CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE PURSUIT--CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES OF THE ARTIST--STRATEGIC MOVEMENTS--SURPRISED IN THE WILD-CAT PASS--MARCH SHOWS COOLNESS AND PLUCK IN THEHOUR OF DANGER--A TERRIFIC ONSLAUGHT BY A WONDERFUL WARRIOR--THEBATTLE--HARD KNOCKS AND MYSTERIOUS DIFFERENCES OF OPINION.
Crossing the open ground in front of the Mountain Fort, Bounce andBertram entered the wood beyond, and traversed it with comparative ease,by means of a bridle-path which had been cut there by the fur-traders.A few minutes' gallop brought them to the other side of the wood, whichwas one of those narrow strips or clumps of forest which grow, more orless thickly, on the skirts of the Rocky Mountains, forming that finepicturesque region where the prairie and the forest meet and seem tocontend for the mastery.
The plain beyond this belt of wood was open and level--at least,sufficiently so to enable the two horsemen to see for a considerabledistance around them. Here, in the far distance, they descried theircompanions, sweeping over the turf at their utmost speed, and makingtowards a low hill or ridge that intercepted the view of the moredistant country.
"They'll have to draw in a bit," said Bounce, turning to his comrade."Horses no more nor men can't go helter-skelter up a hill without takin'breath; so rouse up your beast, Mr Bertram, an' we'll overtake 'emafore they gits to the t'other side."
Bertram obeyed his friend's command, but made no rejoinder, his thoughtsbeing too deeply engaged at that moment in a controversy with hisconscience as to the propriety of the business he had then in hand.
The young artist had a deep veneration for abstract truth--truth pureand simple, not only in reference to morals, but to all thingsterrestrial and celestial; and he was deeply impressed with the beliefthat what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong, and couldnot, by any possibility, be otherwise. He felt, also, that the man whorecognised truth and acted upon it must go right, and he who saw and didotherwise _must_ go wrong!
Holding this simple creed very tenaciously, and, as we think, veryproperly, Bertram nevertheless found that his attempts to act up to itfrequently involved him in a maze of perplexities.
On the present occasion, as he and Bounce thundered over the green turfof the flowering plains, scattering the terrified grasshoppers right andleft, and causing the beautifully striped ground-squirrels to plungewith astonishing precipitancy into their holes, he argued with himself,that the mere fact of a murderous deed having been done was not asufficient reason, perhaps, to justify his sallying forth with areckless band of desperate fur-traders, bent on indiscriminate revenge.It was quite true, in his opinion, that a murderer should be punishedwith death, and that the pursuit and capture of a murderer was not onlya legitimate act in itself but, in the circumstances, a bounden duty onhis part. Yet it was equally true that most of the men with whom he wasassociated were thirsting for vengeance, and from past experience heknew full well that there would be no attempt to find out the murderer,but a simple and general massacre of all the Indians whom they couldovertake.
Then it suddenly occurred to him that the murderer had already been shotby Redhand, so that his mission was one of simple revenge; but, a momentafter, it flashed across his troubled mind that Lincoln had been left inthe fort wounded--might possibly be dead by that time; so that therewere probably among the flying savages other murderers to be dealt with.This idea was strengthened by another thought, namely, that the savagewho stabbed and scalped Dupont might not have been the savage who shothim. The complication and aggregate of improbability amounted, inBertram's mind, so nearly to a certainty, that he dismissed thedigressive question as to whether there might or might not be a murdereramong the Indians, and returned to the original proposition, as towhether it was right in him to take part in a pursuit of vengeance thatwould very likely terminate murderously. But before he could come toany satisfactory conclusion on that point he and Bounce found themselvessuddenly in the midst of the cavalcade, which had halted on the summitof the ridge, in order to allow them to come up.
"Here we are, lads," cried Macgregor, his flushed face still blazingwith wrath, which he made no effort to subdue, and his eyes red withprolonged debauchery, flashing like the eyes of a tiger--"here we are,too late to cut off the retreat o' these detestable reptiles from thewoods, but not too late to circumvent them."
The fur trader spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly, and pointed to theband of Indians they were in pursuit of, who, observing that theirpursuers had halted, also drew rein on the edge of a belt of thickforest that extended for miles into the mountains. They appeared towait, in order to ascertain what their enemies meant to do.
