CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE CAVE OF THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST--MARCH AND MARY HOLD PLEASANTINTERCOURSE--DICK'S GOOD QUALITIES ENLARGED ON--THE WILD MAN GIVES AREDSKIN A STRANGE LESSON--A STARTLING INTERRUPTION TO PLEASANT CONVERSE.
When March Marston awoke the following morning, and found himself lyingon a low couch in the mysterious cavern of the Wild Man of the West, heexperienced the curious sensation, with which every one is more or lessfamiliar, of not knowing where he was.
The vision in leather, which had worried him to such an extent duringthe night, had left him in peace--as most visions usually do--an hour orso before daybreak, and as the real vision had not yet issued from theinner chamber of the cave, there was nothing familiar near him when heawoke to recall his scattered senses. His first effort to rise,however, quickened his memory amazingly. Pains shot through all hislimbs: the chase, the fall, Dick, the cavern, recurred to him; andlast--but not least, for it obliterated and swallowed up all the rest--the vision broke upon his beclouded brain and cleared his faculties.
Looking curiously round the cavern, he observed for the first time--whathe might have observed the night before had he not been preoccupied withsudden, numerous, and powerful surprises--that the walls were hung witharms and trophies of the chase. Just opposite to him hung the skin ofan enormous grisly bear, with the head and skull entire, and the mouthand teeth grinning at him in an awful manner. Near to this were theskin and horns of several buffaloes. In other places there were morehorns, and heads, and hides of bears of various kinds, as well as ofdeer, and, conspicuous above the entrance, hung the ungainly skull andponderous horns of an elk.
Mingled with these, and arranged in such a manner as to prove that Dick,or the vision--one or other, or both--were by no means destitute oftaste, hung various spears, and bows, and quivers, and shields of Indianmanufacture, with spears and bows whose form seemed to indicate thatDick himself was their fabricator. There was much of tasteful ornamenton the sheaths and handles of many of these weapons.
The floor of the apartment in which he lay was of solid rock, cleanlywashed and swept, but there was no furniture of any kind--only a pile offresh-cut pine-branches, with which the place was perfumed, and two orthree rough logs which had been used as seats the night before by thehost and hostess of this--to March--enchanted castle.
March was staring earnestly at one of these logs which lay close to theashes of the fire, trying to recall the form that had last occupied it,when a rustle at the inner passage attracted his attention, and nextmoment the vision again stood before him. It was, if possible, moreinnocent and young and sweet than on the previous night.
"Good mornin'. You very good sleep, me hope?"
"Ay, that had I, a capital sleep," cried March heartily, holding out hishand, which the vision grasped unhesitatingly, and shook with manlyvigour.
"Bees you hongray?"
"No, not a bit," said March.
The girl looked sad at this. "You muss heat," she said quickly, at thesame time raking together the embers of the fire, and blowing them upinto a flame, over which she placed a large iron pot. "Dick hims alwaysheat well an' keep well. Once me was be sick. Dick him say to me,`Heat.' Me say, `No want heat.' Hims say, `You _muss_ heat.' So metry; an' sure 'nuff, get well to-morrow."
March laughed at this prompt and effectual remedy for disease, and said,"Well, I'll try. Perhaps it will cure me, especially if you feed me."
Poor March saw, by the simplicity of his companion's looks, thatgallantry and compliments were alike thrown away on her; so he resolvedto try them no more. Having come to this conclusion, he said--
"I say, Mary, come and sit by me while I talk with you. I want to knowhow you came to be in this wild, out-o'-the-way place, and who Dick is,and what brought him here, an' in short, all about it."
The girl drew her log near as he desired, but said, "What Dick no tell,me no tell."
"But, surely," urged March in a somewhat testy tone, "you may tell me_something_ about ye."
Mary shook her head.
"Why not?"
"Dick say, `No tell.'"
"Oh! Dick's an ass!"
Had Mary known the meaning of her companion's rude speech, she mightpossibly have surprised him with a decided opinion in regard to himself.But, never having heard of nor seen such a creature in all her life,she only looked up with a quiet expression of curiosity, and said--
"What bees an ass?"
"Ha! ha!--ho! he! a--" roared our hero, with a mingled feeling ofexasperation and savage glee--"an ass? Why, it's a lovely slendercreature, with short pretty ears and taper limbs, and a sleek, glossycoat, like--like _me_, Mary, dear; why, I'm an ass myself. Pray, do getme somethin' to eat. I really believe my appetite's comin' back agin."
