Side by side the boys moved across the space, the ponies not raising their heads to look at them, as they passed near. Instead of following the course taken by their guide they bore to the right, but at the same time proceeded nearly westward, which led them deeper into the mountains. Remembering the caution of their friend they studied the landmarks around them, in the hope of not losing their way when it should become time to return to camp.
When fairly clear of the plateau, where they must have been at a considerable elevation above the sea, they found the way so rough that travelling became a task. There was nothing in the nature of a path or trail to follow, and they were compelled to pass around boulders and rocks, sometimes turning back and retracing their steps, and making long detours, so as to flank impassable chasms. All this tended to confuse their knowledge of the points of the compass, but they did not forget to note everything that could serve as a guide, and were confident of finding their way whenever it should become necessary to return.
Most of the time Jack Dudley was in the lead, for it was not easy to walk beside each other. He was perhaps a half-dozen paces in advance of Fred, when he abruptly stopped with an exclamation of affright.
“What is it?” asked his friend, hardly less startled.
“Look at that!”
He pointed downward, almost at his feet. Still unaware of what he meant, Fred stepped guardedly forward to his side.
There was good cause, indeed, for the alarm of the elder, for he had checked himself on the edge of a ravine or canyon fully a thousand feet deep. One step further and he would have dropped into eternity.
The peculiar formation of the canyon accounted for this peril. The chasm was barely a dozen feet wide, but the other side was depressed, so that it was not noticed by the youth until on the edge of the danger. The walls were of solid rock, showing the numerous strata of sandstone and other formations, worn so unevenly that it looked possible for a person to use them as stairs in climbing the sides. Pausing on the edge and peering cautiously down the dizzy steep, the youths could see a stream of water, winding its course far down at the bottom, where the roughness of its bed churned it into foam, and gave it the appearance of a white ribbon that had been strung along the course. The murmur was so soft and faint that at times they were not sure they heard it, and when it reached their ears the voice of the distant ocean was suggested.
A striking feature of this phenomenon was the exceeding narrowness of the canyon. It has been stated that directly opposite to where the boys had halted it was scarcely a dozen feet wide, and there were places in sight with the width still less, though most of it was greater. The ages that it had taken this stream to erode such a bed for itself was beyond imagination.
“Jack,” said his companion, with that elasticity of spirits natural to one of his years, “if you had pitched down there, how in the world could I have pulled you up to the top again?”
“Why would you wish to do that?”
“Well, you would have been pretty well bruised and would have needed help.”
“Possibly; but I wonder whether there are many such pit-holes in this part of the world. It resembles the fissures in the mountains of ice which I have read that the Arctic explorers sometimes find.”
However, since the youths were on one side of the canyon, naturally they were seized with the belief that it was necessary immediately to place themselves on the other side. Why it was so they would have found hard to explain, but they were unanimous on the point; and, since there was but the single method of crossing the chasm, they set out to find it.
“It looks narrower over there to the left,” said Jack, turning in that direction.
He did not have to go far when he paused, where the width was barely six feet—not enough to afford much of a leap for sturdy lads of their years.
“That’s easy,” added Jack, measuring it with his eye.
“You must remember one thing, Jack. There’s something in the air of this part of the world which makes a mile look no more than a few hundred yards. Suppose that that other bank is fifty feet off!”
It was an alarming thought, and Jack recoiled as if again on the edge of the brink. But he was quick to see the absurdity of the idea.
“If that is so, then the canyon must be several miles deep. But we would better make sure.”
It was easy to do this. Hunting around until a chip from one of the boulders was found, Jack tossed it across the abyss. It fell as he expected, proving that, wonderfully deceptive as is the atmosphere of the West, it cannot mislead in instances like that which confronted them.
“That makes it right. I am not afraid to make the leap; are you?”
“Not a bit; but wait.”
Near them lay a stone, so large that it required their united strength to move it. By hard work they rolled it to the edge of the canyon and tumbled it over, carefully watching its descent. A curious thing followed. At first it shot straight downward for a hundred feet, when it impinged against a projecting point of the mountain wall, knocked the fragments in every direction, as if it were a ball fired from a thousand-pounder, and bounded against the opposite side, further down, scattering fragments again. By this time it had achieved an almost inconceivable momentum, and was shooting downward at a terrific rate.
In the depths of this narrow canyon, where the sunlight never penetrated for more than a few minutes at a time, it was always twilight. At the bottom it was almost dark, so that the stream would hardly have been visible but for its yeasty foam. At some point near the base, when the flinty stone was speeding forward like a meteor, it abraded a harder portion than before. Instantly a stream of fire shot out, such as sometimes flashes from a murky cloud in the sky, and, as if it were an echo of the impact, the splash and thunderous thump were heard by the boys at the top.
It was a tempting theme for the imagination, but they were too practical to linger. Having agreed that the canyon could be readily jumped, they did not hesitate. Running a few steps, Jack Dudley cleared the passage and landed on the other side, with several feet to spare. He did not take the trouble to toss his rifle in advance, but kept it in his hand.