"The villains," continued Macgregor, "think we've given up pursuit ashopeless, but they're mistaken--they're mistaken, as they'll find totheir cost. Now, mark me, men; we shall turn back as if we had reallygiven in; but the moment we get down into the hollow, out of sight,we'll go as hard as we can bolt up that valley there, and round by theplace we call the Wild-Cat Pass. It's a difficult pass, but who caresfor that? Once through it we can get by a short cut to the other sideof that wood, and meet the redskins right in the teeth. They'reBlackfoot Indians, I know by their dress; and, as they don't belong tothis part o' the country, they can't be aware of the pass. But some ofus must go back a good way towards the fort, so as to deceive theblackguards, who'll be sure to get on the first hill they can to seewhere we've gone to. Now--away! Stay," he added in a less commandingtone, "I don't know that my guests are willing to go with us throughthick an' thin in this fashion. I've no desire to have unwillingwarriors."
"Had we not been _willing_" replied Redhand dryly, "we wouldn't havecome even thus far."
"Very good," rejoined Macgregor with a grim smile; "then, perhaps, sinceyou are so good as to go along with us, you'll make for the head of thatvalley, and when you come to the Wild-Cat Pass I've spoken of, you'llwait there till the rest of us, who are to sham going back to the fort,come up with ye; then we'll go through the pass together, and polish offthe redskins."
To this plan Redhand assented; so he and his comrades prepared to takethe way to the pass, while the men of the fort turned homewards. Atriumphant shout from the Indians showed that they imagined the pursuitwas given up; but Macgregor knew their cunning too well to fall into themistake of at once concluding that they were thoroughly deceived. Heknew that they would send out scouts to dog them, and felt, that if hisplan was to succeed, he must put it into execution promptly.
"I've scarce had time to ask your names or where you've come from," hesaid on parting from the trappers; "but there'll be plenty of time forthat when we meet again. Keep close in the bottom, and ride fast, tillthe shadow of yonder crag conceals you from view. If the Indians getsight of you, they'll smell the dodge at once and escape us. Perhaps,young man, you'd like to come with my party?"
The latter part of this speech was made rather abruptly to MarchMarston, who received it with some surprise, and with a distinctrefusal.
"I'll stick by my comrades," said he, "till I see good reason--"
"Well, well, boy--please yourself!" muttered the trader angrily, as hebroke away at full speed, followed by his men.
Our trappers instantly turned their horses' heads towards the mountains,and made for the Wild-Cat Pass.
Macgregor's estimate of the cunning of the Indians was but too correct.The instant the fur-traders disappeared behind the ridge, as if on theirreturn homewards, several of their fastest riders were dispatched to thenearest hill, to watch the movements of the enemy. They ascended onewhich commanded a wide view of the surrounding country, and thencebeheld the fur-traders proceeding swiftly back in the direction of thefort. Unfortunately, they also perceived the bottle-brush of Bertram'ssteed, as it disappeared behind the crag which already concealed therest of his comrades from view. One instant later, and the Indianswould have failed to make this discovery, for a deep impassable gorgelay between them and the ravine which conducted to the pass. It was butthe barest possible glimpse they got of that shabby tail; but it told a
tale which they perfectly understood, for they flew back in the utmosthaste to warn their comrades, who, knowing the smallness of the partythus sent against them, from the largeness of the party that had shammedreturning to the fort, resolved upon executing a counter movement.
They had a shrewd suspicion, from the nature of the country, that theintention of the whites was to get through a pass of some sort andintercept them, and, concluding that this pass must lie at the head ofthe valley up which the bottle-brush had vanished, they resolved toproceed to the same spot through the gorge that separated the hill fromthe crag or rocky ridge before referred to.
Promptitude they knew to be everything, so they swept up the gorge likea whirlwind. Thus both parties drew nearer to the chaotic openingstyled the Wild-Cat Pass--the trappers, all ignorant of what awaitedthem there; the savages bent on giving their enemies an unpleasantsurprise.
