“Brothers want more?”
“That is plenty. We are obliged, and hope you will pardon our hasty words.”
With the chronic grin on his painted face Motoza stood silent, as if the business was closed between them.
“That gives us our supper, Fred, and we may as well go back to camp. Good-by, Motoza.”
The Sioux slightly nodded, but did not speak. Each boy, carrying his food, turned his back upon him and moved away in the direction of the camp. When they had gone a slight distance, Jack looked back and saw the Indian bent over the carcass of the buck and busy with his knife in securing a meal for himself. A few minutes later the parties were out of sight of each other.
At the first water they reached the lads carefully washed and dressed the venison and resumed their return to camp.
“What do you make of it, Jack?” asked Fred.
“I don’t know enough about Indians to judge them correctly, but I think their nature must be similar to our own. Motoza formed a respect for me because of the manner in which I handled him the other night.”
“That is my belief; and it is not only respect, but friendship. He likes you, and will never do you harm.”
“What about you?”
“I am not so clear there. He and I were quarrelling when you came up. I thought it was I who killed the buck, but he proved it was himself, and that I had no claim to him. But I had set my heart on making a supper off venison tonight, and did not like the thought of giving it up. He was ugly, and if you hadn’t come up just when you did there would have been trouble, with the chances against me.”
“It was a mistake on your part.”
“I fear it was. It may be, however, that Motoza feels better disposed toward me since he has learned we are friends.”
“That is my belief. But it is rather curious that we should run across him again, so many miles from the spot where we last met; but, Fred, we must keep our bearings.”
They were in a wild section of the mountains, which they had not seen before, but by carefully noting the position of the sun in the sky and observing a towering, snow-covered peak that had been fixed upon as a landmark, they agreed as to the right direction. They were confirmed in their belief shortly after by coming to the edge of the canyon which they had leaped on their outward trip; but the width was fully twenty feet, with no diminishing, so far as they could see, to the right or left.
“I hardly think it will do to make the venture here,” remarked Jack, with a shake of his head.
“No; for not only is it too wide, but the other side is several feet higher than this.”
They cautiously approached the edge and peered down into the frightful depth. There was the same foamy stream, apparently a half-mile below, clashing over the rocky bottom, and sending up the faint roar that impressed them when the canyon was first seen. It was, in short, a reproduction on a reduced scale of the magnificent Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, which is a source of admiring wonder to thousands of tourists.
Something away down in the bottom caught the attention of Fred, and, at his suggestion, they laid aside their rifles and venison and crept forward on their faces until their heads projected over the edge of the dizzying depth.
“Do you see him?” asked Fred.
“Yes; who would have thought of such a thing?”
At many points in the yeasty foam black masses of rocks rose so high above the roaring stream that the water whirled and eddyed around them. It was mostly these obstructions that kept the current in a state of turmoil, and made it show distinctly in the twilight gloom of the canyon. On one of the dripping rocks was a man, standing so like a statue that in the indistinct light Fred Greenwood took him for some fantastic formation of stone, worn by the eroding action of the angry waters, but the suggestion of a living person was so striking that the two called their spy-glasses into use.
The result was astounding. Instead of being an Indian, as they had believed at first, it was a white man. Furthermore, the instruments proved beyond question that he was their old friend, Hank Hazletine.
“What in the name of wonder is he doing down there?” exclaimed the amazed Jack.
“Standing on a rock,” was the reply. “He finds some amusement in that, or he wouldn’t do it.”
“He must have entered at the mouth of the canyon, which cannot be far off.”
“That may be so. The sides are so broken and rough that he could use them for stairs in going down or coming up.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Jack, with a shudder; “the thought scares me. I wouldn’t undertake it for the world! Suppose, when you had picked your steps half-way down, you couldn’t find a place to rest your hands or feet; or, in climbing up, you should be stopped within a yard or two of the top?”
“It would be the end of the chapter for us; but Hank knows the country so well that he is in no danger of making such a mistake; but none for us.”
In the hope of attracting the notice of their friend the boys shouted to him, but the roar of the waters was in the ears of the hunter, who would not have heard the boom of a cannon fired on the cliffs above. He did not look up or give any heed to their hail. Fred thought of throwing down a piece of rock, but it was too dangerous. It was liable to be so deflected from its course as to kill the unsuspicious hunter, who had assumed great risk as it was.
“Do you see that?” asked Jack.
The question was caused by the action of Hank, who made a leap that carried him to the top of the boulder nearest him. Then he sprang to a second and a third, when, to the astonishment of the watchers, he disappeared.
The reason was apparent. After his last leap he had passed under a projecting ledge, from which, of course, he would emerge whenever he chose to do so. But, though the boys watched for a considerable time, he did not appear; and, realizing that the afternoon was drawing to a close, they rose to their feet, with the purpose of pushing on to camp.
But to do that they must find a place where the canyon could be crossed, and they set out on their hunt, which proved less difficult than was anticipated. Not far off a portion of the rocks on their side projected like a tongue so far over the ravine that it was barely two yards from its extremity to the other bank. Moreover, the sides of the canyon were on a level, so that a more favorable spot for crossing could not have been desired.
