner with a load of presents for her people, and the message: "don't beat her. keep her. she is free." along with the bustle and stir of the beginning of the trapping season mctaggart began to prepare his house for the coming of nepeese. he knew what she liked in the way of cleanliness and a few other things. he had the log walls painted white with the lead and oil that were intended for his york boats. certain partitions were torn down, and new ones were built. the indian wife of his chief runner made curtains for the windows, and he confiscated a small phonograph that should have gone on to lac la biche. he had no doubts, and he counted the days as they passed. down on the gray loon pierrot and nepeese were busy at many things, so busy that at times pierrot's fears of the factor at lac bain were almost forgotten, and they slipped out of the willow's mind entirely. it was the red moon, and both thrilled with the anticipation and excitement of the winter hunt. nepeese carefully dipped a hundred traps in boiling caribou fat mixed with beaver grease, while pierrot made fresh deadfalls ready for setting on his trails. when he was gone more than a day from the cabin, she was always with him. but at the cabin there was much to do, for pierrot, like all his northern brotherhood, did not begin to prepare until the keen tang of autumn was in the air. there were snowshoes to be rewebbed with new babiche; there was wood to be cut in readiness for the winter storms. the cabin had to be banked, a new harness made, skinning knives sharpened and winter moccasins to be manufactured--a hundred and one affairs to be attended to, even to the repairing of the meat rack at the back of the cabin, where, from the beginning of cold weather until the end, would hang the haunches of deer, caribou, and moose for the family larder and, when fish were scarce, the dogs' rations. in the bustle of all these preparations nepeese was compelled to give less attention to baree than she had during the preceding weeks. they did not play so much; they no longer swam, for with the mornings there was deep frost on the ground, and the water was turning icy cold. they no longer wandered deep in the forest after flowers and berries. for hours at a time baree would now lie at the willow's feet, watching her slender fingers as they weaved swiftly in and out with her snowshoe babiche. and now and then nepeese would pause to lean over and put her hand on his head, and talk to him for a moment--sometimes in her soft cree, sometimes in english or her father's french. it was the willow's voice which baree had learned to understand, and the movement of her lips, her gestures, the poise of her body, the changing moods which brought shadow or sunlight into her face. he knew what it meant when she smiled. he would shake himself, and often jump about her in sympathetic rejoicing, when she laughed. her happiness was such a part of him that a stern word from her was worse than a blow. twice pierrot had struck him, and twice baree had leaped back and faced him with bared fangs and an angry snarl, the crest along his back standing up like a brush. had one of the other dogs done this, pierrot would have half-killed him. it would have been mutiny, and the man must be master. but baree was always safe. a touch of the willow's hand, a word from her lips, and the crest slowly settled and the snarl went out of his throat. pierrot was not at all displeased. "dieu. i will never go so far as to try and whip that out of him," he told himself. "he is a barbarian--a wild beast--and her slave. for her he would kill!" so it turned out, through pierrot himself--and without telling his reason for it--that baree did not become a sledge dog. he was allowed his freedom, and was never tied, like the others. nepeese was glad, but did not guess the thought that was in pierrot's mind. to himself pierrot chuckled. she would never know why he kept baree always suspicious of him, even to the point of hating him. it required considerable skill and cunning on his part. with himself he reasoned: "if i make him hate me, he will hate all men. mey-oo! that is good." so he looked into the future--for nepeese. now the tonic-filled days and cold, frosty nights of the red moon brought about the big change in baree. it was inevitable. pierrot knew that it would come, and the first night that baree settled back on his haunches and howled up at the red moon, pierrot prepared nepeese for it. "he is a wild dog, ma nepeese," he said to her. "he is half wolf, and the call will come to him strong. he will go into the forests. he will disappear at times. but we must not fasten him. he will come back. ka, he will come back!" and he rubbed his hands in the moonglow until his knuckles cracked. the call came to baree like a thief entering slowly and cautiously into a forbidden place. he did not understand it at first. it made him nervous and uneasy, so restless that nepeese frequently heard him whine softly in his sleep. he was waiting for something. what was it? pierrot knew, and smiled in his inscrutable way. and then it came. it was night, a glorious night filled with moon and stars, under which the earth was whitening with a film of frost, when they heard the first hunt call of the wolves. now and then during the summer there had come the lone wolf howl, but this was the tonguing of the pack; and as it floated through the vast silence and mystery of the night, a song of savagery that had come with each red moon down through unending ages, pierrot knew that at last had come that for which baree had been waiting. in an instant baree had sensed it. his muscles grew taut as pieces of stretched rope as he stood up in the moonlight, facing the direction from which floated the mystery and thrill of the sound. they could hear him whining softly; and pierrot, bending down so that he caught the light of the night properly, could see him trembling. "it is mee-koo!" he said in a whisper to nepeese. that was it, the call of the blood that was running swift in baree's veins--not alone the call of his species, but the call of kazan and gray wolf and of his forbears for generations unnumbered. it was the voice of his people. so pierrot had whispered, and he was right. in the golden night the willow was waiting, for it was she who had gambled most, and it was she who must lose or win. she uttered no sound, replied not to the low voice of pierrot, but held her breath and watched baree as he slowly faded away, step by step, into the shadows. in a few moments more he was gone. it was then that she stood straight, and flung back her head, with eyes that glowed in rivalry with the stars. "baree!" she called. "baree! baree! baree!" he must have been near the edge of the forest, for she had drawn a slow, waiting breath or two before he was and he whined up into her face. nepeese put her hands to his head. "you are right, mon pere," she said. "he will go to the wolves, but he will come back. he will never leave me for long." with one hand still on baree's head, she pointed with the other into the pitlike blackness of the forest. "go to them, baree!" she whispered. "but you must come back. you must. cheamao!" with pierrot she went into the cabin; the door closed silence. in it he could hear the soft night sounds: the clinking of the chains to which the dogs were fastened, the restless movement of their bodies, the throbbing whir of a pair of wings, the breath of the night itself. for to him this night, even in its stillness, seemed alive. again he went into it, and close to the forest once more he stopped to listen. the wind had turned, and on it rode the wailing, blood-thrilling cry of the pack. far off to the west a lone wolf turned his muzzle to the sky and answered that gathering call of his clan. and then out of the east came a voice, so far beyond the cabin that it was like an echo dying away in the vastness of the night. a choking note gathered in baree's throat. he threw up his head. straight above him was the red moon, inviting him to the thrill and mystery of the open world. the sound grew in his throat, and slowly it rose in volume until his answer was rising to the stars. in their cabin pierrot and the willow heard it. pierrot shrugged his shoulders. "he is gone," he said. "oui, he is gone, mon pere" replied nepeese, peering through the window. chapter no longer, as in the days of old, did the darkness of the forests hold a fear for baree. this night his hunt cry had risen to the stars and the moon, and in that cry he had, for the first time, sent forth his defiance of night and space, his warning to all the wild, and his acceptance of the brotherhood. in that cry, and the answers that came back to him, he sensed a new power--the final triumph of nature in telling him that the forests and the creatures they held were no longer to be feared, but that all things feared him. off there, beyond the pale of the cabin and the influence of nepeese, were all the things that the wolf blood in him found now most desirable: companionship of his kind, the lure of adventure, the red, sweet blood of the chase--and matehood. this last, after all, was the dominant mystery that was urging him, and yet least of all did he understand it. he ran straight into the darkness to the north and west, slinking low under the bushes, his tail drooping, his ears aslant--the wolf as the wolf runs on the night trail. the pack had swung due north, and was traveling faster than he, so that at the end of half an hour he could no longer hear it. but the lone wolf howl to the west was nearer, and three times baree gave answer to it. at the end of an hour he heard the pack again, swinging southward. pierrot would easily have understood. their quarry had found safety beyond water, or in a lake, and the muhekuns were on a fresh trail. by this time not more than a quarter of a mile of the forest separated baree from the lone wolf, but the lone wolf was also an old wolf, and with the directness and precision of long experience, he swerved in the direction of the hunters, compassing his trail so that he was heading for a point half or three-quarters of a mile in advance of the pack. this was a trick of the brotherhood which baree had yet to learn; and the result of his ignorance, and lack of skill, was that twice within the next half-hour he found himself near to the pack without being able to join it. then came a long and final silence. the pack had pulled down its kill, and in their feasting they made no sound. the rest of the night baree wandered alone, or at least until the moon was well on the wane. he was a long way from the cabin, and his trail had been an uncertain and twisting one, but he was no longer possessed with the discomforting sensation of being lost. the last two or three months had been developing strongly in him the sense of orientation, that "sixth sense" which guides the pigeon unerringly on its way and takes a bear straight as a bird might fly to its last year's denning place. baree had not forgotten nepeese. a dozen times he turned his head back and whined, and always he picked out accurately the direction in which the cabin lay. but he did not turn back. as the night lengthened, his search for that mysterious something which he had not found continued. his hunger, even with the fading-out of the moon and the coming of the gray dawn, was not sufficiently keen to make him hunt for food. it was cold, and it seemed colder when the glow of the moon and stars died out. under his padded feet, especially in the open spaces, was a thick white frost in which he left clearly at times the imprint of his toes and claws. he had traveled steadily for hours, a great many miles in all, and he was tired when the first light of the day came. and then there came the time when, with a sudden sharp click of his jaws, he stopped like a shot in his tracks. at last it had come--the meeting with that for which he had been seeking. it was in a clearing, lighted by the cold dawn--a tiny amphitheater that lay on the side of a ridge, facing the east. with her head toward him, and waiting for him as he came out of the shadows, his scent strong in her keen nose, stood maheegun, the young wolf. baree had not smelled her, but he saw her directly he came out of the rim of young balsams that fringed the clearing. it was then that he stopped, and for a full minute neither of them moved a muscle or seemed to breathe. there was not a fortnight's difference in their age and yet maheegun was much the smaller of the two. her body was as long, but she was slimmer; she stood on slender legs that were almost like the legs of a fox, and the curve of her back was that of a slightly bent bow, a sign of swiftness almost equal to the wind. she stood poised for flight even as baree advanced his first step toward her, and then very slowly her body relaxed, and in a direct ratio as he drew nearer her ears lost their alertness and dropped aslant. baree whined. his own ears were up, his head alert, his tail aloft and bushy. cleverness, if not strategy, had already become a part of his masculine superiority, and he did not immediately press the affair. he was within five feet of maheegun when he casually turned away from her and faced the east, where a faint penciling of red and gold was heralding the day. for a few moments he sniffed and looked around and pointed the wind with much seriousness, as though impressing on his fair acquaintance--as many a two-legged animal has done before him--his tremendous importance in the world at large. and maheegun was properly impressed. baree's bluff worked as beautifully as the bluffs of the two-legged animals. he sniffed the air with such thrilling and suspicious zeal that maheegun's ears sprang alert, and she sniffed it with him. he turned his head from point to point so sharply and alertly that her feminine curiosity, if not anxiety, made her turn her own head in questioning conjunction. and when he whined, as though in the air he had caught a mystery which she could not possibly understand, a responsive note gathered in her throat, but smothered and low as a woman's exclamation when she is not quite sure whether she should interrupt her lord or not. at this sound, which baree's sharp ears caught, he swung up to her with a light and mincing step, and in another moment they were smelling noses. when the sun rose, half an hour later, it found them still in the small clearing on the side of the ridge, with a deep fringe of forest under them, and beyond that a wide, timbered plain which looked like a ghostly shroud in its mantle of frost. up over this came the first red glow of the day, filling the clearing with a warmth that grew more and more comfortable as the sun crept higher. neither baree nor maheegun were inclined to move for a while, and for an hour or two they lay basking in a cup of the slope, looking down with questing and wide-awake eyes upon the wooded plain that stretched away under them like a great sea. maheegun, too, had sought the hunt pack, and like baree had failed to catch it. they were tired, a little discouraged for the time, and hungry--but still alive with the fine thrill of anticipation, and restlessly sensitive to the new and mysterious consciousness of companionship. half a dozen times baree got up and nosed about maheegun as she lay in the sun, whining to her softly and touching her soft coat with his muzzle, but for a long time she paid little attention to him. at last she followed him. all that day they wandered and rested together. once more the night came. it was without moon or stars. gray masses of clouds swept slowly down out of the north and east, and in the treetops there was scarcely a whisper of wind as night gathered in. the snow began to fall at dusk, thickly, heavily, without a breath of sound. it was not cold, but it was still--so still that baree and maheegun traveled only a few yards at a time, and then stopped to listen. in this way all the night prowlers of the forest were traveling, if they were moving at all. it was the first of the big snow. to the flesh-eating wild things of the forests, clawed and winged, the big snow was the beginning of the winter carnival of slaughter and feasting, of wild adventure in the long nights, of merciless warfare on the frozen trails. the days of breeding, of motherhood--the peace of spring and summer--were over. out of the sky came the wakening of the northland, the call of all flesh-eating creatures to the long hunt, and in the first thrill of it living things were moving but little this night, and that watchfully and with suspicion. youth made it all new to baree and maheegun. their blood ran swiftly; their feet fell softly; their ears were attuned to catch the slightest sounds. in this first of the big snow they felt the exciting pulse of a new life. it lured them on. it invited them to adventure into the white mystery of the silent storm; and inspired by that restlessness of youth and its desires, they went on. the snow grew deeper under their feet. in the open spaces they waded through it to their knees, and it continued to fall in a vast white cloud that descended steadily out of the sky. it was near midnight when it stopped. the clouds drifted away from under the stars and the moon, and for a long time baree and maheegun stood without moving, looking down from the bald crest of a ridge upon a wonderful world. never had they been able to see so far, except in the light of day. under them was a plain. they could make out forests, lone trees that stood up like shadows out of the snow, a stream--still unfrozen--shimmering like glass with the flicker of firelight on it. toward this stream baree led the way. he no longer thought of nepeese, and he whined with pent-up happiness as he stopped halfway down and turned to muzzle maheegun. he wanted to roll in the snow and frisk about with his companion; he wanted to bark, to put up his head and howl as he had howled at the red moon back at the cabin. something held him from doing any of these things. perhaps it was maheegun's demeanor. she accepted his attentions rigidly. once or twice she had seemed almost frightened; twice baree had heard the sharp clicking of her teeth. the previous night, and all through tonight's storm, their companionship had grown more intimate, but now there was taking its place a mysterious aloofness on the part of maheegun. pierrot could have explained. with moon and stars above him, baree, like the night, had undergone a transformation which even the sunlight of day had not made in him before. his coat was like polished jet. every hair in his body glistened black. black! that was it. and nature was trying to tell maheegun that of all the creatures hated by her kind, the creature which they feared and hated most was black. with her it was not experience, but instinct--telling her of the age-old feud between the gray wolf and the black bear. and baree's coat, in the moonlight and the snow, was blacker than wakayoo's had ever been in the fish-fattening days of may. until they struck the broad openings of the plain, the young she-wolf had followed baree without hesitation; now there was a gathering strangeness and indecision in her manner, and twice she stopped and would have let baree go on without her. an hour after they entered the plain there came suddenly out of the west the tonguing of the wolf pack. it was not far distant, probably not more than a mile along the foot of the ridge, and the sharp, quick yapping that followed the first outburst was evidence that the long-fanged hunters had put up sudden game, a caribou or young moose, and were close at its heels. at the voice of her own people maheegun laid her ears close to her head and was off like an arrow from a bow. the unexpectedness of her movement and the swiftness of her flight put baree well behind her in the race over the plain. she was running blindly, favored by luck. for an interval of perhaps five minutes the pack were so near to their game that they made no sound, and the chase swung full into the face of maheegun and baree. the latter was not half a dozen lengths behind the young wolf when a crashing in the brush directly ahead stopped them so sharply that they tore up the snow with their braced forefeet and squat haunches. ten seconds later a caribou burst through and flashed across a clearing not more than twenty yards from where they stood. they could hear its swift panting as it disappeared. and then came the pack. at sight of those swiftly moving gray bodies baree's heart leaped for an instant into his throat. he forgot maheegun, and that she had run away