But, unknown to either, there was a pair of eyes high on a rock abovethe Wild-Cat Pass, that overlooked the two valleys or ravines, and gazedwith considerable interest and curiosity on the two advancing parties.Those eyes belonged to a solitary horseman, who stood on the edge of thewild precipice that overhung the pass. The hunter, for such hisleathern dress bespoke him, stood beside his horse, his right arm overits arched neck, and his right hand patting its sleek shoulder. Fromthe position which he occupied he could see without being seen. Hismagnificent steed seemed to be aware that danger was at hand, for itstood like a statue, absolutely motionless, with the exception of itsfine fiery eyes. Whatever this solitary hunter's thoughts regarding thetwo approaching parties might be, it was evident that he meant to remainan invisible spectator of their doings; for he stood in the sameattitude of statue-like attention until they reached the heads of thetwo ravines, where they were separated from each other only by the pass.Here, on the one side, the Indians, about forty in number, lay inambush among the rocks, prepared to surprise and attack the trapperswhen they should pass. On the other side the trappers halted, anddismounting, allowed their horses to graze while they awaited thearrival of Macgregor and his party.
"They won't be long o' comin'," remarked Redhand, seating himself on astone and proceeding to strike a light. "That fellow Macgregor an't theman to waste time when he's out after the redskins. I only hope hewon't waste life when he gets up to them."
"So do I," said Bounce, seating himself beside Redhand and carefullycutting a small piece of tobacco into shreds by means of ascalping-knife. "A sartin amount o' punishment is needful, d'ye see, tokeep 'em down; but I don't like slaughtering human bein's onnecessarylike."
"I'd skiver 'em all, I guess--every one," observed Big Waller angrily."They're a murderin', thievin' set o' varmints, as don't desarve to livenohow!"
"Bah!" exclaimed Gibault in disgust; "you is most awferfullyonfeelosophicule, as Bounce do say. If dey not fit for live, for fatvas dey made? You vicked man!"
Big Waller deigned no reply.
"I'm off to look at the pass," cried March Marston, vaulting suddenlyinto the saddle. "Come, Bertram; you'll go with me, won't you, and seeif we can find some wild-cats in it?"
The artist, who had not dismounted, merely replied by a nod and a smile,and the two reckless youths galloped away, heedless of Bounce's warningnot to go too far, for fear they should find something worse thanwild-cats there.
The Wild-Cat Pass, through which they were speedily picking their steps,in order to get a view of the country beyond, was not inappropriatelynamed; for it seemed, at the first glance of those who entered it, as ifno creature less savagely reckless than a cat could, by any possibility,scramble through it without the aid of wings.
The greater part of it was the ancient bed of a mountain torrent, whosegushing waters had, owing to some antediluvian convulsion of nature,been diverted into another channel. The whole scene was an absolutechaos of rocks which had fallen into the torrent's bed from theprecipice that hemmed it in on the west, and these rocky masses layheaped about in such a confused way that it was extremely difficult toselect a pathway along which the horses could proceed without runninggreat risk of breaking their limbs. The entire length of the pass couldnot have been much more than a quarter of a mile, yet it took MarchMarston and his companion full half an hour to traverse it.
When about half through the pass March, who led the way, drew up on asmall rocky elevation, from which he could survey the amphitheatre ofrugged and naked rocks in the midst of which he stood.
"Upon my word, Bertram," he said gazing round, "if Bunyan had ever beenin the Rocky Mountains, I think he would have chosen such a spot as thisfor the castle o' Giant Despair."
"I know not," replied Bertram with a deep sigh, as he drew rein, "whatBunyan would have done, but I know that Giant Despair has alreadylocated himself here, for he has been trying to take, possession of mybosom for at least twenty minutes. I never rode over such ground in mylife. However, it ill becomes pioneers to be overcome by such a giant,so pray push on; I feel quite eager to see what sort of region liesbeyond this gloomy portal."
March laughed and turned to continue the scramble; Bertram removed hisbrigandish hat, wiped his heated brows, replaced the hat firmly thereon,and drove his heels violently against the ribs of his horse, an actwhich induced that patient quadruped to toss its head and shake itsbottle-brush ere it condescended to move on. It was quite evident that,although Bertram spoke in a half-jesting tone of Giant Despair, he wasin reality much delighted with the singularity of this extemporised andinteresting ramble.
"I say, Bertram, don't you like this sort of thing?" inquired March,looking back at his companion, on reaching a somewhat level part of thepass.
"Like it? Ay, that do I. I love it, March. There is a freedom, aspecies of wild romance about it, that is more captivating than I candescribe."