An examination of this formation showed that twenty feet below them the canyon was as wide as at the point from which they had watched their friend. The ledge, therefore, arched over, and was in the nature of a partial bridge, whose thickness would have sustained a great many tons.
They peered downward in quest of Hank, but the gorge had taken an abrupt turn since they saw him and he was not in sight.
The task before them seemed so simple that the two gave it scarcely a thought, but it brought them an experience which, in some respects, was the most terrifying of their lives.
While the banks were substantially on the same level, the opposite one was fringed with a species of stunted bush, two or three feet high, quite dense, and bearing a species of red berry such as is found on the fragrant wintergreen. Hazletine had cautioned the lads against eating any vegetable whatever in this section, since many are violently poisonous and have caused the death of more than one thoughtless tenderfoot.
Fred Greenwood made ready for the first jump. As in the former instance, the distance was so slight that it was not necessary to toss any of their impedimenta in advance of their own passage. It was easy to jump with the Winchester in one hand and the goodly piece of meat in the other. Since Fred had beaten his friend some time before, Jack quietly resolved to turn the tables by doing his best, and he was confident of far surpassing him, especially as Fred had no suspicion of his intention.
“Go ahead,” said Jack; “night isn’t far off, and it will be dark by the time we reach camp.”
Fred took only a couple of paces for a start, when he bounded across the chasm with the ease of a chamois. Jack had sauntered a rod back,
as if with no special purpose in mind, when his object was to secure the impetus that would land him far in advance of his comrade. Standing thus, he complacently watched Fred, as his body rose in air, gracefully curved over, and landed at a safe distance beyond the edge of the canyon.
It was while Jack Dudley was standing thus that he fancied he saw a disturbance in the bushes where Fred was about to alight. It was so slight that he did not think it meant anything; and, without noticing it further, he started on a series of quick, short steps, which were to give him the necessary momentum to win the victory over his friend. At that instant Fred landed and emitted a cry of terror and warning.
“Look out, Jack! Don’t jump! Stop! stop!”
But, though Jack heard the cry, it was too late to heed it. He was so near the edge of the canyon that had he checked himself he would have gone spinning to death down the abyss. The leap must be made, and, gathering his muscles, he rose in the air, with his legs gathered under him, and with the certainty that the jump would far surpass the one that he had just witnessed.
In that critical moment, when his body rose and seemed suspended over the gorge, Jack’s attention was fixed upon the strange actions of Fred. The instant he landed he darted to one side, and with his rifle struck at something in the bushes which Jack could not see. As he did so he recoiled, and was in the act of advancing and striking again, when Jack landed upon the ground beyond.
As he did so he heard a vicious, locust-like whir, whose meaning he recognized. An immense rattlesnake was in the bushes, and Fred had descended almost upon it. But for the tremendous effort of Jack he would have dropped squarely upon the velvety body, with consequences too frightful to be thought of; but his great leap carried him over it, while the attack of Fred upon the reptile, in the effort to save his companion, diverted the attention of the rattlesnake for an instant.
Jack saw the flat, pitted head, the gleaming coil, the distended jaws, while the slightly elevated tail vibrated so rapidly with the warning which, once heard, can never be forgotten, that it looked hazy and mist-like. Before Fred, at imminent risk to himself, could bring down his clubbed gun with crushing force, Jack felt a sharp sting in his ankle and called out, in the extremity of terror:
“I’m bitten!”
He was not only terrified but angered, and whirling about, he brought down his gun with spiteful violence on the writhing body. The reptile struck again, but it was already wounded to that extent that its blow was erratic, and, though it came near reaching the hand of Jack, it missed by a safe margin.
CHAPTER IX.
NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS.
One of the singular facts connected with the crotalus species is the ease with which it is killed. The writer once ended the career of a huge specimen with a single blow of a whip-lash. The first impact of Fred Greenwood’s rifle-barrel upon the hideous reptile coiled in the scrub bushes inflicted a fatal wound, though the serpent continued blindly striking for a minute or two longer, and responded viciously to the attack of the scared and angry Jack Dudley, who struck it several times after it had ceased to struggle and all danger was past. A person’s first impulse, after being bitten by a snake, is to kill it, after which he looks after the wound he may have received.
But Fred had heard the dreadful exclamation of his comrade and caught him by his arm as he was about to bring down his last blow upon the reptile.
“O Jack, are you sure he bit you?” he asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yes; I felt the sting in my left ankle, like the prick of a needle.”
Dropping upon the ground, he hastily unfastened and turned down his legging. There, sure enough, was a tiny red spot, with a single drop of blood oozing from it.
“The rattlesnake has two fangs,” said Fred; “but there is only one wound here.”
“It wasn’t a direct blow, I suppose,” said the white-faced Jack, who had good reason to be terrified over the occurrence, for the rattlesnake, although ranking below the cobra in the virulence of its venom, is the most deadly serpent in America, and the veteran hunter fears it more than the most savage of wild animals.
