Gun in hand, they moved stealthily up the slight ridge near by. It was only a few feet in height. Their experience had taught them that danger was likely to break upon them at any time, and they did not mean to be caught unprepared. Neither spoke as they cautiously climbed the ridge, like a couple of Indian scouts on the alert for the first appearance of peril.
But they reached the crest of the slight elevation without having heard anything more of that which had alarmed them. The next moment, however, both caught the dim outlines of a large animal moving slowly from them. Before they were certain of its identity the creature neighed, as if frightened by the stealthy approach of the youths.
“It’s a horse!” exclaimed Fred, who, suspecting the whole truth, moved over the ridge and called, in a coaxing voice:
“Dick! Come here, Dick!”
The animal stopped, looked inquiringly around, and then came forward with a pleased whinny. He was Fred’s pony, and, brief as their acquaintance had been, recognized his voice. Fred stroked his nose and patted his neck, and the horse showed his pleasure at receiving the endearments.
When the youths made their halt and cooked their supper they were on the edge of the grassy plateau for which they were hunting, and whose features they would have been quick to recognize were the sun shining. Soon after, Jack’s pony came out of the gloom as if to claim attention, and he received it.
“We are more fortunate than I dared hope,” said Jack; “here we are at home, after all. I wonder whether Hank is ahead of us?”
This was unlikely, since, if he had reached the spot fixed upon as their headquarters, he would have kindled a fire, whereas it was dark in every direction. The partial cavern was on the other side of the plateau, and the boys walked rapidly to it, the route being clear, now that they had located themselves.
They appreciated the wisdom of Hank, who had made them help gather enough firewood to last through the night. He said (what proved to be the fact) that they were not likely to return till late, when it would be hard to collect the right kind of fuel.
In a brief while a second fire was under way. It was started in front of the cavern, which was of so slight extent that it received and held much of the warmth. Seated within the opening, with their heavy blankets wrapped about them, the boys were thoroughly comfortable. They had met with enough stirring adventure and had had sufficient rough experience to make the rest highly acceptable. They naturally wondered when nine o’clock passed without bringing Hank Hazletine.
“Maybe he has lost his way in the canyon,” suggested Fred, giving expression to a fancy which was not serious.
“You mean that he has forgotten where the stairs lead up to the top?”
“I guess that’s what I mean, though I never thought of it before. If that is the fact, he may have to pick his way for two or three hundred miles to the mouth of the canyon and then walk back to us.”
“That will delay his arrival.”
“Yes. He can hardly be expected before morning.”
“Let me see,” said Jack, becoming more serious; “Hank warned us that no matter where we went into camp, we must keep one person on duty as sentinel.”
“Suppose we are separated, and there is only one of us in camp?”
“Then, I presume, he must sit up and watch over himself. But what’s the use of one of us keeping guard here?”
“Why not?”
“We are in this cavern-like arrangement, where no one can come upon us from the rear, while the fire will ward off danger from the front.”
“Suppose that danger comes in the form of an Indian; what would he care for half a dozen fires?”
“But there are no unfriendly Indians in these parts.”
“You are thinking of Motoza. We have agreed that he is friendly, but sometimes I suspect we are making a mistake about him.”
The boys would have been glad to convince themselves that it was safe to dispense with guard duty, for a night of undisturbed rest was exceedingly tempting, but no one who starts out with the set purpose of deceiving himself can do so. The result of it all was that the two decided that they must stand guard between them until the sun rose.
On such occasions the sentinel whose turn comes first has the preferable task, since every one will admit that it is easier to keep awake before midnight than afterward. The division was made more equitable by arranging that Jack Dudley should serve until two o’clock, and Fred Greenwood for the remainder of the morning. Before the hour of ten the younger lay down on the flinty floor, with his heavy blanket gathered around him, and sank into slumber. They had matched pennies for the first turn, else the elder would not have claimed it.
Jack found his duty similar in many respects to that of his first night on the prairie, but the surroundings and circumstances were in wide contrast. In the former instance they had the companionship of the cowman and veteran hunter, while now they could not know whether he was within a half-dozen miles of them. Jack, however, did not believe that anything in the nature of danger impended, and that to a great extent he was taking upon himself an unnecessary hardship.
So far as he could judge, the only possible thing to fear was wild animals. There were always some of them prowling through this region, but at that season of the year the wolves and other brutes were not pressed by hunger, and no matter how fierce the creature, he would not attempt to pass the mouth of the cavern so long as the fire was burning. Jack flung a number of sticks on the blaze and then passed outside, where he was beyond the circle of light. Standing thus, in the gloom of the night, he felt that the experience of that hour was worth the journey across the continent.
There was an impressive grandeur in the solitude that he had never felt before. On every side towered the immense peaks of one of the loftiest spurs of the grandest mountain chain of America. The crests resembled piles of blackness, with the stars gleaming behind them, while he, an insignificant atom, stood with gun by his side in one of the tiny hollows, as if to guard against attack from the sleeping monsters.