"You don't need to describe it," returned March. "I have it alldescribed splendidly within me. One don't want words when one's gotfeelins. But I've often thought what a pity it is that we can'tdescribe things or places at all with words. At least, _I_ can't," headded modestly. "When I try to tell a fellow what I've seen, it ain'to' no manner of use to try, for I don't get hold of the right words atthe right time, and so don't give out the right meanin', and so thefellow I'm speakin' to don't take up the right notion, d'ye see? It's agreat pity that words are such useless things."
"Why, that was spoken like Bounce himself," said Bertram, smiling.
"Look out, or you'll go bounce into that hole, if you don't have acare," cried March, turning aside to avoid the danger referred to. Theyproceeded through the remainder of the pass in silence, as the ruggednature of the ground required their undivided attention.
Had there been a sprite in that place, who could have hopped invisiblyto some elevated pinnacle, or have soared on gossamer wings into theair, so as to take a bird's-eye view of the whole scene, he would havenoted that while March Marston and the artist were toiling slowlythrough the Wild-Cat Pass, the solitary hunter before referred toregarded their proceedings with some surprise, and that when he saw theywere bent on going quite through the pass, his expression changed to alook of deep concern.
With slow and gentle hand this man backed his quiet and docile horsedeeper into the bush; and when he had got so deep into the shade of theforest as to be perfectly safe from observation, he leaped on its backwith a single bound, and galloped swiftly away.
A few minutes after the occurrence of this incident, March and hisfriend emerged from the pass and trotted out upon a level plain whencethey obtained a fine view of the magnificent country beyond. The passfrom which they had just issued seemed to be the entrance to the heartof the Rocky Mountains. The plain, or rather the plateau, on which theystood was a level spot covered with soft grass, free from bushes, andnot more than a hundred yards in extent. On three sides it wasencompassed by inaccessible precipices and rocky ground, in the midst ofwhich the opening out of the pass was situated. On the fourth side itwas skirted by a dense thicket of bushes that formed the entrance
to amagnificent forest which extended for several miles in front of thespot. Beyond this forest the scene was broken by hills and valleys, andlittle plains, richly diversified with wood and water--the former indense masses, scattered groups, and isolated clusters; the lattershining in the forms of lakelet and stream, or glancing snow-white innumberless cascades. Beyond all, the dark-blue giant masses of theRocky Mountains towered up and up, hill upon hill, pile upon pile, masson mass, till they terminated in distant peaks, so little darker thanthe sky that they seemed scarcely more solid than the clouds with whichthey mingled and blended their everlasting snows.
"An't it beautiful?" cried March, riding forward with a boundingsensation of inexpressible delight.
Bertram followed him, but did not answer. He was too deeply absorbed inthe simple act of intently gazing and drinking in the scene to listen orto reply.
At the precise moment in which March made the above remark, his quickeye observed a spear head which one of the savages, hid among the bushesthere, had not taken sufficient pains to conceal.
March Marston was a young hunter, and, as yet an inexperienced warrior;but from childhood he had been trained, as if it were in spirit, by theanecdotes and tales of the many hunters who had visited Pine Pointsettlement. His natural powers of self-control were very great, but hehad to tax all these powers to the uttermost to maintain his look ofanimated delight in the scenery unchanged, after making the abovestartling discovery. But March did it! His first severe trial in theperils of backwoods life had come--without warning or time forpreparation; and he passed through it like a true hero.
That a spear handle must necessarily support a spear head; that anIndian probably grasped the former; that, in the present position ofaffairs, there were certainly more Indians than one in ambush; and that,in all probability, there were at that moment two or three dozen arrowsresting on their respective bows, and pointed towards his and hiscomrade's hearts, ready to take flight the instant they should comewithin sure and deadly range, were ideas which did not follow each otherin rapid succession through his brain, but darted upon the younghunter's quick perceptions instantaneously, and caused his heart to beaton his ribs like a sledge-hammer, and the blood to fly violently to hisface.