from him. the moon and the stars went out of existence for him. he no longer sensed the chill of the snow under his feet. he was wolf--all wolf. with the warm scent of the caribou in his nostrils, and the passion to kill sweeping through him like fire, he darted after the pack. even at that, maheegun was a bit ahead of him. he did not miss her. in the excitement of his first chase he no longer felt the desire to have her at his side. very soon he found himself close to the flanks of one of the gray monsters of the pack. half a minute later a new hunter swept in from the bush behind him, and then a second, and after that a third. at times he was running shoulder to shoulder with his new companions. he heard the whining excitement in their throats; the snap of their jaws as they ran--and in the golden moonlight ahead of him the sound of a caribou as it plunged through thickets and over windfalls in its race for life. it was as if baree had belonged to the pack always. he had joined it naturally, as other stray wolves had joined it from out of the bush. there had been no ostentation, no welcome such as maheegun had given him in the open, and no hostility. he belonged with these slim, swift-footed outlaws of the old forests, and his own jaws snapped and his blood ran hot as the smell of the caribou grew heavier, and the sound of its crashing body nearer. it seemed to him they were almost at its heels when they swept into an open plain, a stretch of barren without a tree or a shrub, brilliant in the light of the stars and moon. across its unbroken carpet of snow sped the caribou a spare hundred yards ahead of the pack. now the two leading hunters no longer followed directly in the trail, but shot out at an angle, one to the right and the other to the left of the pursued, and like well-trained soldiers the pack split in halves and spread out fan shape in the final charge. the two ends of the fan forged ahead and closed in, until the leaders were running almost abreast of the caribou, with fifty or sixty feet separating them from the pursued. thus, adroitly and swiftly, with deadly precision, the pack had formed a horseshoe cordon of fangs from which there was but one course of flight--straight ahead. for the caribou to swerve half a degree to the right or left meant death. it was the duty of the leaders to draw in the ends of the horseshoe now, until one or both of them could make the fatal lunge for the hamstrings. after that it would be a simple matter. the pack would close in over the caribou like an inundation. baree had found his place in the lower rim of the horseshoe, so that he was fairly well in the rear when the climax came. the plain made a sudden dip. straight ahead was the gleam of water--water shimmering softly in the starglow, and the sight of it sent a final great spurt of blood through the caribou's bursting heart. forty seconds would tell the story--forty seconds of a last spurt for life, of a final tremendous effort to escape death. baree felt the sudden thrill of these moments, and he forged ahead with the others in that lower rim of the horseshoe as one of the leading wolves made a lunge for the young bull's hamstring. it was a clean miss. a second wolf darted in. and this one also missed. there was no time for others to take their place. from the broken end of the horseshoe baree heard the caribou's heavy plunge into water. when baree joined the pack, a maddened, mouth-frothing, snarling horde, napamoos, the young bull, was well out in the river and swimming steadily for the opposite shore. it was then that baree found himself at the side of maheegun. she was panting; her red tongue hung from her open jaws. but at his presence she brought her fangs together with a snap and slunk from him into the heart of the wind-run and disappointed pack. the wolves were in an ugly temper, but baree did not sense the fact. nepeese had trained him to take to water like an otter, and he did not understand why this narrow river should stop them as it had. he ran down to the water and stood belly deep in it, facing for an instant the horde of savage beasts above him, wondering why they did not follow. and he was black--black. he came among them again, and for the first time they noticed him. the restless movements of the waters ceased now. a new and wondering interest held them rigid. fangs closed sharply. a little in the open baree saw maheegun, with a big gray wolf standing near her. he went to her again, and this time she remained with flattened ears until he was sniffing her neck. and then, with a vicious snarl, she snapped at him. her teeth sank deep in the soft flesh of his shoulder, and at the unexpectedness and pain of her attack, he let out a yelp. the next instant the big gray wolf was at him. again caught unexpectedly, baree went down with the wolf's fangs at his throat. but in him was the blood of kazan, the flesh and bone and sinew of kazan, and for the first time in his life he fought as kazan fought on that terrible day at the top of the sun rock. he was young; he had yet to learn the cleverness and the strategy of the veteran. but his jaws were like the iron clamps with which pierrot set his bear traps, and in his heart was sudden and blinding rage, a desire to kill that rose above all sense of pain or fear. that fight, if it had been fair, would have been a victory for baree, even in his youth and inexperience. in fairness the pack should have waited. it was a law of the pack to wait--until one was done for. but baree was black. he was a stranger, an interloper, a creature whom they noticed now in a moment when their blood was hot with the rage and disappointment of killers who had missed their prey. a second wolf sprang in, striking baree treacherously from the flank. and while he was in the snow, his jaws crushing the foreleg of his first foe, the pack was on him en masse. such an attack on the young caribou bull would have meant death in less than a minute. every fang would have found its hold. baree, by the fortunate circumstance that he was under his first two assailants and protected by their bodies, was saved from being torn instantly into pieces. he knew that he was fighting for his life. over him the horde of beasts rolled and twisted and snarled. he felt the burning pain of teeth sinking into his flesh. he was smothered; a hundred knives seemed cutting him into pieces; yet no sound--not a whimper or a cry--came from him now in the horror and hopelessness of it all. it would have ended in another half-minute had the struggle not been at the very edge of the bank. undermined by the erosion of the spring floods, a section of this bank suddenly gave way, and with it went baree and half the pack. in a flash baree thought of the water and the escaping caribou. for a bare instant the cave-in had set him free of the pack, and in that space he gave a single leap over the gray backs of his enemies into the deep water of the stream. close behind him half a dozen jaws snapped shut on empty air. as it had saved the caribou, so this strip of water shimmering in the glow of the moon and stars had saved baree. the stream was not more than a hundred feet in width, but it cost baree close to a losing struggle to get across it. until he dragged himself out on the opposite shore, the extent of his injuries was not impressed upon him fully. one hind leg, for the time, was useless. his forward left shoulder was laid open to the bone. his head and body were torn and cut; and as he dragged himself slowly away from the stream, the trail he left in the snow was a red path of blood. it trickled from his panting jaws, between which his tongue was bleeding. it ran down his legs and flanks and belly, and it dripped from his ears, one of which was slit clean for two inches as though cut with a knife. his instincts were dazed, his perception of things clouded as if by a veil drawn close over his eyes. he did not hear, a few minutes later, the howling of the disappointed wolf horde on the other side of the river, and he no longer sensed the existence of moon or stars. half dead, he dragged himself on until by chance he came to a clump of dwarf spruce. into this he struggled, and then he dropped exhausted. all that night and until noon the next day baree lay without moving. the fever burned in his blood. it flamed high and swift toward death; then it ebbed slowly, and life conquered. at noon he came forth. he was weak, and he wobbled on his legs. his hind leg still dragged, and he was racked with pain. but it was a splendid day. the sun was warm; the snow was thawing; the sky was like a great blue sea; and the floods of life coursed warmly again through baree's veins. but now, for all time, his desires were changed, and his great quest at an end. a red ferocity grew in baree's eyes as he snarled in the direction of last night's fight with the wolves. they were no longer his people. they were no longer of his blood. never again could the hunt call lure him or the voice of the pack rouse the old longing. in him there was a thing newborn, an undying hatred for the wolf, a hatred that was to grow in him until it became like a disease in his vitals, a thing ever present and insistent, demanding vengeance on their kind. last night he had gone to them a comrade. today he was an outcast. cut and maimed, bearing with him scars for all time, he had learned his lesson of the wilderness. tomorrow, and the next day, and for days after that without number, he would remember the lesson well. chapter at the cabin on the gray loon, on the fourth night of baree's absence, pierrot was smoking his pipe after a great supper of caribou tenderloin he had brought in from the trail, and nepeese was listening to his tale of the remarkable shot he had made, when a sound at the door interrupted them. nepeese opened it, and baree came in. the cry of welcome that was on the girl's lips died there instantly, and pierrot stared as if he could not quite believe this creature that had returned was the wolf dog. three days and nights of hunger in which he could not hunt because of the leg that dragged had put on him the marks of starvation. battle-scarred and covered with dried blood clots that still clung tenaciously to his long hair, he was a sight that drew at last a long despairing breath from nepeese. a queer smile was growing in pierrot's face as he leaned forward in his chair. then slowly rising to his feet and looking closer, he said to nepeese: "ventre saint gris! oui, he has been to the pack, nepeese, and the pack turned on him. it was not a two-wolf fight--non! it was the pack. he is cut and torn in fifty places. and--mon dieu, he is alive!" in pierrot's voice there was growing wonder and amazement. he was incredulous, and yet he could not disbelieve what his eyes told him. what had happened was nothing short of a miracle, and for a time he uttered not a word more but remained staring in silence while nepeese recovered from her astonishment to give baree doctoring and food. after he had eaten ravenously of cold boiled mush she began bathing his wounds in warm water, and after that she soothed them with bear grease, talking to him all the time in her soft cree. after the pain and hunger and treachery of his adventure, it was a wonderful homecoming for baree. he slept that night at the foot of the willow's bed. the next morning it was the cool caress of his tongue on her hand that awakened her. with this day they resumed the comradeship interrupted by baree's temporary desertion. the attachment was greater than ever on baree's part. it was he who had run away from the willow, who had deserted her at the call of the pack, and it seemed at times as though he sensed the depths of his perfidy and was striving to make amends. there was indubitably a very great change in him. he clung to nepeese like a shadow. instead of sleeping at night in the spruce shelter pierrot made for him, he made himself a little hollow in the earth close to the cabin door. pierrot thought that he understood, and nepeese thought that she understood even more; but in reality the key to the mystery remained with baree himself. he no longer played as he had played before he went off alone into the forest. he did not chase sticks, or run until he was winded, for the pure joy of running. his puppyishness was gone. in its place was a great worship and a rankling bitterness, a love for the girl and a hatred for the pack and all that it stood for. whenever he heard the wolf howl, it brought an angry snarl into his throat, and he would bare his fangs until even pierrot would draw a little away from him. but a touch of the girl's hand would quiet him. in a week or two the heavier snows came, and pierrot began making his trips over the trap lines. nepeese had entered into an exciting bargain with him this winter. pierrot had taken her into partnership. every fifth trap, every fifth deadfall, and every fifth poison bait was to be her own, and what they caught or killed was to bring a bit nearer to realization a wonderful dream that was growing in the willow's heart. pierrot had promised. if they had great luck that winter, they would go down together on the last snows to nelson house and buy the little old organ that was for sale there. and if the organ was sold, they would work another winter, and get a new one. this plan gave nepeese an enthusiastic and tireless interest in the trap line. with pierrot it was more or less a fine bit of strategy. he would have sold his hand to give nepeese the organ. he was determined that she should have it, whether the fifth traps and the fifth deadfalls and fifth poison baits caught the fur or not. the partnership meant nothing so far as the actual returns were concerned. but in another way it meant to nepeese a business interest, the thrill of personal achievement. pierrot impressed on her that it made a comrade and coworker of her on the trail. his scheme was to keep her with him when he was away from the cabin. he knew that bush mctaggart would come again to the gray loon, probably more than once during the winter. he had swift dogs, and it was a short journey. and when mctaggart came, nepeese must not be at the cabin--alone. pierrot's trap line swung into the north and west, covering in all a matter of fifty miles, with an average of two traps, one deadfall, and a poison bait to each mile. it was a twisting line blazed along streams for mink, otter, and marten, piercing the deepest forests for fishercat and lynx and crossing lakes and storm-swept strips of barrens where poison baits could be set for fox and wolf. halfway over this line pierrot had built a small log cabin, and at the end of it another, so that a day's work meant twenty-five miles. this was easy for pierrot, and not hard on nepeese after the first few days. all through october and november they made the trips regularly, making the round every six days, which gave one day of rest at the cabin on the gray loon and another day in the cabin at the end of the trail. to pierrot the winter's work was business, the labor of his people for many generations back. to nepeese and baree it was a wild and joyous adventure that never for a day grew tiresome. even pierrot could not quite immunize himself against their enthusiasm. it was infectious, and he was happier than he had been since his sun had set that evening the princess mother died. they were glorious months. fur was thick, and it was steadily cold without any bad storms. nepeese not only carried a small pack on her shoulders in order that pierrot's load might be lighter, but she trained baree to bear tiny shoulder panniers which she manufactured. in these panniers baree carried the bait. in at least a third of the total number of traps set there was always what pierrot called trash--rabbits, owls, whisky jacks, jays, and squirrels. these, with the skin or feathers stripped off, made up the bulk of the bait for the traps ahead. one afternoon early in december, as they were returning to the gray loon, pierrot stopped suddenly a dozen paces ahead of nepeese and stared at the snow. a strange snowshoe trail had joined their own and was heading toward the cabin. for half a minute pierrot was silent and scarcely moved a muscle as he stared. the trail came straight out of the north--and off there was lac bain. also they were the marks of large snowshoes, and the stride indicated was that of a tall man. before pierrot had spoken, nepeese had guessed what they meant. "m'sieu the factor from lac bain!" she said. baree was sniffing suspiciously at the strange trail. they heard the low growl in his throat, and pierrot's shoulders stiffened. "yes, the m'sieu," he said. the willow's heart beat more swiftly as they went on. she was not afraid of mctaggart, not physically afraid. and yet something rose up in her breast and choked her at the thought of his presence on the gray loon. why was he there? it was not necessary for pierrot to answer the question, even had she given voice to it. she knew. the factor from lac bain had no business there--except to see her. the blood burned red in her cheeks as she thought again of that minute on the edge of the chasm when he had almost crushed her in his arms. would he try that again? pierrot, deep in his own somber thoughts, scarcely heard the strange laugh that came suddenly from her lips. nepeese was listening to the growl that was again in baree's throat. it was a low but terrible sound. when half a mile from the cabin, she unslung the panniers from his shoulders and carried them herself. ten minutes later they saw a man advancing to meet them. it was not mctaggart. pierrot recognized him, and with an audible breath of relief waved his hand. it was debar, who trapped in the barren country north of lac bain. pierrot knew him well. they had exchanged fox poison. they were friends, and there was pleasure in the grip of their hands. debar stared then at nepeese. "tonnerre, she has grown into a woman!" he cried, and like a woman nepeese looked at him straight, with the color deepening in her cheeks, as he bowed low with a courtesy that dated back a couple of centuries beyond the trap line. debar lost no time in explaining his mission, and before they reached the cabin pierrot and nepeese knew why he had come. m'sieu, the factor at lac bain, was leaving on a journey in five days, and he had sent debar as a special messenger to request pierrot to come up to assist the clerk and the half-breed storekeeper in his absence. pierrot made no comment at first. but he was thinking. why had bush mctaggart sent for him? why had he not chosen some one nearer? not until a fire was crackling in the sheet-iron stove in the cabin, and nepeese was busily engaged getting supper, did he voice these questions to the fox hunter. debar shrugged his shoulders. "he asked me, at first, if i could stay. but i have a wife with a bad lung, pierrot. it was caught by frost last winter, and i dare not leave her long alone. he has great faith in you. besides, you know all the trappers on the company's books at lac bain. so he sent for you, and begs you not to worry about your fur lines, as he will pay you double what you would catch in the time you are at the post." "and--nepeese?" said pierrot. "m'sieu expects me to bring her?" from the stove the willow bent her head to listen, and her heart leaped free again at debar's answer. "he said nothing about that. but surely--it will be a great change for li'le m'selle." pierrot nodded. "possibly, netootam." they discussed the matter no more that night. but for hours pierrot was still, thinking, and a hundred times he asked himself that same question: why had mctaggart sent for him? he was not the only man well known to the trappers on the company's books. there was wassoon, for instance, the half-breed scandinavian whose cabin was less than four hours' journey from the post--or baroche, the white-bearded old frenchman who lived yet nearer and whose word was as good as the bible. it must be, he told himself finally, that m'sieu had sent for him because he wanted to win over the father of nepeese and gain the friendship of nepeese herself. for this was undoubtedly a very great honor that the factor was conferring on him. and yet, deep down in his heart, he was filled with suspicion. when debar was about to leave the next morning, pierrot said: "tell m'sieu that i will leave for lac bain the day after tomorrow." after debar had gone, he said to nepeese: "and you shall remain here, ma cherie. i will not take you to lac bain. i have had a dream that m'sieu will not go on a journey, but that he has lied, and that he will be sick