Mary looked at March in much concern. She had once nursed the Wild Manthrough a severe illness, and knew what delirium was, and she began tosuspect that her guest was beginning to give way.
"Now, lie down," she said with an air of decision that was almostludicrous in one so youthful. Yet March felt that he must obey. "Mewill git meat ready. You sleep littil bit."
March shut his eyes at once; but, the instant that Mary turned to attendto the iron kettle, he opened them, and continued to gaze at the busylittle housewife, until she chanced to look in his direction, when heshut them again quickly, and very tight. This was done twice; but thethird time Mary caught him in the act, and broke into a merry laugh. Itwas the first time she had laughed aloud since March met her; so helaughed too, out of sheer delight and sympathy.
When March had finished breakfast, he tried to get up, and found, to hisgreat relief and satisfaction, that no bones were broken--a fact ofwhich he had stood in considerable doubt--and that his muscles were lessacutely pained than they had been. Still, he was very stiff, and quiteunable, with any degree of comfort, to walk across the cave; so he madeup his mind to lie there till he got well--a resolution which, in thepride of his heart, he deemed exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy,forgetting, either deliberately or stupidly, that the presence of Maryrendered that otherwise dull cavern the most delightful of sickchambers, and that her attendance was ample compensation and reward forany amount of pain or self-denial.
"Mary," he said, when she had cleared away the debris of the morningmeal, "sit down here, and tell me a few things. You're so terriblyclose that one doesn't know what he may ask an' what he mayn't. But ifyou don't like to speak, you can hold your tongue, you know. Now, tellme, how old are you?"
"Fifteen," replied Mary.
"Ay! I thought ye'd been older. How long have ye bin with Dick?"
"In cave here--ten year. Before that, me live in my father's wigwam."
"Was yer father a trapper?" inquired March tenderly.
Mary's face at once assumed an expression of earnest gravity, and sheanswered, "Yes," in a low, sad tone.
March was going to have inquired further on this point, but fear lest heshould hurt the feelings of the poor child induced him to change thesubject.
"And how came ye," said he, "first to meet with Dick?"
Mary pressed her lips.
"Oh! very well; don't tell if it ain't right, by no manner o' means. Doye think that Dick intends to keep ye here always?"
"Me not know."
"Humph! An' you say he's good to ye?"
"Oh yes," cried Mary with a sudden blaze of animation on her usuallyplacid countenance, "him's good, very good--gooder to me than nobodyelse."
"Well, I could have guessed that, seein' that nobody else has hadanything to do with ye but him for ten years past."
"But him's not only good to me--good to everybody," continued the girlwith increasing animation. "You not know _how_ good--can't know."
"Certainly not," assented March; "it ain't possible to know, not havin'bin told; but if you'll tell me I'll listen."
March Marston had at last struck a chord that vibrated intensely in thebosom of the warm-hearted child. She drew her log closer
to him in hereagerness to dilate on the goodness of her adopted father, and began topour into his willing ears such revelations of the kind and noble deedsthat he had done, that March was fired with enthusiasm, and began toregard his friend Dick in the light of a demigod. Greatheart, in the"Pilgrim's Progress," seemed most like to him, he thought, only Dickseemed grander, which was a natural feeling; for Bunyan drew hisGreatheart true to nature, while Mary and March had invested Dick with arobe of romance, which glittered so much that he looked preternaturallyhuge.
March listened with rapt attention; but as the reader is not March, wewill not give the narrative in Mary's bad English. Suffice it to say,that she told how, on one occasion, Dick happened to be out hunting nearto a river, into which he saw a little Indian child fall. It wascarried swiftly by the current to a cataract fifty feet high, and in afew minutes would have been over and dashed to pieces, when Dick happilysaw it, and plunging in brought it safe to shore, yet with suchdifficulty that he barely gained the bank, and grasped the branch of anoverhanging willow, when his legs were drawn over the edge of the fall.He had to hold on for ten minutes, till men came from the other side ofthe stream to his assistance.
Mary also told him (and it was evening ere she finished all she had totell him) how that, on another occasion, Dick was out after grislieswith a hunter, who had somehow allowed himself to be caught by a bear,and would have been torn in pieces had not Dick come up with his greattwo-edged sword--having fired off his rifle without effect--and, withone mighty sweep at the monster's neck, cut right through its jugularvein, and all its other veins, down to the very marrow of its backbone;in fact, killed it at one blow--a feat which no one had ever done, orhad ever heard of as being done, from the days of the first Indian tothat hour.