Luckily March's face was deeply browned, and did not show the crimsontide. With a sudden, mighty effort he checked the natural look andexclamation of surprise. That was the moment of danger past. Tocontinue his praise of the lovely scene in gay delighted tones wascomparatively easy.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, turning his face full towards theambushed savages, gazing over their place of concealment with anunconscious joyous air, and sweeping his hand towards the mountains, asif to draw the attention of his companion to them. March's only weaponat that moment was the small hatchet he was wont to carry in his girdle.This implement chanced to be in his hand. Placing it carelessly in hisbelt, as though nothing was further from his mind than the idea ofrequiring to use it at that time, he cried--
"See, yonder is a mound from which we may get a better view," andtrotted to the summit of the spot alluded to. In doing so, he placedhimself still nearer to the Indians. This was a bold stroke, though adangerous one, meant to deceive the enemy. After gazing a few secondsfrom this spot, he wheeled round and walked his horse quietly towardsthe entrance to the pass. Arrived there, he turned, and pretending thathe saw something in the far distance, he shaded his eyes with his handand gazed for a short time intently, then calling to Bertram, who stillremained in his original position all unconscious of his danger, said--
"I say, come here; look at yonder splendid lake, it's worthseeing--_well_ worth seeing; and if you don't see it with that _curiouslight_ on it, you'll not care to see it at all."
March did not dare, by energy of voice, to force his friend's attention,therefore the first part of this speech was unheeded; but the referenceto a "curious light" had the desired effect. Bertram turned, and rodeto join his companion. Getting Bertram into such a position that hisown person partially screened him from the Indians, he made thefollowing remarkable speech, from beginning to end, in the gay tones ofone who discourses eloquently on the beauties of nature; pointing hereand there as he rattled on.
"An't it beautiful? eh? I say, just look at it now!--listen to me,Bertram--attentively, but gaze admiringly at the scene--_at the scene_--oh! man, _do_ what I bid ye--your life hangs on it. _Pretend_ to admireit--we're in great danger--but--"
"Eh? what? where?" exclaimed the artist in a tone of intense excitement,at the same time laying his hand on one of his pistols and gazinganxiously all round him.
Alas! poor Bertram. It needed not the acute apprehension of a redskinto understand that you had been told of present danger. Neither did itrequire much acuteness on the part of March to divine what was tofollow.
Scarcely had the symptoms of alarm been exhibited, when four arrowswhizzed through the air and passed close to the persons of the twofriends, who instantly turned and made a dash for the entrance of thepass. At the same time the savages uttered a yell and darted afterthem.
"We'll never be able to escape by the pass," exclaimed March, lookingbehind him hurriedly, as they approached the rocky gorge, "and, Ideclare, there's only four o' them on foot. Come, Bertram, let's make abold stroke for it. We'll easy break through 'em."
He reined up so suddenly as almost to throw the horse on its haunches,and, wheeling round, darted towards the savages. Bertram followedalmost mechanically.
The Indians offered no opposition, but at that moment another yell rosefrom the hushes, and about thirty mounted Indians, who had beenconcealed behind a projecting cliff, sprang forward and closed up theonly place of escape with a formidable array of spears. From their notusing their arrows it was evident that they wished to capture the whitemen alive, for the purpose, no doubt, of taking them home to theirwigwams, there to put them to death by slow torture with the assistanceof their squaws.
March Marston's spirit rose with the occasion. He uttered a furiouscry, flourished his hatchet above his head, and dashed at full galloptowards the line. Seeing this, one of the Indians levelled his spearand rode out to meet him. Bertram's nerves recovered at that moment.He fired both pistols at the advancing savage, but without effect. Indespair he hurled one of them violently at the head of the Indian. Themissile went true to the mark and felled him. On beholding this thewhole body of savages rushed upon the two white men.
One powerful Indian seized March by the throat. Before either could usehis weapon the horses separated and both fell violently to the ground.Bertram leaped off his horse and sprang to the rescue, but he wasinstantly surrounded, and for a few seconds defended himself with thebutt of his large cavalry pistol with an amount of energy and activitythat would have filled those who knew him best with amazement. At thatmoment there was a clatter of hoofs in the gorge, and a roar or bellowwas heard above the din of the fight. All eyes were turned towards thepass, and next moment a solitary horseman leaped over the broken rocksand bounded over the turf towards the combatants.
The aspect of this newcomer was something terrible to behold. Both heand his horse were gigantic in size. The man was dressed in the costumeof an Indian, but his hair and beard were those of a white man. Themane and tail of his huge horse were of enormous length, and as he sweptover the little plain, which seemed to tremble beneath his heavy tread,the wind blew out these and the tags and scalp-locks of his coat andleggings as well as his own beard and hair in such a confused andcommingled way as to make the man and horse appear like one monstrouscreature.