when i arrive at the post. and yet, if it should happen that you care to go--" nepeese straightened suddenly, like a reed that has been caught by the wind. "non!" she cried, so fiercely that pierrot laughed, and rubbed his hands. so it happened that on the second day after the fox hunter's visit pierrot left for lac bain, with nepeese in the door waving him good-bye until he was out of sight. on the morning of this same day bush mctaggart rose from his bed while it was still dark. the time had come. he had hesitated at murder--at the killing of pierrot; and in his hesitation he had found a better way. there could be no escape for nepeese. it was a wonderful scheme, so easy of accomplishment, so inevitable in its outcome. and all the time pierrot would think he was away to the east on a mission! he ate his breakfast before dawn, and was on the trail before it was yet light. purposely he struck due east, so that in coming up from the south and west pierrot would not strike his sledge tracks. for he had made up his mind now that pierrot must never know and must never have a suspicion, even though it cost him so many more miles to travel that he would not reach the gray loon until the second day. it was better to be a day late, after all, as it was possible that something might have delayed pierrot. so he made no effort to travel fast. mctaggart took a vast amount of brutal satisfaction in anticipating what was about to happen, and he reveled in it to the full. there was no chance for disappointment. he was positive that nepeese would not accompany her father to lac bain. she would be at the cabin on the gray loon--alone. this aloneness to nepeese was burdened with no thought of danger. there were times, now, when the thought of being alone was pleasant to her, when she wanted to dream by herself, when she visioned things into the mysteries of which she would not admit even pierrot. she was growing into womanhood--just the sweet, closed bud of womanhood as yet--still a girl with the soft velvet of girlhood in her eyes, yet with the mystery of woman stirring gently in her soul, as if the great hand were hesitating between awakening her and letting her sleep a little longer. at these times, when the opportunity came to steal hours by herself, she would put on the red dress and do up her wonderful hair as she saw it in the pictures of the magazines pierrot had sent up twice a year from nelson house. on the second day of pierrot's absence nepeese dressed herself like this, but today she let her hair cascade in a shining glory about her, and about her forehead bound a circlet of red ribbon. she was not yet done. today she had marvelous designs. on the wall close to her mirror she had tacked a large page from a woman's magazine, and on this page was a lovely vision of curls. fifteen hundred miles north of the sunny california studio in which the picture had been taken, nepeese, with pouted red lips and puckered forehead, was struggling to master the mystery of the other girl's curls! she was looking into her mirror, her face flushed and her eyes aglow in the excitement of the struggle to fashion one of the coveted ringlets from a tress that fell away below her hips, when the door opened behind her, and bush mctaggart walked in. chapter the willow's back was toward the door when the factor from lac bain entered the cabin, and for a few startled seconds she did not turn. her first thought was of pierrot--for some reason he had returned. but even as this thought came to her, she heard in baree's throat a snarl that brought her suddenly to her feet, facing the door. mctaggart had not entered unprepared. he had left his pack, his gun, and his heavy coat outside. he was standing with his back against the door; and at nepeese--in her wonderful dress and flowing hair--he was staring as if stunned for a space at what he saw. fate, or accident, was playing against the willow now. if there had been a spark of slumbering chivalry, of mercy, even, in bush mctaggart's soul, it was extinguished by what he saw. never had nepeese looked more beautiful, not even on that day when macdonald the map maker had taken her picture. the sun, flooding through the window, lighted up her marvelous hair. her flushed face was framed in its lustrous darkness like a tinted cameo. he had dreamed, but he had pictured nothing like this woman who stood before him now, her eyes widening with fear and the flush leaving her face even as he looked at her. it was not a long interval in which their eyes met in that terrible silence. words were unnecessary. at last she understood--understood what her peril had been that day at the edge of the chasm and in the forest, when fearlessly she had played with the menace that was confronting her now. a breath that was like a sob broke from her lips. "m'sieu!" she tried to say. but it was only a gasp--an effort. plainly she heard the click of the iron bolt as it locked the door. mctaggart advanced a step. only a single step mctaggart advanced. on the floor baree had remained like something carved out of stone. he had not moved. he had not made a sound but that one warning snarl--until mctaggart took the step. and then, like a flash, he was up and in front of nepeese, every hair of his body on end; and at the fury in his growl mctaggart lunged back against the barred door. a word from nepeese in that moment, and it would have been over. but an instant was lost--an instant before her cry came. in that moment man's hand and brain worked swifter than brute understanding; and as baree launched himself at the factor's throat, there came a flash and a deafening explosion almost in the willow's eyes. it was a chance shot, a shot from the hip with mctaggart's automatic. baree fell short. he struck the floor with a thud and rolled against the log wall. there was not a kick or a quiver left in his body. mctaggart laughed nervously as he shoved his pistol back in its holster. he knew that only a brain shot could have done that. with her back against the farther wall, nepeese was waiting. mctaggart could hear her panting breath. he advanced halfway to her. "nepeese, i have come to make you my wife," he said. she did not answer. he could see that her breath was choking her. she raised a hand to her throat. he took two more steps, and stopped. he had never seen such eyes. "i have come to make you my wife, nepeese. tomorrow you will go on to nelson house with me, and then back to lac bain--forever." he added the last word as an afterthought. "forever," he repeated. he did not mince words. his courage and his determination rose as he saw her body droop a little against the wall. she was powerless. there was no escape. pierrot was gone. baree was dead. he had thought that no living creature could move as swiftly as the willow when his arms reached out for her. she made no sound as she darted under one of his outstretched arms. he made a lunge, a savage grab, and his fingers caught a bit of hair. he heard the snap of it as she tore herself free and flew to the door. she had thrown back the bolt when he caught her and his arms closed about her. he dragged her back, and now she cried out--cried out in her despair for pierrot, for baree, for some miracle of god that might save her. and nepeese fought. she twisted in his arms until she was facing him. she could no longer see. she was smothered in her own hair. it covered her face and breast and body, suffocating her, entangling her hands and arms--and still she fought. in the struggle mctaggart stumbled over the body of baree, and they went down. nepeese was up fully five seconds ahead of the man. she could have reached the door. but again it was her hair. she paused to fling back the thick masses of it so that she could see, and mctaggart was at the door ahead of her. he did not lock it again, but stood facing her. his face was scratched and bleeding. he was no longer a man but a devil. nepeese was broken, panting--a low sobbing came with every breath. she bent down, and picked up a piece of firewood. mctaggart could see that her strength was almost gone. she clutched the stick as he approached her again. but mctaggart had lost all thought of fear or caution. he sprang upon her like an animal. the stick of firewood fell. and again fate played against the girl. in her terror and hopelessness she had caught up the first stick her hand had touched--a light one. with her last strength she hurled it at mctaggart, and as it struck his head, he staggered back. but it did not make him loose his hold. vainly she was fighting now, not to strike him or to escape, but to get her breath. she tried to cry out again, but this time no sound came from between her gasping lips. again he laughed, and as he laughed, he heard the door open. was it the wind? he turned, still holding her in his arms. in the open door stood pierrot. chapter during that terrible interval which followed an eternity of time passed slowly through the little cabin on the gray loon--that eternity which lies somewhere between life and death and which is sometimes meted out to a human life in seconds instead of years. in those seconds pierrot did not move from where he stood in the doorway. mctaggart, encumbered with the weight in his arms, and staring at pierrot, did not move. but the willow's eyes were opening. and at the same moment a convulsive quiver ran through the body of baree, where he lay near the wall. there was not the sound of a breath. and then, in that silence, a great gasping sob came from nepeese. then pierrot stirred to life. like mctaggart, he had left his coat and mittens outside. he spoke, and his voice was not like pierrot's. it was a strange voice. "the great god has sent me back in time, m'sieu," he said. "i, too, traveled by way of the east, and saw your trail where it turned this way." no, that was not like pierrot's voice! a chill ran through mctaggart now, and slowly he let go of nepeese. she fell to the floor. slowly he straightened. "is it not true, m'sieu?" said pierrot again. "i have come in time?" what power was it--what great fear, perhaps, that made mctaggart nod his head, that made his thick lips form huskily the words, "yes--in time." and yet it was not fear. it was something greater, something more all-powerful than that. and pierrot said, in that same strange voice: "i thank the great god!" the eyes of madman met the eyes of madman now. between them was death. both saw it. both thought that they saw the direction in which its bony finger pointed. both were certain. mctaggart's hand did not go to the pistol in his holster, and pierrot did not touch the knife in his belt. when they came together, it was throat to throat--two beasts now, instead of one, for pierrot had in him the fury and strength of the wolf, the cat, and the panther. mctaggart was the bigger and heavier man, a giant in strength; yet in the face of pierrot's fury he lurched back over the table and went down with a crash. many times in his life he had fought, but he had never felt a grip at his throat like the grip of pierrot's hands. they almost crushed the life from him at once. his neck snapped--a little more, and it would have broken. he struck out blindly, and twisted himself to throw off the weight of the half-breed's body. but pierrot was fastened there, as sekoosew the ermine had fastened itself at the jugular of the partridge, and bush mctaggart's jaws slowly swung open, and his face began to turn from red to purple. cold air rushing through the door, pierrot's voice and the sound of battle roused nepeese quickly to consciousness and the power to raise herself from the floor. she had fallen near baree, and as she lifted her head, her eyes rested for a moment on the dog before they went to the fighting men. baree was alive! his body was twitching; his eyes were open. he made an effort to raise his head as she was looking at him. then she dragged herself to her knees and turned to the men, and pierrot, even in the blood-red fury of his desire to kill, must have heard the sharp cry of joy that came from her when she saw that it was the factor from lac bain who was underneath. with a tremendous effort she staggered to her feet, and for a few moments she stood swaying unsteadily as her brain and her body readjusted themselves. even as she looked down upon the blackening face from which pierrot's fingers were choking the life, bush mctaggart's hand was groping blindly for his pistol. he found it. unseen by pierrot, he dragged it from its holster. it was one of the black devils of chance that favored him again, for in his excitement he had not snapped the safety shut after shooting baree. now he had only strength left to pull the trigger. twice his forefinger closed. twice there came deadened explosion close to pierrot's body. in pierrot's face nepeese saw what had happened. her heart died in her breast as she looked upon the swift and terrible change wrought by sudden death. slowly pierrot straightened. his eyes were wide for a moment--wide and staring. he made no sound. she could not see his lips move. and then he fell toward her, so that mctaggart's body was free. blindly and with an agony that gave no evidence in cry or word she flung herself down beside her father. he was dead. how long nepeese lay there, how long she waited for pierrot to move, to open his eyes, to breathe, she would never know. in that time mctaggart rose to his feet and stood leaning against the wall, the pistol in his hand, his brain clearing itself as he saw his final triumph. his work did not frighten him. even in that tragic moment as he stood against the wall, his defense--if it ever came to a defense--framed itself in his mind. pierrot had murderously assaulted him--without cause. in self-defense he had killed him. was he not the factor of lac bain? would not the company and the law believe his word before that of this girl? his brain leaped with the old exultation. it would never come to that--to a betrayal of this struggle and death in the cabin--after he had finished with her! she would not be known for all time as la bete noir. no, they would bury pierrot, and she would return to lac bain with him. if she had been helpless before, she was ten times more helpless now. she would never tell of what had happened in the cabin. he forgot the presence of death as he looked at her, bowed over her father so that her hair covered him like a silken-shroud. he replaced the pistol in its holster and drew a deep breath into his lungs. he was still a little unsteady on his feet, but his face was again the face of a devil. he took a step, and it was then there came a sound to rouse the girl. in the shadow of the farther wall baree had struggled to his haunches, and now he growled. slowly nepeese lifted her head. a power which she could not resist drew her eyes up until she was looking into the face of bush mctaggart. she had almost lost consciousness of his presence. her senses were cold and deadened--it was as if her own heart had stopped beating along with pierrot's. what she saw in the factor's face dragged her out of the numbness of her grief back into the shadow of her own peril. he was standing over her. in his face there was no pity, nothing of horror at what he had done--only an insane exultation as he looked--not at pierrot's dead body, but at her. he put out a hand, and it rested on her head. she felt his thick fingers crumpling her hair, and his eyes blazed like embers of fire behind watery films. she struggled to rise, but with his hands at her hair he held her down. "great god!" she breathed. she uttered no other words, no plea for mercy, no other sound but a dry, hopeless sob. in that moment neither of them heard or saw baree. twice in crossing the cabin his hindquarters had sagged to the floor. now he was close to mctaggart. he wanted to give a single lunge to the man-brute's back and snap his thick neck as he would have broken a caribou bone. but he had no strength. he was still partially paralyzed from his foreshoulder back. but his jaws were like iron, and they closed savagely on mctaggart's leg. with a yell of pain the factor released his hold on the willow, and she staggered to her feet. for a precious half-minute she was free, and as the factor kicked and struck to loose baree's hold, she ran to the cabin door and out into the day. the cold air struck her face. it filled her lungs with new strength; and without thought of where hope might lie she ran through the snow into the forest. mctaggart appeared at the door just in time to see her disappear. his leg was torn where baree had fastened his fangs, but he felt no pain as he ran in pursuit of the girl. she could not go far. an exultant cry, inhuman as the cry of a beast, came in a great breath from his gaping mouth as he saw that she was staggering weakly as she fled. he was halfway to the edge of the forest when baree dragged himself over the threshold. his jaws were bleeding where mctaggart had kicked him again and again before his fangs gave way. halfway between his ears was a seared spot, as if a red-hot poker had been laid there for an instant. this was where mctaggart's bullet had gone. a quarter of an inch deeper, and it would have meant death. as it was, it had been like the blow of a heavy club, paralyzing his senses and sending him limp and unconscious against the wall. he could move on his feet now without falling, and slowly he followed in the tracks of the man and the girl. as she ran, nepeese's mind became all at once clear and reasoning. she turned into the narrow trail over which mctaggart had followed her once before, but just before reaching the chasm, she swung sharply to the right. she could see mctaggart. he was not running fast, but was gaining steadily, as if enjoying the sight of her helplessness, as he had enjoyed it in another way on that other day. two hundred yards below the deep pool into which she had pushed the factor--just beyond the shallows out of which he had dragged himself to safety--was the beginning of blue feather's gorge. an appalling thing was shaping itself in her mind as she ran to it--a thing that with each gasping breath she drew became more and more a great and glorious hope. at last she reached it and looked down. and as she looked, there whispered up out of her soul and trembled on her lips the swan song of her mother's people. our fathers--come! come from out of the valley. guide us--for today we die, and the winds whisper of death! she had raised her arms. against the white wilderness beyond the chasm she stood tall and slim. fifty yards behind her the factor from lac bain stopped suddenly in his tracks. "ah," he mumbled. "is she not wonderful!" and behind mctaggart, coming faster and faster, was baree. again the willow looked down. she was at the edge, for she had no fear in this hour. many times she had clung to pierrot's hand as she looked over. down there no one could fall and live. fifty feet below her the water which never froze was smashing itself into froth among the rocks. it was deep and black and terrible, for between the narrow rock walls the sun did not reach it. the roar of it filled the willow's ears. she turned and faced mctaggart. even then he did not guess, but came toward her again, his arms stretched out ahead of him. fifty yards! it was not much, and shortening swiftly. once more the willow's lips moved. after all, it is the mother soul that gives us faith to meet eternity--and it was to the spirit of her mother that the willow called in the hour of death. with the call on her lips she plunged into the abyss, her wind-whipped hair clinging to her in a glistening shroud. chapter a moment later the factor from lac bain stood at the edge of the chasm. his voice had called out in a hoarse bellow--a wild cry of disbelief and horror that had formed the willow's name as she disappeared. he looked down, clutching his huge red hands and staring in ghastly suspense at the boiling water and black rocks far below. there was nothing there now--no sign of her, no last flash of her pale face and streaming hair in the white foam. and she had done that--to save herself from him! the soul of the man-beast turned sick within him, so sick that he staggered back, his vision blinded and his legs tottering under him. he had killed pierrot, and it had been a triumph. all his life he had played the part of the brute with a stoicism and cruelty that had known no shock--nothing like this that overwhelmed him now, numbing him to the marrow of his bones until he stood like one paralyzed. he did not see baree. he did not hear the dog's whining cries at the edge of the chasm. for