Fred stooped down and examined the wound closely. A thrilling suspicion was becoming certainty in his mind.
“When did you feel that bite?” he asked.
“At the moment I landed on my feet. What a dreadful poison it is! I can feel it all through my body; and don’t you see that my ankle has begun to swell?”
Fred continued to study the wound, pressing his finger around it and bending close to the limb. Had the hurt been caused by the fang of a serpent he would have tried to suck out the venom. Suddenly he looked up with glowing face.
“Now, Jack, my dear fellow, don’t be frightened; you haven’t been bitten at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the moment you landed on your feet I was beating the life out of the snake, and he was giving his whole attention to me. He did not try to bite you till you turned about and began striking at him.”
“But what made that wound?” asked Jack.
“I suspect the cause.”
He drew up the legging and examined the part that covered the spot in the ankle which had received the blow.
“There! I knew it! That’s what did it!”
He had plucked out a small, needle-pointed thorn. The bushes abounded with similar prongs, one of which had been torn off and pierced the legging of Jack when he was crashing through the tops of the bushes.
“Sure there isn’t any mistake about that?” asked the youth, feeling as if a mountain were lifted from his shoulders.
“There can’t be.”
“Wait a minute!”
With one bound the happy fellow came to his feet, and throwing his arms about his comrade, hugged him into temporary breathlessness.
“Thank the Lord! Richard’s himself again! The V. W. W. are born to good fortune.”
And joining hands, the two danced with delight. Many in the situation of Fred Greenwood would have laughed at Jack and “guyed” him over his blunder, but the incident was too dreadful and the terror of his friend too intense for Fred to wish to amuse himself at his expense. However, he could not help indulging just a trifle. Suddenly pausing in his antics he looked down at the feet of Jack.
“I suppose in a few minutes your ankle will be so swelled that the buckles will fly off the legging. By this time, too, you must feel the poison in your head.”
By way of answer, Jack, who, like Fred, had laid aside his Winchester and venison, seized his friend and tried to lay him on his back. They had had many a wrestling bout at home and there was little difference in their skill. Fred was always ready for a test, and he responded with such vigor that before Jack suspected he received an unquestioned fall, since both shoulders and hips were on the ground at the same time, with his conqueror holding him motionless.
“It was hardly fair,” remarked Fred, allowing him to rise to his feet.
“Why not?” asked Jack, also coming up.
“The venom of the rattlesnake so weakened you that you are not yourself.”
“I’ll show you whether I am or not!”
At it they went again, and this time Jack was the victor, after which they brushed off their clothing and agreed to leave the deciding bout for a more convenient season. Night was rapidly closing in.
“That exercise has added to my appetite,” remarked Jack, as they gathered up their belongings and moved off.
“It would have done the same for me, if the thing were possible.”
Mindful of the danger of going astray, they carefully studied the landmarks, so far as they could see them. Their main reliance was the lofty peak that was visible for so great a distance, but with that help they saw it growing dark, while they were in a region totally strange to them.
“My gracious!” said Fred, as they came to a halt; “in the face of all that Hank told us, we have lost our way!”
“It has that look,” replied Jack, removing his hat and drawing his
handkerchief across his moist forehead; “but I don’t see that it is such a serious thing, after all. We can spend the night here as well as anywhere.”
“What will Hank think, when he goes to camp to meet us?”
“I reckon he’ll not be disappointed; besides, we can’t be far from the place, and can look it up tomorrow.”
“I don’t suppose it will hurt us to build a fire among these rocks and spend the night; but the air is pretty cool and we shall miss our blankets.”
“Old hunters like ourselves must become used to such things,” complacently observed Jack, who began preparations at the same moment for carrying out his own proposal. It was no trouble to find enough brush and wood to serve them, and they had brought such a goodly supply of matches from the ranch in their rubber safes that they soon had a vigorous fire going, over which they broiled their venison.
The meal of itself would not have been enjoyable at their home, for it was too “new,” lacking a certain tenderness that forms one of its chief attractions. Besides, it was unavoidably scorched in the preparation; but the mixed pepper and salt sprinkled over it improved the flavor. But the great thing was their insatiate appetites, for it is a homely truth that there is no sauce like hunger. So it came about that they not only made a nourishing meal, but had enough left to serve them in the morning.
It was fully dark when the repast was finished. The fire had been started against the face of a boulder, and only a small quantity of wood remained—not sufficient to last half through the night. With the going down of the sun the air became colder. It seemed at times as if a breath of wind from the snowy peaks reached them, and it caused an involuntary shiver. The prospect of remaining where they were through the dismal hours of darkness was anything but cheering.
“Jack,” suddenly said Fred in a guarded undertone, “there’s some wild animal near us.”
“How can you know that?”
“I heard him moving about.”
“In what direction?”
“Just beyond the ridge there. Hark! Didn’t you hear it?”
“You are right,” whispered Jack; “let’s find out what it is.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 46