Many such stories did Mary relate to the poor invalid, who bore hissufferings with exemplary patience and fortitude, and listened withunflagging interest; but of all the stories she told, none seemed toafford her so much pleasure in the telling as the following:--
One day Dick went out to hunt buffaloes, on his big horse, for he hadseveral steeds, one or other of which he rode according to fancy; but healways mounted the big black one when he went after the buffalo or towar. Mary here explained, very carefully, that Dick never went to waron his own account--that he was really a man of peace, but that, when hesaw oppression and cruelty, his blood boiled within him at such a ratethat he almost went mad, and often, under the excitement of hotindignation, would he dash into the midst of a band of savages andscatter them right and left like autumn leaves.
Well, as he was riding along among the mountains, near the banks of abroad stream, and not far from the edge of the great prairie, he camesuddenly on an object that caused his eyes to glare and his teeth togrind; for there, under the shade of a few branches, with a pot of waterby her side, sat an old Indian woman. Dick did not need to ask what shewas doing there. He knew the ways of the redskins too well to remain amoment in doubt. She had grown so old and feeble that her relations hadfound her burdensome; so, according to custom, they left her there todie. The poor old creature knew that she was a burden to them. Sheknew also the customs of her tribe--it was at her own request she hadbeen left there, a willing victim to an inevitable fate, because shefelt that her beloved children would get on better without her. Theymade no objection. Food, to last for a few days, was put within reachof her trembling hand; a fire was kindled, and a little pile of woodplaced beside it, also within reach. Then they left her. They knewthat when that food was consumed, and the last stick placed upon thefire, the shrunken limbs would stand in no need of warmth--the old heartwould be still. Yet that heart had once beat joyfully at the sound ofthose pattering feet that now retired with heavy ruthless tread forever. What a commentary on savage life! What a contrast between thepromptings of the unregenerate heart of man and the precepts of thatblessed--thrice blessed Gospel of Jesus Christ, where love, unalterable,inextinguishable, glows in every lesson and sweetens every command.
When Dick came upon her suddenly, as we have said, he was not ten pacesdistant from the spot where she sat; but she was apparently deaf andblind, for she evinced no knowledge of his presence. She was reachingout her skinny arm to place another stick upon the sinking fire at thetime, for it was a sharp and cold, though a bright and sunny autumn day.Dick stopped his horse, crushed his teeth together, and sat for a fewmoments regarding her intently.
Either the firewood had originally been placed too far away from the oldwoman's hand, or she had shifted her position, for she could not reachit. Once and again she made the effort--she stretched out her witheredarm and succeeded in just touching the end of one of the pieces of wood,but could not grasp it. She pawed it once or twice, and then gave upthe attempt with a little sigh. Drawing herself slowly together, shegathered up the rabbit-skin blanket which rested on her shoulders andattempted feebly to fold it across her chest. Then she slowly droopedher white head, with an expression of calm resignation on her oldwrinkled visage.
Dick's great heart almost burst with conflicting emotions. The wraththat welled up as he thought of the deserters was met by a gush oftender pity as he gazed through blinding tears on the deserted. With afling that caused his stout warhorse to stagger, he leaped to theground, tore open the breast of his hunting-shirt, and, sitting downbeside the old woman, placed her cold hand in his bosom.
She uttered a feeble cry and made a slight momentary effort to resist;but Dick's act, though promptly, was, nevertheless, tenderly done, andthe big hand that stroked her white head was so evidently that of afriend, that the poor creature resigned herself to the enjoyment of thatwarmth of which she stood so much in need. Meanwhile Dick, withoutshifting his position, stretched forth his long arm, collected all thewood within reach, and placed it on the fire.
After a few minutes the old woman raised her head, and looking earnestlyin Dick's face with her bleared and almost sightless eyes, said in theIndian language, with which her companion was well acquainted--
"My son, have you come back to me?"
A gush of indignant feeling had again to be violently stifled ere Dickcould answer in moderate tones--
"No, mother, he's _not_ come back; but I'll be a son to ye. See, sit upan' warm yerself at the blaze. I'll get ye some meat and sticks."
In hot haste, and with desperate activity, for he had no other way ofrelieving his feelings, Dick cut down a quantity of firewood and placedit close to the hand of the old woman. Then he untied the tin kettlewhich he always carried at his saddle-bow, and, with a piece of driedvenison, concocted a quantity of hot soup in a marvellously short spaceof time. This done, he sat down beside the old woman and made herpartake of it.