a few moments the world turned black for him. and then, dragging himself out of his stupor, he ran frantically along the edge of the gorge, looking down wherever his eyes could see the water, striving for a glimpse of her. at last it grew too deep. there was no hope. she was gone--and she had faced that to escape him! he mumbled that fact over and over again, stupidly, thickly, as though his brain could grasp nothing beyond it. she was dead. and pierrot was dead. and he, in a few minutes, had accomplished it all. he turned back toward the cabin--not by the trail over which he had pursued nepeese, but straight through the thick bush. great flakes of snow had begun to fall. he looked at the sky, where banks of dark clouds were rolling up from the south and east. the sun disappeared. soon there would be a storm--a heavy snowstorm. the big flakes falling on his naked hands and face set his mind to work. it was lucky for him, this storm. it would cover everything--the fresh trails, even the grave he would dig for pierrot. it does not take such a man as the factor long to recover from a moral concussion. by the time he came in sight of the cabin his mind was again at work on physical things--on the necessities of the situation. the appalling thing, after all, was not that both pierrot and nepeese were dead, but that his dream was shattered. it was not that nepeese was dead, but that he had lost her. this was his vital disappointment. the other thing--his crime--it was easy to destroy all traces of that. it was not sentiment that made him dig pierrot's grave close to the princess mother's under the tall spruce. it was not sentiment that made him dig the grave at all, but caution. he buried pierrot decently. then he poured pierrot's stock of kerosene where it would be most effective and touched a match to it. he stood in the edge of the forest until the cabin was a mass of flames. the snow was falling thickly. the freshly made grave was a white mound, and the trails were filling up with new snow. for the physical things he had done there was no fear in bush mctaggart's heart as he turned back toward lac bain. no one would ever look into the grave of pierrot du quesne. and there was no one to betray him if such a miracle happened. but of one thing his black soul would never be able to free itself. always he would see the pale, triumphant face of the willow as she stood facing him in that moment of her glory when, even as she was choosing death rather than him, he had cried to himself: "ah! is she not wonderful!" as bush mctaggart had forgotten baree, so baree had forgotten the factor from lac bain. when mctaggart had run along the edge of the chasm, baree had squatted himself in the trodden plot of snow where nepeese had last stood, his body stiffened and his forefeet braced as he looked down. he had seen her take the leap. many times that summer he had followed her in her daring dives into the deep, quiet water of the pool. but this was a tremendous distance. she had never dived into a place like that before. he could see the black shapes of the rocks, appearing and disappearing in the whirling foam like the heads of monsters at play. the roar of the water filled him with dread. his eyes caught the swift rush of crumbled ice between the rock walls. and she had gone down there! he had a great desire to follow her, to jump in, as he had always jumped in after her in previous times. she was surely down there, even though he could not see her. probably she was playing among the rocks and hiding herself in the white froth and wondering why he didn't come. but he hesitated--hesitated with his head and neck over the abyss, and his forefeet giving way a little in the snow. with an effort he dragged himself back and whined. he caught the fresh scent of mctaggart's moccasins in the snow, and the whine changed slowly into a long snarl. he looked over again. still he could not see her. he barked--the short, sharp signal with which he always called her. there was no answer. again and again he barked, and always there was nothing but the roar of the water that came back to him. then for a few moments he stood back, silent and listening, his body shivering with the strange dread that was possessing him. the snow was falling now, and mctaggart had returned to the cabin. after a little baree followed in the trail he had made along the edge of the chasm, and wherever mctaggart had stopped to peer over, baree paused also. for a space his hatred of the man was lost in his desire to join the willow, and he continued along the gorge until, a quarter of a mile beyond where the factor had last looked into it, he came to the narrow trail down which he and nepeese had many time adventured in quest of rock violets. the twisting path that led down the face of the cliff was filled with snow now, but baree made his way through it until at last he stood at the edge of the unfrozen torrent. nepeese was not here. he whined, and barked again, but this time there was in his signal to her an uneasy repression, a whimpering note which told that he did not expect a reply. for five minutes after that he sat on his haunches in the snow, stolid as a rock. what it was that came down out of the dark mystery and tumult of the chasm to him, what spirit whispers of nature that told him the truth, it is beyond the power of reason to explain. but he listened, and he looked; and his muscles twitched as the truth grew in him. and at last he raised his head slowly until his black muzzle pointed to the white storm in the sky, and out of his throat there went forth the quavering, long-drawn howl of the husky who mourns outside the tepee of a master who is newly dead. on the trail, heading for lac bain, bush mctaggart heard that cry and shivered. it was the smell of smoke, thickening in the air until it stung his nostrils, that drew baree at last away from the chasm and back to the cabin. there was not much left when he came to the clearing. where the cabin had been was a red-hot, smoldering mass. for a long time he sat watching it, still waiting and still listening. he no longer felt the effect of the bullet that had stunned him, but his senses were undergoing another change now, as strange and unreal as their struggle against that darkness of near death in the cabin. in a space that had not covered more than an hour the world had twisted itself grotesquely for baree. that long ago the willow was sitting before her little mirror in the cabin, talking to him and laughing in her happiness, while he lay in vast contentment on the floor. and now there was no cabin, no nepeese, no pierrot. quietly he struggled to comprehend. it was some time before he moved from under the thick balsams, for already a deep and growing suspicion began to guide his movements. he did not go nearer to the smoldering mass of the cabin, but slinking low, made his way about the circle of the clearing to the dog corral. this took him under the tall spruce. for a full minute he paused here, sniffing at the freshly made mound under its white mantle of snow. when he went on, he slunk still lower, and his ears were flat against his head. the dog corral was open and empty. mctaggart had seen to that. again baree squatted back on his haunches and sent forth the death howl. this time it was for pierrot. in it there was a different note from that of the howl he had sent forth from the chasm: it was positive, certain. in the chasm his cry had been tempered with doubt--a questioning hope, something that was so almost human that mctaggart had shivered on the trail. but baree knew what lay in that freshly dug snow-covered grave. a scant three feet of earth could not hide its secret from him. there was death--definite and unequivocal. but for nepeese he was still hoping and seeking. until noon he did not go far from the site of the cabin, but only once did he actually approach and sniff about the black pile of steaming timbers. again and again he circled the edge of the clearing, keeping just within the bush and timber, sniffing the air and listening. twice he went hack to the chasm. late in the afternoon there came to him a sudden impulse that carried him swiftly through the forest. he did not run openly now. caution, suspicion, and fear had roused in him afresh the instincts of the wolf. with his ears flattened against the side of his head, his tail drooping until the tip of it dragged the snow and his back sagging in the curious, evasive gait of the wolf, he scarcely made himself distinguishable from the shadows of the spruce and balsams. there was no faltering in the trail baree made; it was straight as a rope might have been drawn through the forest, and it brought him, early in the dusk, to the open spot where nepeese had fled with him that day she had pushed mctaggart over the edge of the precipice into the pool. in the place of the balsam shelter of that day there was now a watertight birchbark tepee which pierrot had helped the willow to make during the summer. baree went straight to it and thrust in his head with a low and expectant whine. there was no answer. it was dark and cold in the tepee. he could make out indistinctly the two blankets that were always in it, the row of big tin boxes in which nepeese kept their stores, and the stove which pierrot had improvised out of scraps of iron and heavy tin. but nepeese was not there. and there was no sign of her outside. the snow was unbroken except by his own trail. it was dark when he returned to the burned cabin. all that night he hung about the deserted dog corral, and all through the night the snow fell steadily, so that by dawn he sank into it to his shoulders when he moved out into the clearing. but with day the sky had cleared. the sun came up, and the world was almost too dazzling for the eyes. it warmed baree's blood with new hope and expectation. his brain struggled even more eagerly than yesterday to comprehend. surely the willow would be returning soon! he would hear her voice. she would appear suddenly out of the forest. he would receive some signal from her. one of these things, or all of them, must happen. he stopped sharply in his tracks at every sound, and sniffed the air from every point of the wind. he was traveling ceaselessly. his body made deep trails in the snow around and over the huge white mound where the cabin had stood. his tracks led from the corral to the tall spruce, and they were as numerous as the footprints of a wolf pack for half a mile up and down the chasm. on the afternoon of this day the second strong impulse came to him. it was not reason, and neither was it instinct alone. it was the struggle halfway between, the brute mind righting at its best with the mystery of an intangible thing--something that could not be seen by the eye or heard by the ear. nepeese was not in the cabin, because there was no cabin. she was not at the tepee. he could find no trace of her in the chasm. she was not with pierrot under the big spruce. therefore, unreasoning but sure, he began to follow the old trap line into the north and west. chapter no man has ever looked clearly into the mystery of death as it is impressed upon the senses of the northern dog. it comes to him, sometimes, with the wind. most frequently it must come with the wind, and yet there are ten thousand masters in the northland who will swear that their dogs have given warning of death hours before it actually came; and there are many of these thousands who know from experience that their teams will stop a quarter or half a mile from a strange cabin in which there lies unburied dead. yesterday baree had smelled death, and he knew without process of reasoning that the dead was pierrot. how he knew this, and why he accepted the fact as inevitable, is one of the mysteries which at times seems to give the direct challenge to those who concede nothing more than instinct to the brute mind. he knew that pierrot was dead without exactly knowing what death was. but of one thing he was sure: he would never see pierrot again. he would never hear his voice again; he would never hear again the swish-swish-swish of his snowshoes in the trail ahead, and so on the trap line he did not look for pierrot. pierrot was gone forever. but baree had not yet associated death with nepeese. he was filled with a great uneasiness. what came to him from out of the chasm had made him tremble with fear and suspense. he sensed the thrill of something strange, of something impending, and yet even as he had given the death howl in the chasm, it must have been for pierrot. for he believed that nepeese was alive, and he was now just as sure that he would overtake her on the trap line as he was positive yesterday that he would find her at the birchbark tepee. since yesterday morning's breakfast with the willow, baree had gone without eating. to appease his hunger meant to hunt, and his mind was too filled with his quest of nepeese for that. he would have gone hungry all that day, but in the third mile from the cabin he came to a trap in which there was a big snowshoe rabbit. the rabbit was still alive, and he killed it and ate his fill. until dark he did not miss a trap. in one of them there was a lynx; in another a fishercat. out on the white surface of a lake he sniffed at a snowy mound under which lay the body of a red fox killed by one of pierrot's poison baits. both the lynx and the fishercat were alive, and the steel chains of their traps clanked sharply as they prepared to give baree battle. but baree was uninterested. he hurried on, his uneasiness growing as the day darkened and he found no sign of the willow. it was a wonderfully clear night after the storm--cold and brilliant, with the shadows standing out as clearly as living things. the third suggestion came to baree now. he was, like all animals, largely of one idea at a time--a creature with whom all lesser impulses were governed by a single leading impulse. and this impulse, in the glow of the starlit night, was to reach as quickly as possible the first of pierrot's two cabins on the trap line. there he would find nepeese! we won't call the process by which baree came to this conclusion a process of reasoning. instinct or reasoning, whatever it was, a fixed and positive faith came to baree just the same. he began to miss the traps in his haste to cover distance--to reach the cabin. it was twenty-five miles from pierrot's burned home to the first trap cabin, and baree had made ten of these by nightfall. the remaining fifteen were the most difficult. in the open spaces the snow was belly-deep and soft. frequently he plunged through drifts in which for a few moments he was buried. three times during the early part of the night baree heard the savage dirge of the wolves. once it was a wild paean of triumph as the hunters pulled down their kill less than half a mile away in the deep forest. but the voice no longer called to him. it was repellent--a voice of hatred and of treachery. each time that he heard it he stopped in his tracks and snarled, while his spine stiffened. at midnight baree came to the tiny amphitheater in the forest where pierrot had cut the logs for the first of his trapline cabins. for at least a minute baree stood at the edge of the clearing, his ears very alert, his eyes bright with hope and expectation, while he sniffed the air. there was no smoke, no sound, no light in the one window of the log shack. his disappointment fell on him even as he stood there. again he sensed the fact of his aloneness, of the barrenness of his quest. there was a disheartened slouch to his door. he had traveled twenty-five miles, and he was tired. the snow was drifted deep at the doorway, and here baree sat down and whined. it was no longer the anxious, questing whine of a few hours ago. now it voiced hopelessness and a deep despair. for half an hour he sat shivering with his back to the door and his face to the starlit wilderness, as if there still remained the fleeting hope that nepeese might follow after him over the trail. then he burrowed himself a hole deep in the snowdrift and passed the remainder of the night in uneasy slumber. with the first light of day baree resumed the trail. he was not so alert this morning. there was the disconsolate droop to his tail which the indians call the akoosewin--the sign of the sick dog. and baree was sick--not of body but of soul. the keenness of his hope had died, and he no longer expected to find the willow. the second cabin at the far end of the trap line drew him on, but it inspired in him none of the enthusiasm with which he had hurried to the first. he traveled slowly and spasmodically, his suspicions of the forests again replacing the excitement of his quest. he approached each of pierrot's traps and the deadfalls cautiously, and twice he showed his fangs--once at a marten that snapped at him from under a root where it had dragged the trap in which it was caught, and the second time at a big snowy owl that had come to steal bait and was now a prisoner at the end of a steel chain. it may be that baree thought it was oohoomisew and that he still remembered vividly the treacherous assault and fierce battle of that night when, as a puppy, he was dragging his sore and wounded body through the mystery and fear of the big timber. for he did more than to show his fangs. he tore the owl into pieces. there were plenty of rabbits in pierrot's traps, and baree did not go hungry. he reached the second trap-line cabin late in the afternoon, after ten hours of traveling. he met with no very great disappointment here, for he had not anticipated very much. the snow had banked this cabin even higher than the other. it lay three feet deep against the door, and the window was white with a thick coating of frost. at this place, which was close to the edge of a big barren, and unsheltered by the thick forests farther back, pierrot had built a shelter for his firewood, and in this shelter baree made his temporary home. all the next day he remained somewhere near the end of the trap line, skirting the edge of the barren and investigating the short side line of a dozen traps which pierrot and nepeese had strung through a swamp in which there had been many signs of lynx. it was the third day before he set out on his return to the gray loon. he did not travel very fast, spending two days in covering the twenty-five miles between the first and the second trap-line cabins. at the second cabin he remained for three days, and it was on the ninth day that he reached the gray loon. there was no change. there were no tracks in the snow but his own, made nine days ago. baree's quest for nepeese became now more or less involuntary, a sort of daily routine. for a week he made his burrow in the dog corral, and at least twice between dawn and darkness he would go to the birchbark tepee and the chasm. his trail, soon beaten hard in the snow, became as fixed as pierrot's trap line. it cut straight through the forest to the tepee, swinging slightly to the east so that it crossed the frozen surface of the willow's swimming pool. from the tepee it swung in a circle through a part of the forest where nepeese had frequently gathered armfuls of crimson fireflowers, and then to the chasm. up and down the edge of the gorge it went, down into the little cup at the bottom of the chasm, and thence straight back to the dog corral. and then, of a sudden, baree made a change. he spent a night in the tepee. after that, whenever he was at the gray loon, during the day he always slept in the tepee. the two blankets were his bed--and they were a part of nepeese. and there, all through the long winter, he waited. if nepeese had returned in february and could have taken him unaware, she would have found a changed baree. he was more than ever like a wolf; yet he never gave the wolf howl now, and always he snarled deep in his throat when he heard the cry of the pack. for several weeks the old trap line had supplied him with meat, but now he hunted. the tepee, in and out, was scattered with fur and bones. once--alone--he caught a young deer in deep snow and killed it. again, in the heart of a fierce february storm, he pursued a bull caribou so closely that it plunged over a cliff and broke its neck. he lived well, and in size and strength he was growing swiftly into a giant of his kind. in another six months he would be as large as kazan, and his jaws were almost as powerful, even now. three times that winter baree fought--once with a lynx that sprang down upon him from a windfall while he was eating a freshly killed rabbit, and twice with two lone wolves. the lynx tore him unmercifully