As is always the case, the stillness of the vast solitude seemed unlike silence, for a low, deep murmur was ever brooding in the air, varied now and then by the soft voice of some waterfall, borne across the vasty depths by an eddy in the gentle wind. Once the bark of a wolf sounded so sharp and clear that the youth started and looked to one side, expecting to see the animal steal forward from the gloom, but a moment’s reflection told him the brute was a mile or more distant. Then, some time later, a mournful, wailing cry rose and fell from some remote point. He suspected that that, too, came from the throat of a wolf, but he was not sure.
Just a touch of homesickness came over Jack Dudley, and he felt lonely for the first time since leaving home. As he looked up at the clear sky he wondered whether his father and mother were well and asleep; whether they were dreaming of him; whether they missed him from that loved home and longed for the day when he should return to them.
“Suppose something happens that will prevent my ever seeing them?” he said to himself, while the tears filled his eyes. “I thought when I believed that rattlesnake had bitten me today that death was sure; and I was near it, though I was unharmed. We are in more danger here than I expected; but we are in danger every hour, no matter where we are. I hope nothing will befall Fred or me.”
And standing alone in the midst of that wild, rugged scene, he silently lifted his heart to the only One who could protect and save them from the hundreds of perils that beset them.
His eye was fixed on the stupendous mountain beyond the plateau, at whose base wound the canyon, when he observed a growing light on its crest. The twinkling stars beyond grew dimmer, and the white blanket of snow that had lain there for centuries rapidly came out in bolder relief, until it sparkled and gleamed much as he had seen it do when the sun was shining. Then a curved yellow rim emerged from behind the mountain, its climbing of the sky so rapid that the progress was readily noted. In a brief while the whole form of the round full moon appeared c
lear of the peak, and its silvery rays began filling the gorges and chasms below.
The scene was picturesque and beautiful beyond description. As the moon climbed higher, the lower peaks, one after the other, leaped into view, while the hollows between became blacker and more awesome from contrast. Most of these were so deep that the illumination made them appear stronger by the contrast. As the orb ascended it seemed to shrink in size and to climb more slowly; but the shifting of the wonderful panorama, progressing as it did in complete silence, was impressive to the last degree.
It was as if the angels of the sky were noiselessly casting their fleecy veils of light over and into the awful depths below, and driving away the crouching monster of blackness that was thus roused from his slumber and forced to flee. Grand as was the scene, it was soothing in its effect upon the awed lad, who, leaning against the rock behind him, the stock of his rifle resting at his feet, surveyed it all with feelings that drew him nearer to heaven, and gave him a more vivid knowledge of the greatness and majesty of the Author of all that he saw and felt.
Standing thus, with his emotions stirred to their profoundest depths, Jack Dudley took no note of the passage of time. Midnight came and passed, and still he held his post, wondering, admiring and worshipping, as must puny man when brought face to face with such exhibitions of Omnipotence.
It was an unromantic ending to this experience that, forgetful of the consequences of what he did, he finally became sensible of the irksomeness of his standing position, and sat down, with his back to the rock, that he might enjoy it all without fatigue of body.
Need it be said what followed? He had not been seated ten minutes when his senses left him and he became as unconscious as Fred Greenwood, asleep in the cavern, on the other side of the smouldering fire. The hours passed until the light of the moon paled before the rosy hues of the rising sun, and still the boys slumbered and knew naught of what was passing around them.
CHAPTER X.
THE SIGNAL-FIRES.
Jack Dudley was awakened by the sound of laughter. Opening his eyes, he stared about him confusedly, unable for some moments to recall his situation. Fred Greenwood stood in front of him, shaking so much with mirth that he could scarcely stand.
“O faithful sentinel!” he said; “how well thou hast kept thy trust!”
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” replied Jack, rising to his feet and rubbing his eyes; “you would have done the same if you had been in my place.”
“Perhaps I should, and then the laugh would have been on me. But we have cause to be thankful that, while no harm has come to us, we have had a good night’s rest. I suppose you dropped into slumber almost as soon as I did.”
“No, I didn’t,” persisted the elder; “I stood here a long time, but made the mistake of sitting down for a few minutes, just before it was time to call you. I ought to have known better, and shall never do the like again.”
“Well, we have been fortunate and it has taught us both a lesson. Let’s attend to our toilet and have breakfast.”
They laved their faces and hands in the cold stream of clear water running near them, combed their hair, stretched and limbered arms and legs by a series of gymnastics to which they were accustomed, and then, returning to the mouth of the cavern, found, by raking over the ashes, that enough live embers remained to broil the venison more acceptably than any meal that had been prepared since coming to the region.
By that time Jack had recovered his usual good nature, and was as ready to jest as his companion over his dereliction of duty.
“I don’t know what time it was when I fell asleep,” he said, “but it must have been past midnight. The moon had risen over that high mountain yonder, and I was admiring the wonderful picture its rays made as they shot out over the lower peaks and lit up the chasms between. I never saw anything so beautiful.”
“You ought to have called me to share the pleasure with you.”
“I have no doubt it was time to do so, but I knew you preferred to sleep rather than look upon Niagara Falls or the Yellowstone.”
“If so, I am not the only younker, as Hazletine says, who has such a preference. That reminds me, Jack, that it’s mighty lucky we are not vegetarians.”
