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 to-morrow."
"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."
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 to-day 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
clear 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.