before it fled into the windfall. the younger of the wolves he killed; the other fight was a draw. more and more he became an outcast, living alone with his dreams and his smoldering hopes. and baree did dream. many times, as he lay in the tepee, he would hear the voice of nepeese. he would hear her sweet voice calling, her laughter, the sound of his name, and often he would start up to his feet--the old baree for a thrilling moment or two--only to lie down in his nest again with a low, grief-filled whine. and always when he heard the snap of a twig or some other sound in the forest, it was thought of nepeese that flashed first into his brain. some day she would return. that belief was a part of his existence as much as the sun and the moon and the stars. the winter passed, and spring came, and still baree continued to haunt his old trails, even going now and then over the old trap line as far as the first of the two cabins. the traps were rusted and sprung now; the thawing snow disclosed bones and feathers between their jaws. under the deadfalls were remnants of fur, and out on the ice of the lakes were picked skeletons of foxes and wolves that had taken the poison baits. the last snow went. the swollen streams sang in the forests and canyons. the grass turned green, and the first flowers came. surely this was the time for nepeese to come home! he watched for her expectantly. he went still more frequently to their swimming pool in the forest, and he hung closely to the burned cabin and the dog corral. twice he sprang into the pool and whined as he swam about, as though she surely must join him in their old water frolic. and now, as the spring passed and summer came, there settled upon him slowly the gloom and misery of utter hopelessness. the flowers were all out now, and even the bakneesh vines glowed like red fire in the woods. patches of green were beginning to hide the charred heap where the cabin had stood, and the blue-flower vines that covered the princess mother's grave were reaching out toward pierrot's, as if the princess mother herself were the spirit of them. all these things were happening, and the birds had mated and nested, and still nepeese did not come! and at last something broke inside of baree, his last hope, perhaps, his last dream; and one day he bade good-bye to the gray loon. no one can say what it cost him to go. no one can say how he fought against the things that were holding him to the tepee, the old swimming pool, the familiar paths in the forest, and the two graves that were not so lonely now under the tall spruce. he went. he had no reason--simply went. it may be that there is a master whose hand guides the beast as well as the man, and that we know just enough of this guidance to call it instinct. for, in dragging himself away, baree faced the great adventure. it was there, in the north, waiting for him--and into the north he went. chapter it was early in august when baree left the gray loon. he had no objective in view. but there was still left upon his mind, like the delicate impression of light and shadow on a negative, the memories of his earlier days. things and happenings that he had almost forgotten recurred to him now, as his trail led him farther and farther away from the gray loon. and his earlier experiences became real again, pictures thrown out afresh in his mind by the breaking of the last ties that held him to the home of the willow. involuntarily he followed the trail of these impressions--of these past happenings, and slowly they helped to build up new interests for him. a year in his life was a long time--a decade of man's experience. it was more than a year ago that he had left kazan and gray wolf and the old windfall, and yet now there came back to him indistinct memories of those days of his earliest puppyhood, of the stream into which he had fallen, and of his fierce battle with papayuchisew. it was his later experiences that roused the older memories. he came to the blind canyon up which nepeese and pierrot had chased him. that seemed but yesterday. he entered the little meadow, and stood beside the great rock that had almost crushed the life out of the willow's body; and then he remembered where wakayoo, his big bear friend, had died under pierrot's rifle--and he smelled of wakayoo's whitened bones where they lay scattered in the green grass, with flowers growing up among them. a day and night he spent in the little meadow before he went back out of the canyon and into his old haunts along the creek, where wakayoo had fished for him. there was another bear here now, and he also was fishing. perhaps he was a son or a grandson of wakayoo. baree smelled where he had made his fish caches, and for three days he lived on fish before he struck out for the north. and now, for the first time in many weeks, a bit of the old-time eagerness put speed into baree's feet. memories that had been hazy and indistinct through forgetfulness were becoming realities again, and as he would have returned to the gray loon had nepeese been there so now, with something of the feeling of a wanderer going home, he returned to the old beaver pond. it was that most glorious hour of a summer's day--sunset--when he reached it. he stopped a hundred yards away, with the pond still hidden from his sight, and sniffed the air, and listened. the pond was there. he caught the cool, honey smell of it. but umisk, and beaver tooth, and all the others? would he find them? he strained his ears to catch a familiar sound, and after a moment or two it came--a hollow splash in the water. he went quietly through the alders and stood at last close to the spot where he had first made the acquaintance of umisk. the surface of the pond was undulating slightly, two or three heads popped up. he saw the torpedolike wake of an old beaver towing a stick close to the opposite shore. he looked toward the dam, and it was as he had left it almost a year ago. he did not show himself for a time, but stood concealed in the young alders. he felt growing in him more and more a feeling of restfulness, a relaxation from the long strain of the lonely months during which he had waited for nepeese. with a long breath he lay down among the alders, with his head just enough exposed to give him a clear view. as the sun settled lower the pond became alive. out on the shore where he had saved umisk from the fox came another generation of young beavers--three of them, fat and waddling. very softly baree whined. all that night he lay in the alders. the beaver pond became his home again. conditions were changed, of course, and as days grew into weeks the inhabitants of beaver tooth's colony showed no signs of accepting the grown-up baree as they had accepted the baby baree of long ago. he was big, black, and wolfish now--a long-fanged and formidable-looking creature, and though he offered no violence he was regarded by the beavers with a deep-seated feeling of fear and suspicion. on the other hand, baree no longer felt the old puppyish desire to play with the baby beavers, so their aloofness did not trouble him as in those other days. umisk was grown up, too, a fat and prosperous young buck who was just taking unto himself this year a wife, and who was at present very busy gathering his winter's rations. it is entirely probable that he did not associate the big black beast he saw now and then with the little baree with whom he had smelled noses once upon a time, and it is quite likely that baree did not recognize umisk except as a part of the memories that had remained with him. all through the month of august baree made the beaver pond his headquarters. at times his excursions kept him away for two or three days at a time. these journeys were always into the north, sometimes a little east and sometimes a little west, but never again into the south. and at last, early in september, he left the beaver pond for good. for many days his wanderings carried him in no one particular direction. he followed the hunting, living chiefly on rabbits and that simple-minded species of partridge known as the "fool hen." this diet, of course, was given variety by other things as they happened to come his way. wild currants and raspberries were ripening, and baree was fond of these. he also liked the bitter berries of the mountain ash, which, along with the soft balsam and spruce pitch which he licked with his tongue now and then, were good medicine for him. in shallow water he occasionally caught a fish. now and then he hazarded a cautious battle with a porcupine, and if he was successful he feasted on the tenderest and most luscious of all the flesh that made up his menu. twice in september he killed young deer. the big "burns" that he occasionally came to no longer held terrors for him; in the midst of plenty he forgot the days in which he had gone hungry. in october he wandered as far west as the geikie river, and then northward to wollaston lake, which was a good hundred miles north of the gray loon. the first week in november he turned south again, following the canoe river for a distance, and then swinging westward along a twisting creek called the little black bear with no tail. more than once during these weeks baree came into touch with man, but, with the exception of the cree hunter at the upper end of wollaston lake, no man had seen him. three times in following the geikie he lay crouched in the brush while canoes passed. half a dozen times, in the stillness of night, he nosed about cabins and tepees in which there was life, and once he came so near to the hudson's bay company post at wollaston that he could hear the barking of dogs and the shouting of their masters. and always he was seeking--questing for the thing that had gone out of his life. at the thresholds of the cabins he sniffed; outside of the tepees he circled close, gathering the wind. the canoes he watched with eyes in which there was a hopeful gleam. once he thought the wind brought him the scent of nepeese, and all at once his legs grew weak under his body and his heart seemed to stop beating. it was only for a moment or two. she came out of the tepee--an indian girl with her hands full of willow work--and baree slunk away unseen. it was almost december when lerue, a half-breed from lac bain, saw baree's footprints in freshly fallen snow, and a little later caught a flash of him in the bush. "mon dieu, i tell you his feet are as big as my hand, and he is as black as a raven's wing with the sun on it!" he exclaimed in the company's store at lac bain. "a fox? non! he is half as big as a bear. a wolf--oui! and black as the devil, m'sieus." mctaggart was one of those who heard. he was putting his signature in ink to a letter he had written to the company when lerue's words came to him. his hand stopped so suddenly that a drop of ink spattered on the letter. through him there ran a curious shiver as he looked over at the half-breed. just then marie came in. mctaggart had brought her back from her tribe. her big, dark eyes had a sick look in them, and some of her wild beauty had gone since a year ago. "he was gone like--that!" lerue was saying, with a snap of his fingers. he saw marie, and stopped. "black, you say?" mctaggart said carelessly, without lifting his eyes from his writing. "did he not bear some dog mark?" lerue shrugged his shoulders. "he was gone like the wind, m'sieu. but he was a wolf." with scarcely a sound that the others could hear marie had whispered into the factor's ear, and folding his letter mctaggart rose quickly and left the store. he was gone an hour. lerue and the others were puzzled. it was not often that marie came into the store. it was not often that they saw her at all. she remained hidden in the factor's log house, and each time that he saw her lerue thought that her face was a little thinner than the last, and her eyes bigger and hungrier looking. in his own heart there was a great yearning. many a night he passed the little window beyond which he knew that she was sleeping. often he looked to catch a glimpse of her pale face, and he lived in the one happiness of knowing that marie understood, and that into her eyes there came for an instant a different light when their glances met. no one else knew. the secret lay between them--and patiently lerue waited and watched. "some day," he kept saying to himself--"some day"--and that was all. the one word carried a world of meaning and of hope. when that day came he would take marie straight to the missioner over at fort churchill, and they would be married. it was a dream--a dream that made the long days and the longer nights on the trap line patiently endured. now they were both slaves to the environing power. but--some day-- lerue was thinking of this when mctaggart returned at the end of the hour. the factor came straight up to where the half dozen of them were seated about the big box stove, and with a grunt of satisfaction shook the freshly fallen snow from his shoulders. "pierre eustach has accepted the government's offer and is going to guide that map-making party up into the barrens this winter," he announced. "you know, lerue--he has a hundred and fifty traps and deadfalls set, and a big poison-bait country. a good line, eh? and i have leased it of him for the season. it will give me the outdoor work i need--three days on the trail, three days here. eh, what do you say to the bargain?" "it is good," said lerue. "yes, it is good," said roget. "a wide fox country," said mons roule. "and easy to travel," murmured valence in a voice that was almost like a woman's. chapter the trap line of pierre eustach ran thirty miles straight west of lac bain. it was not as long a line as pierrot's had been, but it was like a main artery running through the heart of a rich fur country. it had belonged to pierre eustach's father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and beyond that it reached, pierre averred, back to the very pulse of the finest blood in france. the books at mctaggart's post went back only as far as the great-grandfather end of it, the older evidence of ownership being at churchill. it was the finest game country between reindeer lake and the barren lands. it was in december that baree came to it. again he was traveling southward in a slow and wandering fashion, seeking food in the deep snows. the kistisew kestin, or great storm, had come earlier than usual this winter, and for a week after it scarcely a hoof or claw was moving. baree, unlike the other creatures, did not bury himself in the snow and wait for the skies to clear and crust to form. he was big, and powerful, and restless. less than two years old, he weighed a good eighty pounds. his pads were broad and wolfish. his chest and shoulders were like a malemute's, heavy and yet muscled for speed. he was wider between the eyes than the wolf-breed husky, and his eyes were larger, and entirely clear of the wuttooi, or blood film, that marks the wolf and also to an extent the husky. his jaws were like kazan's, perhaps even more powerful. through all that week of the big storm he traveled without food. there were four days of snow, with driving blizzards and fierce winds, and after that three days of intense cold in which every living creature kept to its warm dugout in the snow. even the birds had burrowed themselves in. one might have walked on the backs of caribou and moose and not have guessed it. baree sheltered himself during the worst of the storm but did not allow the snow to gather over him. every trapper from hudson's bay to the country of the athabasca knew that after the big storm the famished fur animals would be seeking food, and that traps and deadfalls properly set and baited stood the biggest chance of the year of being filled. some of them set out over their trap lines on the sixth day; some on the seventh, and others on the eighth. it was on the seventh day that bush mctaggart started over pierre eustach's line, which was now his own for the season. it took him two days to uncover the traps, dig the snow from them, rebuild the fallen "trap houses," and rearrange the baits. on the third day he was back at lac bain. it was on this day that baree came to the cabin at the far end of mctaggart's line. mctaggart's trail was fresh in the snow about the cabin, and the instant baree sniffed of it every drop of blood in his body seemed to leap suddenly with a strange excitement. it took perhaps half a minute for the scent that filled his nostrils to associate itself with what had gone before, and at the end of that half-minute there rumbled in baree's chest a deep and sullen growl. for many minutes after that he stood like a black rock in the snow, watching the cabin. then slowly he began circling about it, drawing nearer and nearer, until at last he was sniffing at the threshold. no sound or smell of life came from inside, but he could smell the old smell of mctaggart. then he faced the wilderness--the direction in which the trap line ran back to lac bain. he was trembling. his muscles twitched. he whined. pictures were assembling more and more vividly in his mind--the fight in the cabin, nepeese, the wild chase through the snow to the chasm's edge--even the memory of that age-old struggle when mctaggart had caught him in the rabbit snare. in his whine there was a great yearning, almost expectation. then it died slowly away. after all, the scent in the snow was of a thing that he had hated and wanted to kill, and not of anything that he had loved. for an instant nature had impressed on him the significance of associations--a brief space only, and then it was gone. the whine died away, but in its place came again that ominous growl. slowly he followed the trail and a quarter of a mile from the cabin struck the first trap on the line. hunger had caved in his sides until he was like a starved wolf. in the first trap house mctaggart had placed as bait the hindquarter of a snowshoe rabbit. baree reached in cautiously. he had learned many things on pierrot's line: he had learned what the snap of a trap meant. he had felt the cruel pain of steel jaws; he knew better than the shrewdest fox what a deadfall would do when the trigger was sprung--and nepeese herself had taught him that he was never to touch a poison bait. so he closed his teeth gently in the rabbit flesh and drew it forth as cleverly as mctaggart himself could have done. he visited five traps before dark, and ate the five baits without springing a pan. the sixth was a deadfall. he circled about this until he had beaten a path in the snow. then he went on into a warm balsam swamp and found himself a bed for the night. the next day saw the beginning of the struggle that was to follow between the wits of man and beast. to baree the encroachment of bush mctaggart's trap line was not war; it was existence. it was to furnish him food, as pierrot's line had furnished him food for many weeks. but he sensed the fact that in this instance he was lawbreaker and had an enemy to outwit. had it been good hunting weather he might have gone on, for the unseen hand that was guiding his wanderings was drawing him slowly but surely back to the old beaver pond and the gray loon. as it was, with the snow deep and soft under him--so deep that in places he plunged into it over his ears--mctaggart's trap line was like a trail of manna made for his special use. he followed in the factor's snowshoe tracks, and in the third trap killed a rabbit. when he had finished with it nothing but the hair and crimson patches of blood lay upon the snow. starved for many days, he was filled with a wolfish hunger, and before the day was over he had robbed the bait from a full dozen of mctaggart's traps. three times he struck poison baits--venison or caribou fat in the heart of which was a dose of strychnine, and each time his keen nostrils detected the danger. pierrot had more than once noted the amazing fact that baree could sense the presence of poison even when it was most skillfully injected into the frozen carcass of a deer. foxes and wolves ate of flesh from which his supersensitive power of detecting the presence of deadly danger turned him away. so he passed bush mctaggart's poisoned tidbits, sniffing them on the way, and leaving the story of his suspicion in the manner of his footprints in the snow. where mctaggart had halted at midday to cook his dinner baree made these same cautious circles with his feet. the second day, being less hungry and more keenly alive to the hated smell of his enemy, baree ate less but was more destructive. mctaggart was not as skillful as pierre eustach in keeping the scent of his hands