The Way of a Man

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XXVI

  IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

  To the delirious or the perishing man, time has no measuring. I do notknow how we spent the night, or how long it was. Some time it becamemorning, if morning might be called this gray and cheerless lifting ofthe gloom, revealing to us the sodden landscape, overcast with stilldrizzling skies which blotted out each ray of sunlight.

  Search what way I might, I could find nothing to relieve our plight. Iknew that Auberry would before this time have gone back to follow ourtrail, perhaps starting after us even before night had approached; butnow the rain had blotted out all manner of trails, so rescue from thatsource was not to be expected. Not even we ourselves could tell where wehad wandered, nor could we, using the best of our wits as we then hadthem, do more than vaguely guess where our fellow travelers by that timemight be. Neither did we know distance nor direction of any settlement.What geography we thought right was altogether wrong. The desert, thewilderness, had us in its grip.

  We sat, draggled and weary, at the shoulder of the little ravine,haggard and worn by the long strain. Her skin garments, again wetthrough, clung tight to her figure, uncomfortably. Now and again I couldsee a tremor running through her body from the chill. Yet as I looked ather I could not withhold my homage to her spirit. She was a splendidcreature, so my soul swore to me, thoroughbred as any in all the world.Her chin was high, not drawn down in defeat. I caught sight of her smallear, flat to the head, pink with cold, but the ear of a game creature.Her nose, not aquiline, not masculine, still was not weak. Her chin, asI remember I noted even then, was strong, but lean and not over-ladenwith flesh. Her mouth, not thin-lipped and cold, yet not too loose andeasy, was now plaintive as it was sweet in its full, red Cupid bow.Round and soft and gentle she seemed, yet all the lines of her figure,all the features of her face, betokened bone and breeding. The low-cutIndian shirt left her neck bare. I could see the brick red line of thesunburn creeping down; but most I noted, since ever it was my delight totrace good lineage in any creature, the splendid curve of her neck, notlong and weak, not short and animal, but round and strong--perfect, Iwas willing to call that and every other thing about her.

  She turned to me after a time and smiled wanly. "I am hungry," she said.

  "We shall make a fire," I answered. "But first I must wait until my coatdries. The lining is wet, and we have no tinder. The bark is wet on thelittle trees; each spear of grass is wet."

  Then I bethought me of an old expedient my father had once shown me. Atthe bandolier across my shoulder swung my bullet pouch and powder flask,in the former also some bits of tow along with the cleaning worm. I madea loose wad of the tow kept thus dry in the shelter of the pouch, andpushed this down the rifle barrel, after I had with some difficultydischarged the load already there. Then I rubbed a little more powderinto another loose wad of tow, and fired the rifle into this. As luckwould have it, some sparks still smoldered in the tow, and thus I wasable once more to nurse up a tiny flame. I never knew before howcomforting a fire might be. So now again we ate, and once more, as thehours advanced, we felt strength coming to us. Yet, in spite of thefood, I was obliged to admit a strange aching in my head, and a hotfever burning in my bones.

  "See the poor horse," she said, and pointed to our single steed, humpedup in the wind, one hip high, his head low, all dejection.

  "He must eat," said I, and so started to loosen his hobble. Thus engagedI thought to push on toward the top of the next ridge to see what mightbe beyond. What I saw was the worst thing that could have met my eyes. Isank down almost in despair.

  There, on a flat valley nearly a mile away in its slow descent, stoodthe peaked tops of more than a score of Indian tepees. Horses werescattered all about. From the tops of the lodges little dribbles ofsmoke were coming. The wet of the morning kept the occupants within, buthere and there a robed figure stalked among the horses.

  I gazed through the fringe of grasses at the top of the ridge, feelingthat now indeed our cup of danger well-nigh was full. For some moments Ilay examining the camp, seeking to divine the intent of these people,whom I supposed to be Sioux. The size of the encampment disposed me tothink that it was a hunting party and not an expedition out for war. Isaw meat scaffolds, as I supposed, and strips of meat hanging over ropesstrung here and there; although of this I could not be sure.

  I turned as I heard a whisper at my shoulder. "What is it?" she askedme; and then the next moment, gazing as I did over the ridge, she saw. Ifelt her cower close to me in her instant terror. "My God!" shemurmured, "what shall we do? They will find us; they will kill us!"

  "Wait, now," said I. "They have not yet seen us. They may go away inquite the other direction. Do not be alarmed."

  We lay there looking at this unwelcome sight for some moments, but atlast I saw something which pleased me better.

  The men among the horses stopped, looked, and began to hurry about,began to lead up their horses, to gesticulate. Then, far off upon theother side, I saw a blanket waving.

  "It is the buffalo signal," I said to her. "They are going to hunt, andtheir hunt will be in the opposite direction from us. That is good."

  We crept back from the top of the ridge, and I asked her to bring me thesaddle blanket while I held the horse. This I bound fast around thehorse's head.

  "Why do you blind the poor fellow?" she inquired, "He cannot eat, hewill starve. Besides, we ought to be getting away from here as fast aswe can."

  "I tie up his head so that he cannot see, or smell, and so fall toneighing to the other horses," I explained to her. "As to getting away,our trail would show plainly on this wet ground. All the trail we leftyesterday has been wiped out; so that here is our very safest place, ifthey do not happen to run across the head of this little draw. Besides,we can still eat; and besides again--" perhaps I staggered a little as Istood.

  "You are weak!" she exclaimed. "You are ill!"

  "I must admit," said I, "that I could probably not travel far. If Idared tell you to go on alone and leave me, I would command you to doso."

  Her face was pale. "What is wrong?" she asked. "Is it a fever? Is ityour wound again?"