"Is it long since they left ye, mother?" he said, after she hadswallowed a little.
The old woman pondered for a few seconds. "No," she said, "not long.Only one sun has gone down since my son left me." Then she added in asad tone, "I loved him. He is a great warrior--a brave chief--and heloved me, too. But he had to leave me; I am old and useless. It is myfate."
"Describe your son to me," said Dick abruptly. "He is tall and straightas the poplar," began the old creature, while a look of pride played fora moment on her withered countenance. "His shoulders are broad and hislimbs are supple. He can run and leap like the deer, but not so well ashe once could. Grey hairs are now mingling with the black--"
"Has he any mark by which I could find him out?" interrupted Dickimpatiently.
"He has a deep cut over the right eye," returned the woman; "but stay,"she added in some alarm, "you would not harm my son; you are not anenemy?"
"No, I would not; I would do him good. Which way did they go?"
"To the prairie--to the rising sun."
Dick at once arose, placed the kettle of soup close to the old woman'sside, and unbuckling his saddle-girth, removed the blanket that coveredhis saddle, and transferred it to her shoulders.
This done, without uttering another word, he vaulted into his saddl
e,and dashed away as if he were flying for his life. The old womanlistened until the clatter of his horse's hoofs ceased to beat upon herdeadened ear, and then bent her head, as at the first, in calmresignation. Doubtless she fancied that another fellow-creature hadforsaken her, and that the end would soon come.
But Dick had not forsaken her. He bounded along over the rugged groundon the mettlesome steed, striking fire from the flinty rocks, leapingcreeks and rivulets, bursting through bush and brake, mile after mile,until he gained the open prairie, while the black coat of his chargerwas speckled with foam. Here he drew rein, and trotted hither andthither in search of the tracks of the Indians. He found them at last,and dismounted to examine them, for, save to the eye of a trapper or aredman, there were no visible tracks on that hard turf.
Remounting, he resumed his headlong course--sweeping over the springyturf of the plains as if his horse were a winged Pegasus, whose energiescould not know exhaustion. All day he rode, and as evening drew on hecame in sight of the tribe of Indians.
They had encamped for the night, and were preparing their evening meal;but when they saw the solitary horseman on the far-off horizon, thebraves and old men went to the verge of the camp to watch him. On hecame, bounding over the turf like the prong-horned antelope, turningneither to the right hand nor to the left, but taking everything thatintercepted him in a flying leap, and bearing down on the camp as anarrow flies from the bow.
Although a single horseman is not usually an object of terror to a bandof Indians, these braves soon began to evince by their looks that theydid not feel easy in regard to this one. As he drew near theyrecognised him; for Dick had on a former occasion given this particulartribe a taste of his prowess. Each man instantly rushed to his weaponsand horse; but the horses had been turned out to graze, and could not beeasily caught. Before they secured their weapons Dick was in the midstof them. With an eagle glance he singled out the chief with the cutover his right eye, and rode between him and his tent. The Indian,seeing that he was cut off from his weapons, darted swiftly out upon theplain, and made for a clump of stunted trees, hoping to find shelteruntil his comrades could come to his rescue. But Dick was there beforehim, and rode down upon him in such a way that he was compelled to taketo the open plain and run for his life.
His pursuer allowed him to run, keeping just close enough to him toforce him into the particular course he desired him to take. But thesavage proved, indeed, to be what his mother had styled him--a bravechief. Apparently resolving rather to die than to be hunted thus like awolf, he halted suddenly, turned sharp round, and, crossing his arms onhis bare chest, looked Dick full in the face as he came up. Just as hewas within ten yards of him, the Indian drew his knife, and hurled it atthe breast of his enemy with such violence that it hissed in its passagethrough the air. Dick received it on his shield, where it stoodquivering. Plucking it therefrom with a grim smile, he placed it in hisown girdle, and riding up to the Indian, sternly bade him mount in frontof him.
There was no refusing to obey that voice. The Indian cast one uneasyglance towards his camp, which was now far away on the plain, but therewas no sign of any one coming to the rescue. His captor had got thecredit of being an evil spirit, and he felt that he was left to hisfate. A hasty repetition of the order compelled him to turn and seizethe mane of the horse. Dick held out his toe for him to step on; thenext moment he was seated in front of the pale-face, galloping towardsthe mountains.