from the traps and "houses," and every now and then the smell of him was strong in baree's nose. this wrought in baree a swift and definite antagonism, a steadily increasing hatred where a few days before hatred was almost forgotten. there is, perhaps, in the animal mind a process of simple computation which does not quite achieve the distinction of reason, and which is not altogether instinct, but which produces results that might be ascribed to either. baree did not add two and two together to make four. he did not go back step by step to prove to himself that the man to whom this trap line belonged was the cause of all hit, griefs and troubles--but he did find himself possessed of a deep and yearning hatred. mctaggart was the one creature except the wolves that he had ever hated. it was mctaggart who had hurt him, mctaggart who had hurt pierrot, mctaggart who had made him lose his beloved nepeese--and mctaggart was here on this trap line! if he had been wandering before, without object or destiny, he was given a mission now. it was to keep to the traps. to feed himself. and to vent his hatred and his vengeance as he lived. the second day, in the center of a lake, he came upon the body of a wolf that had died of one of the poison baits. for a half-hour he mauled the dead beast until its skin was torn into ribbons. he did not taste the flesh. it was repugnant to him. it was his vengeance on the wolf breed. he stopped when he was half a dozen miles from lac bain, and turned back. at this particular point the line crossed a frozen stream beyond which was an open plain, and over that plain came--when the wind was right--the smoke and smell of the post. the second night baree lay with a full stomach in a thicket of banksian pine; the third day he was traveling westward over the trap line again. early on this morning bush mctaggart started out to gather his catch, and where he crossed the stream six miles from lac bain he first saw baree's tracks. he stopped to examine them with sudden and unusual interest, falling at last on his knees, whipping off the glove from his right hand, and picking up a single hair. "the black wolf!" he uttered the words in an odd, hard voice, and involuntarily his eyes turned straight in the direction of the gray loon. after that, even more carefully than before, he examined one of the clearly impressed tracks in the snow. when he rose to his feet there was in his face the look of one who had made an unpleasant discovery. "a black wolf!" he repeated, and shrugged his shoulders. "bah! lerue is a fool. it is a dog." and then, after a moment, he muttered in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, "her dog." he went on, traveling in the trail of the dog. a new excitement possessed him that was more thrilling than the excitement of the hunt. being human, it was his privilege to add two and two together, and out of two and two he made--baree. there was little doubt in his mind. the thought had flashed on him first when lerue had mentioned the black wolf. he was convinced after his examination of the tracks. they were the tracks of a dog, and the dog was black. then he came to the first trap that had been robbed of its bait. under his breath he cursed. the bait was gone, and the trap was unsprung. the sharpened stick that had transfixed the bait was pulled out clean. all that day bush mctaggart followed a trail where baree had left traces of his presence. trap after trap he found robbed. on the lake he came upon the mangled wolf. from the first disturbing excitement of his discovery of baree's presence his humor changed slowly to one of rage, and his rage increased as the day dragged out. he was not unacquainted with four-footed robbers of the trap line, but usually a wolf or a fox or a dog who had grown adept in thievery troubled only a few traps. but in this case baree was traveling straight from trap to trap, and his footprints in the snow showed that he had stopped at each one. there was, to mctaggart, almost a human devilishness to his work. he evaded the poisons. not once did he stretch his head or paw within the danger zone of a deadfall. for apparently no reason whatever he had destroyed a splendid mink, whose glossy fur lay scattered in worthless bits over the snow. toward the end of the day mctaggart came to a deadfall in which a lynx had died. baree had torn the silvery flank of the animal until the skin was of less than half value. mctaggart cursed aloud, and his breath came hot. at dusk he reached the shack pierre eustach had built midway of his line, and took inventory of his fur. it was not more than a third of a catch; the lynx was half-ruined, a mink was torn completely in two. the second day he found still greater ruin, still more barren traps. he was like a madman. when he arrived at the second cabin, late in the afternoon, baree's tracks were not an hour old in the snow. three times during the night he heard the dog howling. the third day mctaggart did not return to lac bain, but began a cautious hunt for baree. an inch or two of fresh snow had fallen, and as if to take even greater measure of vengeance from his man enemy baree had left his footprints freely within a radius of a hundred yards of the cabin. it was half an hour before mctaggart could pick out the straight trail, and he followed it for two hours into a thick banksian swamp. baree kept with the wind. now and then he caught the scent of his pursuer. a dozen times he waited until the other was so close he could hear the snap of brush, or the metallic click of twigs against his rifle barrel. and then, with a sudden inspiration that brought the curses afresh to mctaggart's lips, he swung in a wide circle and cut straight back for the trap line. when the factor reached the line, along toward noon, baree had already begun his work. he had killed and eaten a rabbit. he had robbed three traps within the distance of a mile, and he was headed again straight over the trap line for post lac bain. it was the fifth day that bush mctaggart returned to his post. he was in an ugly mood. only valence of the four frenchmen was there, and it was valence who heard his story, and afterward heard him cursing marie. she came into the store a little later, big-eyed and frightened, one of her cheeks flaming red where mctaggart had struck her. while the storekeeper was getting her the canned salmon mctaggart wanted for his dinner valence found the opportunity to whisper softly in her ear: "m'sieu lerue has trapped a silver fox," he said with low triumph. "he loves you, cherie, and he will have a splendid catch by spring--and sends you this message from his cabin up on the little black bear with no tail: be ready to fly when the soft snows come!" marie did not look at him, but she heard, and her eyes shone so like stars when the young storekeeper gave her the salmon that he said to valence, when she had gone: "blue death, but she is still beautiful at times. valence!" to which valence nodded with an odd smile. chapter by the middle of january the war between baree and bush mctaggart had become more than an incident--more than a passing adventure to the beast, and more than an irritating happening to the man. it was, for the time, the elemental raison d'etre of their lives. baree hung to the trap line. he haunted it like a devastating specter, and each time that he sniffed afresh the scent of the factor from lac bain he was impressed still more strongly with the instinct that he was avenging himself upon a deadly enemy. again and again he outwitted mctaggart. he continued to strip his traps of their bait and the humor grew in him more strongly to destroy the fur he came across. his greatest pleasure came to be--not in eating--but in destroying. the fires of his hatred burned fiercer as the weeks passed, until at last he would snap and tear with his long fangs at the snow where mctaggart's feet had passed. and all of the time, away back of his madness, there was a vision of nepeese that continued to grow more and more clearly in his brain. that first great loneliness--the loneliness of the long days and longer nights of his waiting and seeking on the gray loon, oppressed him again as it had oppressed him in the early days of her disappearance. on starry or moonlit nights he sent forth his wailing cries for her again, and bush mctaggart, listening to them in the middle of the night, felt strange shivers run up his spine. the man's hatred was different than the beast's, but perhaps even more implacable. with mctaggart it was not hatred alone. there was mixed with it an indefinable and superstitious fear, a thing he laughed at, a thing he cursed at, but which clung to him as surely as the scent of his trail clung to baree's nose. baree no longer stood for the animal alone; he stood for nepeese. that was the thought that insisted in growing in mctaggart's ugly mind. never a day passed now that he did not think of the willow; never a night came and went without a visioning of her face. he even fancied, on a certain night of storm, that he heard her voice out in the wailing of the wind--and less than a minute later he heard faintly a distant howl out in the forest. that night his heart was filled with a leaden dread. he shook himself. he smoked his pipe until the cabin was blue. he cursed baree, and the storm--but there was no longer in him the bullying courage of old. he had not ceased to hate baree; he still hated him as he had never hated a man, but he had an even greater reason now for wanting to kill him. it came to him first in his sleep, in a restless dream, and after that it lived, and lived--the thought that the spirit of nepeese was guiding baree in the ravaging of his trap line! after a time he ceased to talk at the post about the black wolf that was robbing his line. the furs damaged by baree's teeth he kept out of sight, and to himself he kept his secret. he learned every trick and scheme of the hunters who killed foxes and wolves along the barrens. he tried three different poisons, one so powerful that a single drop of it meant death. he tried strychnine in gelatin capsules, in deer fat, caribou fat, moose liver, and even in the flesh of porcupine. at last, in preparing his poisons, he dipped his hands in beaver oil before he handled the venoms and flesh so that there could be no human smell. foxes, wolves, and even the mink and ermine died of these baits, but baree came always so near--and no nearer. in january mctaggart poisoned every bait in his trap houses. this produced at least one good result for him. from that day baree no longer touched his baits, but ate only the rabbits he killed in the traps. it was in january that mctaggart caught his first glimpse of baree. he had placed his rifle against a tree, and was a dozen feet away from it at the time. it was as if baree knew, and had come to taunt him. for when the factor suddenly looked up baree was standing out clear from the dwarf spruce not twenty yards away from him, his white fangs gleaming and his eyes burning like coals. for a space mctaggart stared as if turned into stone. it was baree. he recognized the white star, the white-tipped ear, and his heart thumped like a hammer in his breast. very slowly he began to creep toward his rifle. his hand was reaching for it when like a flash baree was gone. this gave mctaggart his new idea. he blazed himself a fresh trail through the forests parallel with his trap line but at least five hundred yards distant from it. wherever a trap or deadfall was set this new trail struck sharply in, like the point of a v, so that he could approach his line unobserved. by this strategy he believed that in time he was sure of getting a shot at the dog. again it was the man who was reasoning, and again it was the man who was defeated. the first day that mctaggart followed his new trail baree also struck that trail. for a little while it puzzled him. three times he cut back and forth between the old and the new trail. then there was no doubt. the new trail was the fresh trail, and he followed in the footsteps of the factor from lac bain. mctaggart did not know what was happening until his return trip, when he saw the story told in the snow. baree had visited each trap, and without exception he had approached each time at the point of the inverted v. after a week of futile hunting, of lying in wait, of approaching at every point of the wind--a period during which mctaggart had twenty times cursed himself into fits of madness, another idea came to him. it was like an inspiration, and so simple that it seemed almost inconceivable that he had not thought of it before. he hurried back to post lac bain. the second day after he was on the trail at dawn. this time he carried a pack in which there were a dozen strong wolf traps freshly dipped in beaver oil, and a rabbit which he had snared the previous night. now and then he looked anxiously at the sky. it was clear until late in the afternoon, when banks of dark clouds began rolling up from the east. half an hour later a few flakes of snow began falling. mctaggart let one of these drop on the back of his mittened hand, and examined it closely. it was soft and downy, and he gave vent to his satisfaction. it was what he wanted. before morning there would be six inches of freshly fallen snow covering the trails. he stopped at the next trap house and quickly set to work. first he threw away the poisoned bait in the "house" and replaced it with the rabbit. then he began setting his wolf traps. three of these he placed close to the "door" of the house, through which baree would have to reach for the bait. the remaining nine he scattered at intervals of a foot or sixteen inches apart, so that when he was done a veritable cordon of traps guarded the house. he did not fasten the chains, but let them lay loose in the snow. if baree got into one trap he would get into others and there would be no use of toggles. his work done, mctaggart hurried on through the thickening twilight of winter night to his shack. he was highly elated. this time there could be no such thing as failure. he had sprung every trap on his way from lac bain. in none of those traps would baree find anything to eat until he came to the "nest" of twelve wolf traps. seven inches of snow fell that night, and the whole world seemed turned into a wonderful white robe. like billows of feathers the snow clung to the trees and shrubs. it gave tall white caps to the rocks, and underfoot it was so light that a cartridge dropped from the hand sank out of sight. baree was on the trap line early. he was more cautious this morning, for there was no longer the scent or snowshoe track of mctaggart to guide him. he struck the first trap about halfway between lac bain and the shack in which the factor was waiting. it was sprung, and there was no bait. trap after trap he visited, and all of them he found sprung, and all without bait. he sniffed the air suspiciously, striving vainly to catch the tang of smoke, a whiff of the man smell. along toward noon he came to the "nest"--the twelve treacherous traps waiting for him with gaping jaws half a foot under the blanket of snow. for a full minute he stood well outside the danger line, sniffing the air, and listening. he saw the rabbit, and his jaws closed with a hungry click. he moved a step nearer. still he was suspicious--for some strange and inexplicable reason he sensed danger. anxiously he sought for it with his nose, his eyes, and his ears. and all about him there was a great silence and a great peace. his jaws clicked again. he whined softly. what was it stirring him? where was the danger he could neither see nor smell? slowly he circled about the trap house. three times he circled round it, each circle drawing him a little nearer--until at last his feet almost touched the outer cordon of traps. another minute he stood still; his ears flattened; in spite of the rich aroma of the rabbit in his nostrils something was drawing him away. in another moment he would have gone, but there came suddenly--and from directly behind the trap house--a fierce little ratlike squeak, and the next instant baree saw an ermine whiter than the snow tearing hungrily at the flesh of the rabbit. he forgot his strange premonition of danger. he growled fiercely, but his plucky little rival did not budge from his feast. and then he sprang straight into the "nest" that bush mctaggart had made for him. chapter the next morning bush mctaggart heard the clanking of a chain when he was still a good quarter of a mile from the "nest." was it a lynx? was it a fishercat? was it a wolf or a fox? or was it baree? he half ran the rest of the distance, and it last he came to where he could see, and his heart leaped into his throat when he saw that he had caught his enemy. he approached, holding his rifle ready to fire if by any chance the dog should free himself. baree lay on his side, panting from exhaustion and quivering with pain. a hoarse cry of exultation burst from mctaggart's lips as he drew nearer and looked at the snow. it was packed hard for many feet about the trap house, where baree had struggled, and it was red with blood. the blood had come mostly from baree's jaws. they were dripping now as he glared at his enemy. the steel jaws hidden under the snow had done their merciless work well. one of his forefeet was caught well up toward the first joint; both hind feet were caught. a fourth trap had closed on his flank, and in tearing the jaws loose he had pulled off a patch of skin half as big as mctaggart's hand. the snow told the story of his desperate fight all through the night. his bleeding jaws showed how vainly he had tried to break the imprisoning steel with his teeth. he was panting. his eyes were bloodshot. but even now, after all his hours of agony, neither his spirit nor his courage was broken. when he saw mctaggart he made a lunge to his feet, almost instantly crumpling down into the snow again. but his forefeet were braced. his head and chest remained up, and the snarl that came from his throat was tigerish in its ferocity. here, at last--not more than a dozen feet from him--was the one thing in all the world that he hated more than he hated the wolf breed. and again he was helpless, as he had been helpless that other time in the rabbit snare. the fierceness of his snarl did not disturb bush mctaggart now. he saw how utterly the other was at his mercy, and with an exultant laugh he leaned his rifle against a tree, pulled oft his mittens, and began loading his pipe. this was the triumph he had looked forward to, the torture he had waited for. in his soul there was a hatred as deadly as baree's, the hatred that a man might have for a man. he had expected to send a bullet through the dog. but this was better--to watch him dying by inches, to taunt him as he would have taunted a human, to walk about him so that he could hear the clank of the traps and see the fresh blood drip as baree twisted his tortured legs and body to keep facing him. it was a splendid vengeance. he was so engrossed in it that he did not hear the approach of snowshoes behind him. it was a voice--a man's voice--that turned him round in his tracks. the man was a stranger, and he was younger than mctaggart by ten years. at least he looked no more than thirty-five or six, even with the short growth of blond beard he wore. he was of that sort that the average man would like at first glance; boyish, and yet a man; with clear eyes that looked out frankly from under the rim of his fur cap, a form lithe as an indian's, and a face that did not bear the hard lines of the wilderness. yet mctaggart knew before he had spoken that this man was of the wilderness, that he was heart and soul a part of it. his cap was of fisher skin. he wore a windproof coat of softly tanned caribou skin, belted at the waist with a long sash, and indian fringed. the inside of the coat was furred. he was traveling on the long, slender bush country snowshoe. his pack, strapped over the shoulders, was small and compact; he was carrying his rifle in a cloth jacket. and from cap to snowshoes he was travel worn. mctaggart, at a guess, would have said that he had traveled a thousand miles in the last few weeks. it was not this thought that sent the strange and chilling thrill up his back; but the sudden fear that in some strange way a whisper of the truth might have found its way down into the south--the truth of what had happened on the gray loon--and that this travel-worn stranger wore under his caribou-skin coat the badge of the royal northwest mounted police. for that instant it was almost a terror that