“Why?”
“What should we do for our meals? So long as we stay in these mountains we must live on game. This seasoning that Hank was thoughtful enough to give us makes it palatable, but coffee, bread and a few vegetables would help a good deal.”
“It doesn’t make much difference, so long as we are blessed, or rather tortured, with such appetites as we have had ever since we struck Wyoming.”
From where they sat at the mouth of the cavern they saw all three of their ponies cropping the succulent grass. It was evident that nothing could add to their enjoyment of this outing.
Naturally the boys speculated over the absence of their guide.
“He must have expected to spend the night with us. And, Fred, perhaps it will be just as well, when he does come, that we don’t tell him how I passed the time when trying to act the sentinel.”
“I surely shall not, unless he questions us so closely that we cannot help letting him know the truth.”
“He will have a small opinion of us.”
“Why of ‘us?’”
“Because you would have done the same as I.”
“That has not yet been proven.”
“Well, say ‘myself,’ if that suits better.”
“It is a very good amendment. I wonder whether anything can have befallen him?”
“He is too much of a veteran to make such blunders as we.”
“That is true, and yet the most skilful hunter in the world is liable to accident. What’s frightened the ponies?”
One of the animals had raised his head, with the grass dripping like green water from his jaws, and was looking off to the side of the plateau as if he scented danger of some kind. He was near the further boundary, thus being considerably removed from the boys, who grasped their Winchesters and rose to their feet.
“It’s Hank’s horse,” said Jack, in an undertone; “the others do not seem to be interested in what disturbs him.”
“And there comes Hank himself!” was the delighted exclamation of Fred, as they saw their old friend step into view from behind the rocks and walk with his peculiar silent stride toward them.
The movement of the beard under the broad sombrero showed that the guide was smiling, and doubtless he was as pleased as the boys over the meeting. He advanced with the same lengthy step and extended his hand with his hearty “Howdy?” to each in turn.
“Glad to see you, younkers; you seem to have got along as well without me as if I’d been with you.”
“Nothing has come amiss; but, Hank, we’re glad indeed to see you.”
“Where did you git your breakfast?” he asked, glancing at the signs of the meal of which they had partaken.
“Oh, I thought it best yesterday afternoon to shoot a buck,” said Fred, airily; “for the main thing for us to do in this part of the world is to look out that we don’t starve to death.”
“You shot a buck, eh? How was it?”
Thereupon the younger lad gave the particulars of the incident. Hank listened attentively, and when he learned of the part played by Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, his interest deepened.
“So that scamp is in the mountains? I s’pected it; he claimed to have shot the buck and wouldn’t divide till Jack took a hand. Why did you let him have any of it?”
“Because he had the right. I thought it was my shot that killed the game, but the bullet only grazed one of his antlers; it was Motoza who killed the buck, and he was entitled to him. Have you been to breakfast?”
“Yes,” replied the veteran, whose manner showed that he was displeased with the story he had just heard.
“Hank,” said Jack, “why did Motoza give us any of the venison?”
“I don’t know,” was the unexpected reply; “I’d give a good deal to
know.”
“Do you suppose he was frightened when he found there were two instead of one to face?”
“It looks that way, but I can’t believe it. The Sioux is a scamp mean enough to do anything; but he has grit, and I don’t believe that two young tenderfeet like you could scare him.”
“Perhaps he felt a respect and friendship for Jack because of what took place in the grove on the prairie,” suggested Fred.
The boys expected their friend to ridicule this idea, but he did not. On the contrary, he admitted that it was the most reasonable explanation that presented itself; and because of this admission, both of the lads were confirmed in their faith that the right cause had been named.
“One of you stood guard last night while the other slept?”
The question was so abrupt that Jack’s face flushed. Fred was silent, but his comrade thought the best course was to make a clean breast of it, and he did so. Hank won the gratitude of the boys by not uttering a word of reproof or showing any displeasure. More than that, he made the astounding comment:
“I’m glad you slept most of the night.”
The two looked at him in astonishment.
“If the Sioux meant you harm, you gave him the best chance in the world. He carries as good a repeating Winchester as yours, and there was nothing to keep him from stealing up in the night and shooting you both; or, if he liked the knife better, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to wipe you out when your eyes was closed.”
This was a view of the matter that had not presented itself to the youths, for the reason, as will be remembered, that they had accepted the friendship of Motoza as a fact.
“But he could have followed and picked us off when we were on our way here,” suggested Jack.
“Yes, he’s had all the chances he wanted.”
“Then it’s safe to set Motoza down as a friend?”
But Hank shook his head.
“The safest thing to do when an Indian is afore the house is to set him down as an enemy waiting for a chance to lift your scalp. That confounded Sioux is one of the cunningest imps that ever stole a white man’s pony or helped to stampede a drove of cattle. Everything that he’s done since we come into the mountains looks as if he was a friend to us all. I can’t help saying that, but it mustn’t be furgot that the whole bus’ness may be meant to close our eyes, and that he’s got some deviltry in mind back of it all, that neither of you younkers has thought about.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 47