Whatever astonishment the Indian felt at this singular treatment, orwhatever his curiosity as to the result of it all, his countenanceexpressed nothing but calm scorn and defiance. He was evidently workinghimself into that state of mind which these redskin warriors endeavourto assume when they are captured and taken to the stake and the torture,there to prove their title to the name of brave by enduring the mostinconceivable agonies with stoical indifference, or there to bringdiscredit on their tribe, infamy on their name, and joy to theirenemies, by breaking down under the infliction of tortures at the baremention of which humanity shudders.
For some time they maintained the same headlong speed. When, however,all danger of pursuit was over, Dick drew rein, and proceeded moreleisurely, in order to relieve his now jaded steed. But that was asteed of the true metal. It possessed that generous spirit which wouldhave induced it willingly to exert itself even to the death. Its ownermight have ridden it till it fell prostrate and dying on the plain, buthe could not have ridden it to the point of refusing to advance becauseof exhaustion. He was merciful to it, and went slowly during the night;but he did not come to a final halt until the rising sun found him closeto the camp of the dying woman.
The Indian now for the first time began partly to guess the object ofhis having been brought there, and steeled his heart to bear whatevermight await him.
Dick dismounted, and grasping the Indian with a force that showed himhow helpless he would be in a personal struggle should he venture toattempt it, led him forward, and placed him a few paces in front of hisdying mother.
She was sitting just as she had been left, but the fire had gone out,and she trembled violently beneath the blanket which she had sought topull closer around her wasted form. Dick blamed himself mentally forhaving put so little wood on the fire, and proceeded to rekindle it;but, before doing so, he took a chain from his saddle-bow, with which hefastened the Indian to a tree that stood exactly opposite the spot onwhich the old woman sat, and not ten paces distant. He bound him insuch a way that he could sit on the ground and lean his back against thetree, but he could neither stand up nor lie down.
For the first time the countenance of the savage betrayed uneasiness.He believed, no doubt, that he was to be left to witness the dyingagonies of his mother, and the thought filled him with horror. To leaveher, as he did, to perish, had not been difficult, because he knew thathe should not see the act of perishing; but to be brought there andcompelled to witness this terrible doom acted out in all its minute andhorrible details on the mother whom he had once loved so tenderly, wasmaddening to think of. All the dread tortures that had yet beeninvented and practised on warriors must have seemed to him as nothingcompared with this awful device of the pale-face, on whom he now glaredwith the eyes of implacable hate and ferocity.
"Will the pale-face," he said fiercely, "cast me loose, and meet me handto hand in a fair fight? Surely," he added, changing his tone to one ofineffable scorn, "the pale-face is not weak, he is not a small man, thathe should fear a chief like Bighorn."
"Hark'ee! Bighorn," said Dick, striding up to him, and laying the coldedge of his hatchet on the Indian's forehead; "if you speak another wordabove yer breath, the pale-face will cleave ye to the chin."
There was something so thoroughly resolute in Dick's voice that theIndian was cowed effectually.
The fire was soon lighted, and Dick chafed and warmed the limbs of theold woman until he brought back the vital spark. Then he set on thekettle to boil. While a new mess was preparing, he went into the wood,and, with lusty blows, brought down the trees and cut them into hugebillets, which he piled upon the fire until it roared again, and theheart of the feeble creature began to beat once more with somewhat ofits wonted vigour. This done, he arranged a couch in such a way thatshe might get the full benefit of the heat without being scorched; afterwhich he rubbed down his good steed and cast it loose to feed. Then hecooked and ate some food, but offered never a bit to the Indian, whogazed at him as he performed these various actions with ever-increasingamazement and anxiety.
Then Dick sat down beside the old woman, to feed and tend her till sheshould die; and he knew the signs of death too well to suppose that hiscare would long be required. All that day, and all that night, and allthe next day, did the trapper, the old woman, and the Indian, remain inmuch the same position. Dick moved about a little, to give the oldwoman food and drink as she required it, and to wrap the blanket morecomfortably round her, for which kind deeds the poor creature oftentried to gaze fondly in his face with her si
ghtless eyes.
During all this time her son sat opposite, observing every look andmotion, yet unable himself to move. The pangs of hunger now began tognaw within him, and from his cramped position, he became so cold thathe trembled violently in every limb, despite his efforts to commandhimself. But Dick paid no attention whatever to him; he knew that hewas strong, and could stand it. Once the Indian implored his jailer togive him some food, but Dick said sternly, "I'll give ye food before yedie, _if ye keep quiet_."