possessed him, and he stood mute. the stranger had uttered only an amazed exclamation before. now he said, with his eyes on baree: "god save us, but you've got the poor devil in a right proper mess, haven't you?" there was something in the voice that reassured mctaggart. it was not a suspicious voice, and he saw that the stranger was more interested in the captured animal than in himself. he drew a deep breath. "a trap robber," he said. the stranger was staring still more closely at baree. he thrust his gun stock downward in the snow and drew nearer to him. "god save us again--a dog!" he exclaimed. from behind, mctaggart was watching the man with the eyes of a ferret. "yes, a dog," he answered. "a wild dog, half wolf at least. he's robbed me of a thousand dollars' worth of fur this winter." the stranger squatted himself before baree, with his mittened hands resting on his knees, and his white teeth gleaming in a half smile. "you poor devil!" he said sympathetically. "so you're a trap robber, eh? an outlaw? and--the police have got you! and--god save us once more--they haven't played you a very square game!" he rose and faced mctaggart. "i had to set a lot of traps like that," the factor apologized, his face reddening slightly under the steady gaze of the stranger's blue eyes. suddenly his animus rose. "and he's going to die there, inch by inch. i'm going to let him starve, and rot in the traps, to pay for all he's done." he picked up his gun, and added, with his eyes on the stranger and his finger ready at the trigger, "i'm bush mctaggart, the factor at lac bain. are you bound that way, m'sieu?" "a few miles. i'm bound upcountry--beyond the barrens." mctaggart felt again the strange thrill. "government?" he asked. the stranger nodded. "the--police, perhaps," persisted mctaggart. "why, yes--of course--the police," said the stranger, looking straight into the factor's eyes. "and now, m'sieu, as a very great courtesy to the law i'm going to ask you to send a bullet through that beast's head before we go on. will you? or shall i?" "it's the law of the line," said mctaggart, "to let a trap robber rot in the traps. and that beast was a devil. listen--" swiftly, and yet leaving out none of the fine detail, he told of the weeks and months of strife between himself and baree; of the maddening futility of all his tricks and schemes and the still more maddening cleverness of the beast he had at last succeeded in trapping. "he was a devil--that clever," he cried fiercely when he had finished. "and now--would you shoot him, or let him lie there and die by inches, as the devil should?" the stranger was looking at baree. his face was turned away from mctaggart. he said: "i guess you are right. let the devil rot. if you're heading for lac bain, m'sieu, i'll travel a short distance with you now. it will take a couple of miles to straighten out the line of my compass." he picked up his gun. mctaggart led the way. at the end of half an hour the stranger stopped, and pointed north. "straight up there--a good five hundred miles," he said, speaking as lightly as though he would reach home that night. "i'll leave you here." he made no offer to shake hands. but in going, he said: "you might report that john madison has passed this way." after that he traveled straight northward for half a mile through the deep forest. then he swung westward for two miles, turned at a sharp angle into the south, and an hour after he had left mctaggart he was once more squatted on his heels almost within arms' reach of baree. and he was saying, as though speaking to a human companion: "so that's what you've been, old boy. a trap robber, eh? an outlaw? and you beat him at the game for two months! and for that, because you're a better beast than he is, he wants to let you die here as slow as you can. an outlaw!" his voice broke into a pleasant laugh, the sort of laugh that warms one, even a beast. "that's funny. we ought to shake hands, boy, by george, we had! you're a wild one, he says. well, so am i. told him my name was john madison. it ain't. i'm jim carvel. and, oh lord!--all i said was 'police.' and that was right. it ain't a lie. i'm wanted by the whole corporation--by every danged policeman between hudson's bay and the mackenzie river. shake, old man. we're in the same boat, an' i'm glad to meet you!" chapter jim carvel held out his hand, and the snarl that was in baree's throat died away. the man rose to his feet. he stood there, looking in the direction taken by bush mctaggart, and chuckled in a curious, exultant sort of way. there was friendliness even in that chuckle. there was friendliness in his eyes and in the shine of his teeth as he looked again at baree. about him there was something that seemed to make the gray day brighter, that seemed to warm the chill air--a strange something that radiated cheer and hope and comradeship just as a hot stove sends out the glow of heat. baree felt it. for the first time since the two men had come his trap-torn body lost its tenseness; his back sagged; his teeth clicked as he shivered in his agony. to this man he betrayed his weakness. in his bloodshot eyes there was a hungering look as he watched carvel--the self-confessed outlaw. and jim carvel again held out his hand--much nearer this time. "you poor devil," he said, the smile going out of his face. "you poor devil!" the words were like a caress to baree--the first he had known since the loss of nepeese and pierrot. he dropped his head until his jaw lay flat in the snow. carvel could see the blood dripping slowly from it. "you poor devil!" he repeated. there was no fear in the way he put forth his hand. it was the confidence of a great sincerity and a great compassion. it touched baree's head and patted it in a brotherly fashion, and then--slowly and with a bit more caution--it went to the trap fastened to baree's forepaw. in his half-crazed brain baree was fighting to understand things, and the truth came finally when he felt the steel jaws of the trap open, and he drew forth his maimed foot. he did then what he had done to no other creature but nepeese. just once his hot tongue shot out and licked carvel's hand. the man laughed. with his powerful hands he opened the other traps, and baree was free. for a few moments he lay without moving, his eyes fixed on the man. carvel had seated himself on the snow-covered end of a birch log and was filling his pipe. baree watched him light it; he noted with new interest the first purplish cloud of smoke that left carvel's mouth. the man was not more than the length of two trap chains away--and he grinned at baree. "screw up your nerve, old chap," he encouraged. "no bones broke. just a little stiff. mebby we'd better--get out." he turned his face in the direction of lac bain. the suspicion was in his mind that mctaggart might turn back. perhaps that same suspicion was impressed upon baree, for when carvel looked at him again he was on his feet, staggering a bit as he gained his equilibrium. in another moment the outlaw had swung the packsack from his shoulders and was opening it. he thrust in his hand and drew out a chunk of raw, red meat. "killed it this morning," he explained to baree. "yearling bull, tender as partridge--and that's as fine a sweetbread as ever came out from under a backbone. try it!" he tossed the flesh to baree. there was no equivocation in the manner of its acceptance. baree was famished--and the meat was flung to him by a friend. he buried his teeth in it. his jaws crunched it. new fire leapt into his blood as he feasted, but not for an instant did his reddened eyes leave the other's face. carvel replaced his pack. he rose to his feet, took up his rifle, slipped on his snowshoes, and fronted the north. "come on. boy," he said. "we've got to travel." it was a matter-of-fact invitation, as though the two had been traveling companions for a long time. it was, perhaps, not only an invitation but partly a command. it puzzled baree. for a full half-minute he stood motionless in his tracks gazing at carvel as he strode into the north. a sudden convulsive twitching shot through baree. he swung his head toward lac bain; he looked again at carvel, and a whine that was scarcely more than a breath came out of his throat. the man was just about to disappear into the thick spruce. he paused, and looked back. "coming, boy?" even at that distance baree could see him grinning affably. he saw the outstretched hand, and the voice stirred new sensations in him. it was not like pierrot's voice. he had never loved pierrot. neither was it soft and sweet like the willow's. he had known only a few men, and all of them he had regarded with distrust. but this was a voice that disarmed him. it was lureful in its appeal. he wanted to answer it. he was filled with a desire, all at once, to follow close at the heels of this stranger. for the first time in his life a craving for the friendship of man possessed him. he did not move until jim carvel entered the spruce. then he followed. that night they were camped in a dense growth of cedars and balsams ten miles north of bush mctaggart's trap line. for two hours it had snowed, and their trail was covered. it was still snowing, but not a flake of the white deluge sifted down through the thick canopy of boughs. carvel had put up his small silk tent, and had built a fire. their supper was over, and baree lay on his belly facing the outlaw, almost within reach of his hand. with his back to a tree carvel was smoking luxuriously. he had thrown off his cap and his coat, and in the warm fireglow he looked almost boyishly young. but even in that glow his jaws lost none of their squareness, nor his eyes their clear alertness. "seems good to have someone to talk to," he was saying to baree. "someone who can understand, an' keep his mouth shut. did you ever want to howl, an' didn't dare? well, that's me. sometimes i've been on the point of bustin' because i wanted to talk to someone, an' couldn't." he rubbed his hands together, and held them out toward the fire. baree watched his movements and listened intently to every sound that escaped his lips. his eyes had in them now a dumb sort of worship, a look that warmed carvel's heart and did away with the vast loneliness and emptiness of the night. baree had dragged himself nearer to the man's feet, and suddenly carvel leaned over and patted his head. "i'm a bad one, old chap," he chuckled. "you haven't got it on me--not a bit. want to know what happened?" he waited a moment, and baree looked at him steadily. then carvel went on, as if speaking to a human, "let's see--it was five years ago, five years this december, just before christmas time. had a dad. fine old chap, my dad was. no mother--just the dad, an' when you added us up we made just one. understand? and along came a white-striped skunk named hardy and shot him one day because dad had worked against him in politics. out an' out murder. an' they didn't hang that skunk! no, sir, they didn't hang him. he had too much money, an' too many friends in politics, an' they let 'im off with two years in the penitentiary. but he didn't get there. no--s'elp me god, he didn't get there!" carvel was twisting his hands until his knuckles cracked. an exultant smile lighted up his face, and his eyes flashed back the firelight. baree drew a deep breath--a mere coincidence; but it was a tense moment for all that. "no, he didn't get to the penitentiary," went on carvel, looking straight at baree again. "yours truly knew what that meant, old chap. he'd have been pardoned inside a year. an' there was my dad, the biggest half of me, in his grave. so i just went up to that white-striped skunk right there before the judge's eyes, an' the lawyers' eyes, an' the eyes of all his dear relatives an' friends--and i killed him! and i got away. was out through a window before they woke up, hit for the bush country, and have been eating up the trails ever since. an' i guess god was with me, boy. for he did a queer thing to help me out summer before last, just when the mounties were after me hardest an' it looked pretty black. man was found drowned down in the reindeer country, right where they thought i was cornered. an' the good lord made that man look so much like me that he was buried under my name. so i'm officially dead, old chap. i don't need to be afraid any more so long as i don't get too familiar with people for a year or so longer, and 'way down inside me i've liked to believe god fixed it up in that way to help me out of a bad hole. what's your opinion? eh?" he leaned forward for an answer. baree had listened. perhaps, in a way, he had understood. but it was another sound than carvel's voice that came to his ears now. with his head close to the ground he heard it quite distinctly. he whined, and the whine ended in a snarl so low that carvel just caught the warning note in it. he straightened. he stood up then, and faced the south. baree stood beside him, his legs tense and his spine bristling. after a moment carvel said: "relatives of yours, old chap. wolves." he went into the tent for his rifle and cartridges. chapter baree was on his feet, rigid as hewn rock, when carvel came out of the tent, and for a few moments carvel stood in silence, watching him closely. would the dog respond to the call of the pack? did he belong to them? would he go--now? the wolves were drawing nearer. they were not circling, as a caribou or a deer would have circled, but were traveling straight--dead straight for their camp. the significance of this fact was easily understood by carvel. all that afternoon baree's feet had left a blood smell in their trail, and the wolves had struck the trail in the deep forest, where the falling snow had not covered it. carvel was not alarmed. more than once in his five years of wandering between the arctic and the height of land he had played the game with the wolves. once he had almost lost, but that was out in the open barren. tonight he had a fire, and in the event of his firewood running out he had trees he could climb. his anxiety just now was centered in baree. so he said, making his voice quite casual: "you aren't going, are you, old chap?" if baree heard him he gave no evidence of it. but carvel, still watching him closely, saw that the hair along his spine had risen like a brush, and then he heard--growing slowly in baree's throat--a snarl of ferocious hatred. it was the sort of snarl that had held back the factor from lac bain, and carvel, opening the breech of his gun to see that all was right, chuckled happily. baree may have heard the chuckle. perhaps it meant something to him, for he turned his head suddenly and with flattened ears looked at his companion. the wolves were silent now. carvel knew what that meant, and he was tensely alert. in the stillness the click of the safety on his rifle sounded with metallic sharpness. for many minutes they heard nothing but the crack of the fire. suddenly baree's muscles seemed to snap. he sprang back, and faced the quarter behind carvel, his head level with his shoulders, his inch-long fangs gleaming as he snarled into the black caverns of the forest beyond the rim of firelight. carvel had turned like a shot. it was almost frightening--what he saw. a pair of eyes burning with greenish fire, and then another pair, and after that so many of them that he could not have counted them. he gave a sadden gasp. they were like cat eyes, only much larger. some of them, catching the firelight fully, were red as coals, others flashed blue and green--living things without bodies. with a swift glance he took in the black circle of the forest. they were out there, too; they were on all sides of them, but where he had seen them first they were thickest. in these first few seconds he had forgotten baree, awed almost to stupefaction by that monster-eyed cordon of death that hemmed them in. there were fifty--perhaps a hundred wolves out there, afraid of nothing in all this savage world but fire. they had come up without the sound of a padded foot or a broken twig. if it had been later, and they had been asleep, and the fire out-- he shuddered, and for a moment the thought got the better of his nerves. he had not intended to shoot except from necessity, but all at once his rifle came to his shoulder and he sent a stream of fire out where the eyes were thickest. baree knew what the shots meant, and filled with the mad desire to get at the throat of one of his enemies he dashed in their direction. carvel gave a startled yell as he went. he saw the flash of baree's body, saw it swallowed up in the gloom, and in that same instant heard the deadly clash of fangs and the impact of bodies. a wild thrill shot through him. the dog had charged alone--and the wolves had waited. there could be but one end. his four-footed comrade had gone straight into the jaws of death! he could hear the ravening snap of those jaws out in the darkness. it was sickening. his hand went to the colt . at his belt, and he thrust his empty rifle butt downward into the snow. with the big automatic before his eyes he plunged out into the darkness, and from his lips there issued a wild yelling that could have been heard a mile away. with the yelling a steady stream of fire spat from the colt into the mass of fighting beasts. there were eight shots in the automatic, and not until the plunger clicked with metallic emptiness did carvel cease his yelling and retreat into the firelight. he listened, breathing deeply. he no longer saw eyes in the darkness, nor did he hear the movement of bodies. the suddenness and ferocity of his attack had driven back the wolf horde. but the dog! he caught his breath, and strained his eyes. a shadow was dragging itself into the circle of light. it was baree. carvel ran to him, put his arms under his shoulders, and brought him to the fire. for a long time after that there was a questioning light in carvel's eyes. he reloaded his guns, put fresh fuel on the fire, and from his pack dug out strips of cloth with which he bandaged three or four of the deepest cuts in baree's legs. and a dozen times he asked, in a wondering sort of way, "now what the deuce made you do that, old chap? what have you got against the wolves?" all that night he did not sleep, but watched. their experience with the wolves broke down the last bit of uncertainty that might have existed between the man and the dog. for days after that, as they traveled slowly north and west, carvel nursed baree as he might have cared for a sick child. because of the dog's hurts, he made only a few miles a day. baree understood, and in him there grew stronger and stronger a great love for the man whose hands were as gentle as the willow's and whose voice warmed him with the thrill of an immeasurable comradeship. he no longer feared him or had a suspicion of him. and carvel, on his part, was observing things. the vast emptiness of the world about them, and their aloneness, gave him the opportunity of pondering over unimportant details, and he found himself each day watching baree a little more closely. he made at last a discovery which interested him deeply. always, when they halted on the trail, baree would turn his face to the south. when they were in camp it was from the south that he nosed the wind most frequently. this was quite natural, carvel thought, for his old hunting grounds were back there. but as the days passed he began to notice other things. now and then, looking off into the far country from which they had come, baree would whine softly, and on that day he would be filled with a great restlessness. he gave no evidence of wanting to leave carvel, but more and more carvel came to understand that some mysterious call was coming to him from out of the south. it was the wanderer's intention to swing over into the country of the great slave, a good eight hundred miles to the north and west, before the mush snows came. from there, when the waters opened in springtime, he planned to travel by canoe westward to the mackenzie and ultimately to the mountains of british columbia. these plans were changed in february. they were caught in a great storm in the wholdaia lake country, and when their fortunes looked darkest carvel stumbled on a cabin in the heart of a deep spruce forest, and in this cabin there was a dead man. he had been dead for many days, and was frozen stiff. carvel chopped a hole in the earth and buried him. the cabin was a treasure trove to carvel and baree, and especially to the man. it evidently possessed no other owner than the one who had died. it was comfortable and stocked with provisions; and more than that, its