“I had a queer feeling,” he said, as Fred joined him, “when I was right over the middle of the canyon, and knew, if I had made any miscalculation, I should never stop until pretty well down toward the centre of the earth.”
“It doesn’t take long to do a deal of thinking at such time, but what bothered me was whether I was going to make as good a jump as you. I believe I beat you by two or three inches.”
“You wouldn’t have done it if I had tried. But, Fred, since we are on this side of that split in the mountain, we have got to jump it again to get back to camp.”
“And we must manage to do it before dark, for it isn’t safe to take chances where there is so much variance in the width.”
“Fact of it is,” remarked Jack, expressing that which had been clear to both from the first, “there was no need of our jumping it at all. But we are here, and must make the best of it. It’s time we found some game.”
And Jack looked sharply around, as if he expected to see a fat deer or big horn step forward and sacrifice himself for their good.
But they were more fortunate than they were warranted in expecting. While surveying the rocks and heights which seemed to wall them in, Fred exclaimed:
“There’s our game!”
He pointed to a cliff fully two hundred yards distant, and of half that height. On this projecting ledge stood a noble buck, with antlers and head raised, while he seemed to be gazing over the wild expanse of country below him. They knew he was a fine animal, though the distance made him appear diminutive.
“I wonder if he sees us?” said Jack in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.
“If he does, he knows we are too far off to harm him.”
The next instant the boys had unslung their glasses and leveled them at the fellow, who formed a striking picture, as he stood out in bold relief, with
his spreading antlers, his fine head, and his brown, sinewy limbs. The next remark by Jack may not have been romantic, but it was characteristic:
“What a fine meal he will make for us!”
“Provided we can secure him. We must get a good deal nearer.”
“Our rifles will carry a bullet that far.”
“No doubt; but if we hit him he would be only slightly wounded and would make off. We must go closer.”
This necessity was self-evident, but the task was certain to be a difficult one. As they approached the animal they were likely to expose themselves to his keen gaze, when he would disappear on the instant.
“Remember what Hank said. There is twice the chance for one that there is for two. I’ll stay here, Fred, while you go on. If I see him move I’ll try it, and you must do the same. Between us, we may bring him down.”
The plan was acted upon. It was agreed that Fred should steal as near to the buck as possible, in the hope of securing him, while Jack should hold himself in readiness to make a shot, with precious little prospect of success.
If the game would maintain his position it looked as if there was a good prospect of the younger lad getting within shooting distance, for the way was so rugged, and offered so many opportunities for screening his approach, that he did not believe he would be detected if he used proper care. Meanwhile Jack took position behind the nearest boulder, where he could keep an eye on the animal and it was impossible for the latter to see him.
Fred was lost to sight almost immediately. He grew so anxious as the interval decreased that he trembled, and it was hard to fight off an attack of what is called “buck fever,” and which is fatal to the best hunter; but by and by his nerves settled, and he became as cool and self-possessed as Hank Hazletine himself would have been under the circumstances.
It seemed improbable that the buck would wait where he was, even if not alarmed, for the time necessary to afford a good shot for his enemy. It was some whim that had led him out upon the top of the towering bluff, where he was in view of the young hunters. It is not to be supposed that his kind appreciate such a thing as beauty in a landscape or scene spread before them, and yet the action of the buck almost indicated something of that nature; for he stood motionless, minute after minute, as if absorbed, and suggesting a statue carved from the rock itself.
Foot by foot Fred Greenwood stole forward, crouching behind boulders, creeping beside immense rocks which shut him from the gaze of the watchful animal, until with a rapidly beating heart he whispered:
“I’m near enough to try a shot.”
He was making ready, when he observed a well-screened point a few rods in advance, which impressed him as the right place. Once there, he could ask no better opportunity to test his skill. Was it safe to wait a minute or two longer? Yes, he would make the attempt.
With infinite care, and holding his nerves in superb control, he worked his way to the spot without alarming the buck.
CHAPTER VIII.
LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.
Crouching behind the friendly boulder, Fred Greenwood rested the barrel of his Winchester upon it and took careful aim at the buck, which seemed scarcely to have moved from the moment he was seen by the youths. That he maintained his pose thus long was certainly remarkable, and the fact was due to a cause suspected by neither of the boys.
That the antelope has the bump of curiosity developed to a most amazing degree is well known. It is this peculiarity which has proved fatal to the animals in numberless instances. The curiosity of the cervus species, while much less, sometimes manifests itself in an extraordinary fashion. Fred Greenwood managed his approach with so much skill that he was not noticed; but his comrade, further away, was seen by the vigilant animal, when Jack, becoming impatient over the delay, began the attempt to follow him. The sight of the young hunter startled the buck. He was on the point of whirling about and making off, but waited to learn something more definite. The caution of Jack rendered this difficult, and it was because of the animal’s hesitation that Fred succeeded in reaching the spot from which to try a shot.