At last, about nightfall of the second day, the sands of life began torun slowly. Dick saw that the old woman's end was approaching, so herose, and, going towards her son, he placed food before him. Hedevoured it ravenously. Then he gave him drink, and, loosing him, ledhim to the fire, where he speedily recovered his wonted heat and energy.After that, Dick led him to his mother's side and made him kneel.
"Mother," said Dick, "can you see and hear me?"
"Ay; but you are not my son," said the dying woman faintly. "You are apale-face--you are very good--but you are not my son."
"True, mother; but see, I have brought your son back to you!--Lay yourhand on her forehead," he added in that low, stern undertone which hehad used throughout to Bighorn, who could not but obey. "Stroke herhead, look in her eyes, and speak to her."
The redman did not require to be told now. A natural impulse led him todo as he was bid. The instant the tones of his voice struck her ear,the old woman seemed to awaken with a start; she looked up eagerly,caught the hand that touched her forehead, and, passing her own thinhand up to the Indian's face, felt the scar over his eye, as if torender herself doubly sure. Then she grasped the hand again in both ofhers, and, taking it under the blanket, pressed it to her witheredbreast and held it tightly there.
But that burst of unexpected joy hastened the falling of the last fewgrains of sand. For ten minutes longer they watched her as the breathwent and came more and more feebly. Then it ceased altogether, anddeath sealed her eyes. But she did not release the hand of her son. Hehad some difficulty in loosening that clasp of maternal love which wasstronger even than death.
After all was over, Dick seized the Indian and led him to the tree, towhich he chained him again. Then he dug a grave in the soft soil, inwhich he placed the body of the old woman with gentle care. Havingcovered it over he went into the woods, caught and saddled his horse,and led him towards the wondering savage, whom he once more unbound andset free.
"Bighorn," said Dick impressively, "you've been made to comfort andgladden the heart o' yer old mother in her last moments. If ye was apale-face, ye'd thank the Great Spirit for that to the last day o' yerlife. If ye ever do come to think like the pale-faces, you'll rememberthat you've to thank me for bringing ye here. Go, tell the redskins whoit is that caught ye, and what he did and said to ye."
Saying this, Dick mounted his horse and rode very slowly into theforest, leaving the redman standing by the side of his mother's grave.
After Mary had concluded this story, which, we may remark, she relatedwith much fewer comments than we have seen fit to pass upon it, she andMarch looked at each other for a long time in silence. Then Marchsuddenly exclaimed--
"He's a splendid fellow--Dick!"
Mary, both by looks and words, highly approved of this opinion. "Andyet," said she somewhat abstractedly, "this bees the man who peepilscall--"
Mary pursed her lips suddenly.
"Call _what_?" inquired March quickly.
"Wicked, wild, bad man," replied Mary, who, fortunately, could say allthis with perfect truth without betraying her secret. In fact, poorMary had never had a secret confided to her before, and having been toldby the Wild Man of the West that she was on no account to reveal hisreal title to their guest, she was in the utmost perplexity lest itshould slip out unawares.
"Mary," said March, who was always stumbling upon the verge of the truthin a most unaccountable way, without actually getting hold of it, "haveyou ever seen the Wild Man of the West?"
"Yes," replied the girl with a gay smile.
"Have you? Well now, that's odd! How much I should like to see him.To tell you the truth, one of my chief reasons for coming here was tosee him. What like is he?"
"Like Dick," replied the girl quietly.
"Like Dick!" echoed March in surprise; "why, that's what Dick saidhimself, and yet, by all accounts, his character must be very differentfrom that of Dick, who seems to be the kindest, tenderest-hearted manthat ever came to trap in the Rocky Mountains."
"What does peepil say 'bout this Wild Mans of the West?" inquired Mary.
"That he's awful fierce an' terrible cruel, an' ten or fifteen feethigh, I forget which, for everybody gives him a different height."
Mary laughed. "Bees that all?"
"Oh no! They say he eats men."
Mary laughed again.
"An' women and bars--raw."
Mary laughed louder and longer than ever, and when she laughed shelooked so ineffably sweet that March resolved to go on with thecatalogue of the Wild Man's virtues piecemeal, waiting for the laughbetween each statement, until there was not another idea left in hisbrain for his tongue to utter. But this amiable intention wasfrustrated by the report of a gun outside, which echoed and re-echoedamong these savage cliffs like muttering thunder. It was followed by ayell that caused Mary to start up with a look of horror and rush out ofthe cave, leaving the invalid in a most distressing state of uncertaintyas to what he should do, and in no little anxiety as to what wouldhappen next.
The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains Page 18