  "It is fever," I answered thickly. "My head is bad. I do not seedistinctly. If you please, I think I will lie down for a time."

  I staggered blindly now as I walked. I felt her arm under mine. She ledme to our little fireside, knelt on the wet ground beside me as I sat,my head hanging dully. I remember that her hands were clasped. I recallthe agony on her face.

  The day grew warmer as the sun arose. The clouds hung low and movedrapidly under the rising airs. Now and again I heard faint sounds,muffled, far off. "They are firing," I muttered. "They are among thebuffalo. That is good. Soon they will go away."

  I do not remember much of what I said after that, and recall only thatmy head throbbed heavily, and that I wanted to lie down and rest. Andso, some time during that morning, I suppose, I did lie down, and oncemore laid hold upon the hand of Mystery.

  I do not wish to speak of what followed after that. For me, a, mercifulignorance came; but what that poor girl must have suffered, hour afterhour, night after night, day after day, alone, without shelter, almostwithout food, in such agony of terror as might have been natural evenhad her solitary protector been possessed of all his faculties--I say Icannot dwell upon that, because it makes the cold sweat stand on myface even now to think of it. So I will say only that one time I awoke.She told me later that she did not know whether it was two or three dayswe had been there thus. She told me that now and then she left me andcrept to the top of the ridge to watch the Indian camp. She saw themcome in from the chase, their horses loaded with meat. Then, as the suncame out, they went to drying meat, and the squaws began to scrape thehides. As they had abundant food they did not hunt more than that oneday, and no one rode in our direction. Our horse she kept concealed andblindfolded until dark, when she allowed him to feed. This morning shehad removed the blanket from his head, because now, as she told me withexultation, the Indian
s had broken camp, mounted and driven away, all ofthem, far off toward the west. She had cut and dried the remainder ofour antelope meat, taking this hint from what we saw the Indians doing,and so most of our remaining meat had been saved.

  I looked at her now, idly, dully. I saw that her belt was drawn tighterabout a thinner waist. Her face was much thinner and browner, her eyesmore sunken. The white strip of her lower neck was now brick red. Idared not ask her how she had gotten through the nights, because she hadused the blanket to blindfold the horse. She had hollowed out a placefor my hips to lie more easily, and pulled grasses for my bed. In allways thoughtfulness and unselfishness had been hers. As I realized this,I put my hands over my face and groaned aloud. Then I felt her hand onmy head.

  "How did you eat?" I asked her. "You have no fire." "Once I had a fire,"she said. "I made it with flint and steel as I saw you do. See," sheadded, and pointed to a ring of ashes, where there were bits of twigsand other fuel.

  "Now you must eat," she said. "You are like a shadow. See, I have madeyou broth."

  "Broth?" said I. "How?"

  "In your hat," she said. "My father told me how the Indians boil waterwith hot stones. I tried it in my own hat first, but it is gone. A hotstone burned it through." Then I noticed that she was bareheaded. I laystill for a time, pondering feebly, as best I could, on the courage andresource of this girl, who now no doubt had saved my life, unworthy asit seemed to me. At last I looked up to her.

  "After all, I may get well," I said. "Go now to the thicket at the headof the ravine, and see if there are any little cotton-wood trees.Auberry told me that the inner bark is bitter. It may act like quinine,and break the fever."

  So presently she came back with my knife and her hands full of softgreen bark which she had found. "It is bitter," said she, "but if I boilit it will spoil your broth." I drank of the crude preparation as best Imight, and ate feebly as I might at some of the more tender meat thussoftened. And then we boiled the bitter bark, and I drank that water,the only medicine we might have. Alas! it was our last use of my hat asa kettle, for now it, too, gave way.

  "Now," she said to me, "I must leave you for a time. I am going over tothe Indian camp to see what I can find."

  She put my head in the saddle for a pillow, and gave me the remnant ofher hat for a shade. I saw her go away, clad like an Indian woman, herlong braids down her back, her head bare, her face brown, her moccasinedfeet slipping softly over the grasses, the metals of her legginstinkling. My eyes followed her as long as she remained visible, and itseemed to me hours before she returned. I missed her.

  She came back laughing and joyful. "See!" she exclaimed. "Many things! Ihave found a knife, and I have found a broken kettle; and here is an awlmade from a bone; and here is something which I think their women use inscraping hides." She showed me all these things, last the saw-edgedbone, or scraping hoe of the squaws, used for dressing hides, as she hadthought.

  "Now I am a squaw," she said, smiling oddly. She stood thoughtfullylooking at these things for a time. "Yes," she said, "we are savagesnow."

  I looked at her, but could see no despair on her face. "I do not believeyou are afraid," I said to her. "You are a splendid creature. You arebrave."

  She looked down at me at length as I lay. "Have courage, John Cowles,"she said. "Get well now soon, so that we may go and hunt. Our meat isnearly gone."

  "But you do not despair," said I, wondering. She shook her head.

  "Not yet. Are we not as well off as those?" she pointed toward the oldencampment of the Indians. A faint tinge came to her cheeks. "It isstrange," said she, "I feel as if the world had absolutely come to anend, and yet--"

  "It is just beginning," said I to her. "We are alone. This is the firstgarden of the world. You are the first woman; I am the first cave man,and all the world depends on us. See," I said--perhaps still a trifleconfused in my mind--"all the arts and letters of the future, all thepaintings, all the money and goods of all the world; all the peace andwar, and all the happiness and content of the world rest with us, justus two. We are the world, you and I."

  She sat thoughtful and silent for a time, a faint pink, as I said, justshowing on her cheeks.

  "John Cowles, of Virginia," she said simply, "now tell me, how shall Imend this broken kettle?"