The Indians turned to flee, but, seeing only one enemy, they hesitated.In another moment the wild horseman was upon them. He carried a roundshield on his left arm and a long double-edged sword in his right hand.Two Indians lowered their spears to receive him. The point of one heturned aside with his shield, and the shock of his heavy warhorse hurledhorse and man upon the plain. The other he cut the iron head off with asweep of his sword, and, with a continuat
ion of the same cut, he clefthis opponent to the chin. Turning rapidly, he bounded into the verymidst of the savages, uttering another of his tremendous roars ofindignation. The suddenness of this act prevented the Indians fromusing their bows and arrows effectively. Before they could fit an arrowto the string two more of their number lay in the agonies of death onthe ground. Several arrows were discharged, but the perturbation ofthose who discharged them, and their close proximity to their mark,caused them to shoot wide. Most of the shafts missed him. Two quiveredin his shield, and one pierced the sleeve of his coat. Turning again torenew his rapid attacks he observed one of the Indians--probably achief--leap to one side, and, turning round, fit an arrow with calmdeliberation to his bow. The furious horseman, although delivering hissweeping blows right and left with indiscriminate recklessness, seemedduring the _melee_ to have an intuitive perception of where the greatestdanger lay. The savages at that moment were whirling round him anddarting at him in all directions, but he singled out this chief at onceand bore down upon him like a thunderbolt. The chief was a brave man.He did not wince, but, drawing the arrow to its head as the otherapproached, let it fly full at his breast. The white man dropped on theneck of his steed as if he had been struck with lightning; the arrowpassed close over his back and found its mark in the breast of one ofthe savages, whose death yell mingled with that of the chief as, amoment later, the gigantic warrior ran him with a straight point throughthe body.
The Indians were scattered now. The rapid dash of that tumultuousfight, although of but a few seconds' duration, had swept the combatantsto the extreme edge of the woods, leaving Bertram standing in the midstof dead and dying men gazing with a bewildered, helpless look at theterrible scene. March Marston lay close by his side, apparently dead,in the grip of the savage who had first attacked him, and whose throathis own hand grasped with the tenacity and force of a vice.
Most of the Indians leaped over the bushes and sought the shelter of thethick underwood, as the tremendous horseman, whom doubtless they nowdeemed invulnerable, came thundering down upon them again; but abouttwenty of the bravest stood their ground. At that moment a loud shoutand a fierce "hurrah!" rang out and echoed hither and thither among therocks; and, next instant, Big Waller, followed by Bounce and hisfriends, as well as by Macgregor and his whole party, sprang from theWild-Cat Pass, and rushed furiously upon the savages, who had alreadyturned and fled towards the wood for shelter. The whole band crossedthe battlefield like a whirlwind, leaped over or burst through thebushes, and were gone--the crashing tread of their footsteps and anoccasional shout alone remaining to assure the bewildered artist, whowas still transfixed immovable to the ground, that the whole scene wasnot a dream.
But Bertram was not left alone on that bloody field. On the first soundof the approach of the white men to the rescue, the strange horseman--who, from the moment of his bursting so opportunely on the scene, hadseemed the very impersonation of activity and colossal might--pulled uphis fiery steed; and he now sat, gazing calmly into the forest in thedirection in which the Indians and traders had disappeared.
Stupefied though he was, Bertram could not avoid being impressed andsurprised by the sudden and total change which had come over thisremarkable hunter. After gazing into the woods, as we have said, forsome minutes, he quietly dismounted, and plucking a tuft of grass fromthe plain, wiped his bloody sword, and sheathed it. Not a trace of hislate ferocity was visible. His mind seemed to be filled with sadness,for he sighed slightly, and shook his head with a look of deep sorrow,as his eyes rested on the dead men. There was a mild gravity in hiscountenance that seemed to Bertram incompatible with the fiend-like furyof his attack, and a slow heaviness in his motions that amounted almostto laziness, and seemed equally inconsistent with the vigour he had sorecently displayed, which was almost cat-like, if we may apply such aterm to the actions of so huge a pair as this man and his horse were.
A profusion of light-brown hair hung in heavy masses over his herculeanshoulders, and a bushy moustache and beard of the same colour coveredthe lower part of his deeply browned face, which was handsome and mild,but eminently masculine, in expression.