owner had made a splendid catch of fur before the frost bit his lungs, and he died. carvel went over them carefully and joyously. they were worth a thousand dollars at any post, and he could see no reason why they did not belong to him now. within a week he had blazed out the dead man's snow-covered trap line and was trapping on his own account. this was two hundred miles north and west of the gray loon, and soon carvel observed that baree did not face directly south in those moments when the strange call came to him, but south and east. and now, with each day that passed, the sun rose higher in the sky; it grew warmer; the snow softened underfoot, and in the air was the tremulous and growing throb of spring. with these things came the old yearning to baree; the heart-thrilling call of the lonely graves back on the gray loon, of the burned cabin, the abandoned tepee beyond the pool--and of nepeese. in his sleep he saw visions of things. he heard again the low, sweet voice of the willow, felt the touch of her hand, was at play with her once more in the dark shades of the forest--and carvel would sit and watch him as he dreamed, trying to read the meaning of what he saw and heard. in april carvel shouldered his furs up to the hudson's bay company's post at lac la biche, which was still farther north. baree accompanied him halfway, and then--at sundown carvel returned to the cabin and found him there. he was so overjoyed that he caught the dog's head in his arms and hugged it. they lived in the cabin until may. the buds were swelling then, and the smell of growing things had begun to rise up out of the earth. then carvel found the first of the early blue flowers. that night he packed up. "it's time to travel," he announced to baree. "and i've sort of changed my mind. we're going back--there." and he pointed south. chapter a strange humor possessed carvel as he began the southward journey. he did not believe in omens, good or bad. superstition had played a small part in his life, but he possessed both curiosity and a love for adventure, and his years of lonely wandering had developed in him a wonderfully clear mental vision of things, which in other words might be called a singularly active imagination. he knew that some irresistible force was drawing baree back into the south--that it was pulling him not only along a given line of the compass, but to an exact point in that line. for no reason in particular the situation began to interest him more and more, and as his time was valueless, and he had no fixed destination in view, he began to experiment. for the first two days he marked the dog's course by compass. it was due southeast. on the third morning carvel purposely struck a course straight west. he noted quickly the change in baree--his restlessness at first, and after that the dejected manner in which he followed at his heels. toward noon carvel swung sharply to the south and east again, and almost immediately baree regained his old eagerness, and ran ahead of his master. after this, for many days, carvel followed the trail of the dog. "mebby i'm an idiot, old chap," he apologized one evening. "but it's a bit of fun, after all--an' i've got to hit the line of rail before i can get over to the mountains, so what's the difference? i'm game--so long as you don't take me back to that chap at lac bain. now--what the devil! are you hitting for his trap line, to get even? if that's the case--" he blew out a cloud of smoke from his pipe as he eyed baree, and baree, with his head between his forepaws, eyed him back. a week later baree answered carvel's question by swinging westward to give a wide berth to post lac bain. it was midafternoon when they crossed the trail along which bush mctaggart's traps and deadfalls had been set. baree did not even pause. he headed due south, traveling so fast that at times he was lost to carvel's sight. a suppressed but intense excitement possessed him, and he whined whenever carvel stopped to rest--always with his nose sniffing the wind out of the south. springtime, the flowers, the earth turning green, the singing of birds, and the sweet breaths in the air were bringing him back to that great yesterday when he had belonged to nepeese. in his unreasoning mind there existed no longer a winter. the long months of cold and hunger were gone; in the new visionings that filled his brain they were forgotten. the birds and flowers and the blue skies had come back, and with them the willow must surely have returned, and she was waiting for him now, just over there beyond that rim of green forest. something greater than mere curiosity began to take possession of carvel. a whimsical humor became a fixed and deeper thought, an unreasoning anticipation that was accompanied by a certain thrill of subdued excitement. by the time they reached the old beaver pond the mystery of the strange adventure had a firm hold on him. from beaver tooth's colony baree led him to the creek along which wakayoo, the black bear, had fished, and thence straight to the gray loon. it was early afternoon of a wonderful day. it was so still that the rippling waters of spring, singing in a thousand rills and streamlets, filled the forests with a droning music. in the warm sun the crimson bakneesh glowed like blood. in the open spaces the air was scented with the perfume of blue flowers. in the trees and bushes mated birds were building their nests. after the long sleep of winter nature was at work in all her glory. it was unekepesim, the mating moon, the home-building moon--and baree was going home. not to matehood--but to nepeese. he knew that she was there now, perhaps at the very edge of the chasm where he had seen her last. they would be playing together again soon, as they had played yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and in his joy he barked up into carvel's face, and urged him to greater speed. then they came to the clearing, and once more baree stood like a rock. carvel saw the charred ruins of the burned cabin, and a moment later the two graves under the tall spruce. he began to understand as his eyes returned slowly to the waiting, listening dog. a great swelling rose in his throat, and after a moment or two he said softly, and with an effort, "boy, i guess you're home." baree did not hear. with his head up and his nose tilted to the blue sky he was sniffing the air. what was it that came to him with the perfumes of the forests and the green meadow? why was it that he trembled now as he stood there? what was there in the air? carvel asked himself, and his questing eyes tried to answer the questions. nothing. there was death here--death and desertion, that was all. and then, all at once, there came from baree a strange cry--almost a human cry--and he was gone like the wind. carvel had thrown off his pack. he dropped his rifle beside it now, and followed baree. he ran swiftly, straight across the open, into the dwarf balsams, and into a grass-grown path that had once been worn by the travel of feet. he ran until he was panting for breath, and then stopped, and listened. he could hear nothing of baree. but that old worn trail led on under the forest trees, and he followed it. close to the deep, dark pool in which he and the willow had disported so often baree, too, had stopped. he could hear the rippling of water, and his eyes shone with a gleaming fire as he searched for nepeese. he expected to see her there, her slim white body shimmering in some dark shadow of overhanging spruce, or gleaming suddenly white as snow in one of the warm plashes of sunlight. his eyes sought out their old hiding places; the great split rock on the other side, the shelving banks under which they used to dive like otter, the spruce boughs that dipped down to the surface, and in the midst of which the willow loved to pretend to hide while he searched the pool for her. and at last the realization was borne upon him that she was not there, that he had still farther to go. he went on to the tepee. the little open space in which they had built their hidden wigwam was flooded with sunshine that came through a break in the forest to the west. the tepee was still there. it did not seem very much changed to baree. and rising from the ground in front of the tepee was what had come to him faintly on the still air--the smoke of a small fire. over that fire was bending a person, and it did not strike baree as amazing, or at all unexpected, that this person should have two great shining braids down her back. he whined, and at his whine the person grew a little rigid, and turned slowly. even then it seemed quite the most natural thing in the world that it should be nepeese, and none other. he had lost her yesterday. today he had found her. and in answer to his whine there came a sobbing cry straight out of the heart of the willow. carvel found them there a few minutes later, the dog's head hugged close up against the willow's breast, and the willow was crying--crying like a little child, her face hidden from him on baree's neck. he did not interrupt them, but waited; and as he waited something in the sobbing voice and the stillness of the forest seemed to whisper to him a bit of the story of the burned cabin and the two graves, and the meaning of the call that had come to baree from out of the south. chapter that night there was a new campfire in the clearing. it was not a small fire, built with the fear that other eyes might see it, but a fire that sent its flames high. in the glow of it stood carvel. and as the fire had changed from that small smoldering heap over which the willow had cooked her dinner, so carvel, the officially dead outlaw, had changed. the beard was gone from his face. he had thrown off his caribou-skin coat. his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and there was a wild flush in his face that was not altogether the work of wind and sun and storm, and a glow in his eyes that had not been there for five years, perhaps never before. his eyes were on nepeese. she sat in the firelight, leaning a little toward the blaze, her wonderful hair warmly reflecting its mellow light. carvel did not move while she was in that attitude. he seemed scarcely to breathe. the glow in his eyes grew deeper--the worship of a man for a woman. suddenly nepeese turned and caught him before he could turn his gaze. there was nothing to hide in her own eyes. like her face, they were alight with a new hope and a new gladness. carvel sat down beside her on the birch log, and in his hand he took one of her thick braids and crumpled it as he talked. at their feet, watching them, lay baree. "tomorrow or the next day i am going to lac bain," he said, a hard and bitter note back of the gentle worship in his voice. "i will not come back until i have--killed him." the willow looked straight into the fire. for a time there was a silence broken only by the crackling of the flames, and in that silence carvel's fingers weaved in and out of the silken strands of the willow's hair. his thoughts flashed back. what a chance he had missed that day on bush mctaggart's trap line--if he had only known! his jaws set hard as he saw in the red-hot heart of the fire the mental pictures of the day when the factor from lac bain had killed pierrot. she had told him the whole story. her flight. her plunge to what she had thought was certain death in the icy torrent of the chasm. her miraculous escape from the waters--and how she was discovered, nearly dead, by tuboa, the toothless old cree whom pierrot out of pity had allowed to hunt in part of his domain. he felt within himself the tragedy and the horror of the one terrible hour in which the sun had gone out of the world for the willow, and in the flames he could see faithful old tuboa as he called on his last strength to bear nepeese over the long miles that lay between the chasm and his cabin. he caught shifting visions of the weeks that followed in that cabin, weeks of hunger and of intense cold in which the willow's life hung by a single thread. and at last, when the snows were deepest, tuboa had died. carvel's fingers clenched in the strands of the willow's braid. a deep breath rose out of his chest, and he said, staring deep into the fire, "tomorrow i will go to lac bain." for a moment nepeese did not answer. she, too, was looking into the fire. then she said: "tuboa meant to kill him when the spring came, and he could travel. when tuboa died i knew that it was i who must kill him. so i came, with tuboa's gun. it was fresh loaded--yesterday. and--m'sieu jeem"--she looked up at him, a triumphant glow in her eyes as she added, almost in a whisper--"you will not go to lac bain. i have sent a messenger." "a messenger?" "yes, ookimow jeem--a messenger. two days ago. i sent word that i had not died, but was here--waiting for him--and that i would be iskwao now, his wife. oo-oo, he will come, ookimow jeem--he will come fast. and you shall not kill him. non!" she smiled into his face, and the throb of carvel's heart was like a drum. "the gun is loaded," she said softly. "i will shoot." "two days ago," said carvel. "and from lac bain it is--" "he will be here tomorrow," nepeese answered him. "tomorrow, as the sun goes down, he will enter the clearing. i know. my blood has been singing it all day. tomorrow--tomorrow--for he will travel fast, ookimow jeem. yes, he will come fast." carvel had bent his head. the soft tresses gripped in his fingers were crushed to his lips. the willow, looking again into the fire, did not see. but she felt--and her soul was beating like the wings of a bird. "ookimow jeem," she whispered--a breath, a flutter of the lips so soft that carvel heard no sound. if old tuboa had been there that night it is possible he would have read strange warnings in the winds that whispered now and then softly in the treetops. it was such a night; a night when the red gods whisper low among themselves, a carnival of glory in which even the dipping shadows and the high stars seemed to quiver with the life of a potent language. it is barely possible that old tuboa, with his ninety years behind him, would have learned something, or that at least he would have suspected a thing which carvel in his youth and confidence did not see. tomorrow--he will come tomorrow! the willow, exultant, had said that. but to old tuboa the trees might have whispered, why not tonight? it was midnight when the big moon stood full above the little opening in the forest. in the tepee the willow was sleeping. in a balsam shadow back from the fire slept baree, and still farther back in the edge of a spruce thicket slept carvel. dog and man were tired. they had traveled far and fast that day, and they heard no sound. but they had traveled neither so far nor so fast as bush mctaggart. between sunrise and midnight he had come forty miles when he strode out into the clearing where pierrot's cabin had stood. twice from the edge of the forest he had called; and now, when he found no answer, he stood under the light of the moon and listened. nepeese was to be here--waiting. he was tired, but exhaustion could not still the fire that burned in his blood. it had been blazing all day, and now--so near its realization and its triumph--the old passion was like a rich wine in his veins. somewhere, near where he stood, nepeese was waiting for him, waiting for him. once again he called, his heart beating in a fierce anticipation as he listened. there was no answer. and then for a thrilling instant his breath stopped. he sniffed the air--and there came to him faintly the smell of smoke. with the first instinct of the forest man he fronted the wind that was but a faint breath under the starlit skies. he did not call again, but hastened across the clearing. nepeese was off there--somewhere--sleeping beside her fire, and out of him there rose a low cry of exultation. he came to the edge of the forest; chance directed his steps to the overgrown trail. he followed it, and the smoke smell came stronger to his nostrils. it was the forest man's instinct, too, that added the element of caution to his advance. that, and the utter stillness of the night. he broke no sticks under his feet. he disturbed the brush so quietly that it made no sound. when he came at last to the little open where carvel's fire was still sending a spiral of spruce-scented smoke up into the air it was with a stealth that failed even to rouse baree. perhaps, deep down in him, there smoldered an old suspicion; perhaps it was because he wanted to come to her while she was sleeping. the sight of the tepee made his heart throb faster. it was light as day where it stood in the moonlight, and he saw hanging outside it a few bits of woman's apparel. he advanced soft-footed as a fox and stood a moment later with his hand on the cloth flap at the wigwam door, his head bent forward to catch the merest breath of sound. he could hear her breathing. for an instant his face turned so that the moonlight struck his eyes. they were aflame with a mad fire. then, still very quietly, he drew aside the flap at the door. it could not have been sound that roused baree, hidden in the black balsam shadow a dozen paces away. perhaps it was scent. his nostrils twitched first; then he awoke. for a few seconds his eyes glared at the bent figure in the tepee door. he knew that it was not carvel. the old smell--the man-beast's smell, filled his nostrils like a hated poison. he sprang to his feet and stood with his lips snarling back slowly from his long fangs. mctaggart had disappeared. from inside the tepee there came a sound; a sudden movement of bodies, a startled ejaculation of one awakening from sleep--and then a cry, a low, half-smothered, frightened cry, and in response to that cry baree shot out from under the balsam with a sound in his throat that had in it the note of death. in the edge of the spruce thicket carvel rolled uneasily. strange sounds were rousing him, cries that in his exhaustion came to him as if in a dream. at last he sat up, and then in sudden horror leaped to his feet and rushed toward the tepee. nepeese was in the open, crying the name she had given him--"ookimow jeem--ookimow--jeem--ookimow jeem--" she was standing there white and slim, her eyes with the blaze of the stars in them, and when she saw carvel she flung out her arms to him, still crying: "ookimow jeem--oo-oo, ookimow jeem--" in the tepee he heard the rage of a beast, the moaning cries of a man. he forgot that it was only last night he had come, and with a cry he swept the willow to his breast, and the willow's arms tightened round his neck as she moaned: "ookimow jeem--it is the man-beast--in there! it is the man-beast from lac bain--and baree--" truth flashed upon carvel, and he caught nepeese up in his arms and ran away with her from the sounds that had grown sickening and horrible. in the spruce thicket he put her feet once more to the ground. her arms were still tight around his neck. he felt the wild terror of her body as it throbbed against him. her breath was sobbing, and her eyes were on his face. he drew her closer, and suddenly he crushed his face down close against hers and felt for an instant the warm thrill of her lips against his own. and he heard the whisper, soft and trembling. "ooo-oo, ookimow jeem--" when carvel returned to the fire, alone, his colt in his hand, baree was in front of the tepee waiting for him. carvel picked up a burning brand and entered the wigwam. when he came out his face was white. he tossed the brand in the fire, and went back to nepeese. he had wrapped her in his blankets, and now he knelt down beside her and put his arms about her. "he is dead, nepeese." "dead, ookimow jeem?" "yes. baree killed him." she did not seem to breathe. gently, with his lips in her hair. carvel whispered his plans for their paradise. "no one will know, my sweetheart. tonight i will bury him and burn the tepee. tomorrow we will start for nelson house, where there is a missioner. and after that--we will come back--and i will build a new cabin where the old one burned. do you love me, ka sakahet?" "om'--yes--ookimow jeem--i love you--" suddenly there came an interruption. baree at last was giving his cry of triumph. it rose to the stars; it wailed over the roofs of the forests and filled the quiet skies--a wolfish howl of exultation, of achievement, of vengeance fulfilled. its echoes died slowly away, and silence came again. a great peace whispered in the soft breath of the treetops. out of the north came the mating call of a loon. about carvel's shoulders the willow's arms crept closer. and carvel, out of his heart, thanked god.