The lad sighted at the front of the game and his finger was pressing the trigger, when, perhaps because of a sudden sight of Jack, the buck turned about to flee. It was at this juncture that Fred fired.
The result was better than he expected. It is almost impossible to kill a deer instantly, instances being known of one running a number of rods with a bullet through his heart; but in this instance the buck, gathering his forelegs under him, as if to leap a high obstruction, bounded straight up in air and dropped back so close to the edge of the cliff that he toppled over and came tumbling downward like a log of wood.
The point where he fell was some distance away and out of sight of the young hunter, who, with a delighted exclamation, rose to his feet and began scrambling toward his prize. But for his excitement Fred would have noted a singular thing. When the report of his rifle rang out in the stillness, the echo from the face of the cliff sounded as sharp and loud as the crack of his own weapon. The explanation of this speedily became manifest.
Although the way was rough, the distance was so short that it took Fred only a brief time to reach the inanimate body of the buck.
“Hank couldn’t have beaten that shot himself! I must have driven the bullet through his heart, which I shouldn’t have done if he hadn’t started to flee at the instant I pulled trigger—”
At that moment an Indian, rifle in hand, stepped into view from among the rocks, and with a grin on his face came toward the youth. Fred was not dreaming of anything of the kind, and looked at the red man in astonishment.
“Eh! howdy, brother? That my buck,” said the Indian, with his painted face still bisected by a tremendous smile.
The lad flared up on the instant.
“How do you make that out? I just shot him.”
“No; me shoot him—he mine.”
Fred’s gorge continued to rise.
“You are not speaking the truth. I fired at him a few minutes ago and saw him spring in air and fall over the cliff.”
“Where you hit him?”
Ready to prove the truth of his own words, the youth stooped over the carcass, which was lying on its left side. A crimson orifice was seen just back of the foreleg, which showed where the tiny messenger of death had entered.
“That’s where I struck him! What have you to say to that?”
“I shoot at the same time as brother. That where my bullet go in. Dere where it come out.”
Reflection convinced Fred of the unpleasant fact that this Indian was speaking the truth. The relative position of the lad and the dead buck had been such that it was impossible for his bullet to take the course of the one that had slain the animal. The decisive shot, therefore, was not his.
“But I know mine struck him somewhere,” was Fred’s desperate exclamation; “could it have taken the same course as yours?”
The tantalizing smile came back to the face of the red man, who shook his head.
“My brother’s bullet strike dere—hurt antler bad.”
The Indian thrust the toe of his moccasin against the buck’s antlers. It was plain that one of the prongs had been chipped off, as if by the impact of a glancing bullet. Fred could no longer deny the mortifying fact that his shot had no more to do with the death of the animal than if it had been a pebble tossed up the cliff by hand.
The discovery did not add to his temper, and he was in an unreasonable mood.
“You hadn’t any business to fire at the buck when I did! I had picked him out for my game and it was a mean act on your part. We both struck him, and I shall claim one-half of him, for I’m hungry, and it will soon be supper-time.”
A dangerous light shone in the black eyes of the Indian. Evidently he had no liking for the race of the young man, and his resentment was roused by his words and manner.
“He mine; me take him; you thief!”
It occurred to Fred Greenwood at this moment that it would be unwi
se as well as perilous to quarrel with this denizen of the wilderness. He was in middle life, active, powerful, wiry and unscrupulous. The youth was no match for him in a personal encounter; besides which he noticed that the fellow carried a Winchester like his own, not to mention the formidable knife at his waist.
Still the lad was too proud to yield the point without protest. Besides, he was growing anxious about that supper which hung suspended in the balance.
“It’s only fair that you should give me a part of the body; you can’t eat a tenth part of it. You must divide.”
“He mine—me take all—white dog have none—me kill him.”
“You will, eh? I shall have something to say about that.”
It was Jack Dudley who uttered these words as he strode into view from the direction taken a few minutes before by his comrade.
The Indian had detected the approach of Jack before he spoke and before Fred knew of his coming. He raised his head like a flash, and the dark, threatening expression vanished, succeeded by the grin that was there when he first appeared to the younger lad.
“Howdy, brother?” he said, extending his hand, which was taken rather gingerly by the surprised youth, who recognized him as Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, with whom he had had the singular experience some nights before, when encamped in the grove on the prairie.
“Why, I didn’t suspect it was you,” added Jack, hardly knowing how to address him.
Motoza would have lacked ordinary perception had he failed to see that the boys were friends. What impulse led him to do what he did it would be hard to explain, but without making any response to the remark of Jack he drew his knife, stooped over the carcass, and dextrously cut two large pieces from the haunches. Straightening up, he handed one to Jack and the other to Fred, with the words:
“Take, brothers.”
“Thank you very much,” replied Fred, accepting the “peace offering,” while his friend made similar acknowledgment.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 45