Remounting his horse, which seemed now to be as quiet and peaceable ashimself, this singular being turned and rode towards that part of thewood that lay nearest to the wild rocky masses that formed the outletfrom the pass. On gaining the verge of the plain he turned his headfull round, and fixed his clear blue eyes on the wondering artist. Aquiet smile played on his bronzed features for an instant as he bestowedupon him a cheerful nod of farewell. Then, urging his steed forward, heentered the woods at a slow walk, and disappeared.
The heavy tramp of his horse's hoofs among the broken stones of therugged path had scarcely died away when the distant tread of thereturning fur-traders broke on Bertram's ear. This aroused him from thestate of half-sceptical horror in which he gazed upon the scene of bloodand death in the midst of which he stood. Presently his eye fell, forthe first time, upon the motionless form of March Marston. The sighteffectually restored him. With a slight cry of alarm, he sprang to hisfriend's side, and, kneeling down, endeavoured to loosen the death-likegrasp with which he still held the throat of his foe. The horror of thepoor artist may be imagined, when he observed that the skull of theIndian was battered in, and that his young comrade's face wasbespattered with blood and brains.
Just then several of the trappers and fur-traders galloped upon thescene of the late skirmish.
"Hallo! Mr Bertram, here you are; guess we've polished 'em off thistime a few. Hey! wot's this?" cried Big Waller, as he and some of theothers leaped to the ground and surrounded Bertram. "Not _dead_, ishe?"
The tone in which the Yankee trapper said this betrayed as much rage asregret. The bare idea of his young comrade having been killed by thesavages caused him to gnash his teeth with suppressed passion.
"Out o' the way, lads; let me see him," cried Bounce, who galloped up atthat moment, flung himself off his horse, pushed the others aside, andkneeling at his side, laid his hand on March Marston's heart.
"All right," he said, raising the youth's head, "he's only stunned.Run, Gibault, fetch a drop o' water. The horse that brained this hereredskin, by good luck, only stunned March."
"Ah! mon pauvre enfant!" cried Gibault as he ran to obey.
The water quickly restored March, and in a few minutes he was able tosit up and call to remembrance what had passed. Ere his scatteredfaculties were quite recovered, the fur-traders returned, with Macgregorat their head.
"Well done, the Wild Man of the West!" cried McLeod, as he dismounted."Not badly hurt, young man, I trust."
"Oh! nothing to speak of. Only a thump on the head from a horse'shoof," said March; "I'll be all right in a little time. Did you sayanything about the Wild Man of the West?" he added earnestly.
"To be sure I did; but for him you and Mr Bertram would have been deadmen, I fear. Did you not see him?"
"See him? no," replied March, much excited. "I heard a tremendous roar,but just then I fell to the ground, and remember nothing more thathappened."
"Was that quiet, grave-looking man the Wild Man of the West?" inquiredBertram, with a mingled feeling of interest and surprise.
This speech was received with a loud burst of laughter from all whoheard it.
"Well, I've never seed the Wild Man till to-day," said one, "though I'veoften heer'd of him, but I must say the little glimpse I got didn't showmuch that was mild or grave."
"I guess your head's bin in a swum, stranger," said another. "I've onlyseed him this once, but I don't hope to see him agin. He ain't to betrusted, he ain't, that feller."
"And I've seen him five or six times," added McLeod, "and all I can sayis, that twice out o' the five he was like an incarnate fiend, and theother three times--when he came to the Mountain Fort for ammunition--hewas as gruff and sulky as a bear with the measles."
"Well, gentlemen," said Bertram with more emphasis in his tone than hewas wont to employ, "
I have seen this man only once, but I've seen himunder two aspects to-day, and all that I can say is, that if that wasreally the Wild Man of the West, he's not quite so wild as he getscredit for."
On hearing this, March Marston rose and shook himself. He felt ill atease in body and mind. The idea of the Wild Man of the West havingactually saved his life, and he had not seen him, was a heavydisappointment, and the confused and conflicting accounts of those whohad seen him, combined with the racking pains that shot through his ownbrain, rendered him incapable of forming or expressing any opinion onthe subject whatever; so he said abruptly--
"It's of no use talking here all night, friends. My head's splittin',so I think we'd better encamp."
March's suggestion was adopted at once. Provisions had been carriedwith them from the fort. The dead bodies of the Indians were buried; aspot at some distance from the scene of the fight was chosen. The fireswere lighted, supper was devoured and a watch set, and soon MarchMarston was dreaming wildly in that savage place about the Wild Man ofthe West!
The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains Page 13
