A STRANGE OCCURRENCE.
Once more Motoza had allowed an American youth to get the drop on him,
for he could not mistake the meaning of that command, nor the deeper
eloquence of the pose of Fred Greenwood with his rifle at a dead level.
The Sioux must have despised himself for his forgetfulness.
But he had already proven the readiness with which he accepted a
situation, no matter how unwelcome. The hand that held the weapon of
Jack Dudley whipped round to the front with a deft movement, which,
however, was not quicker than the return of the grin to his countenance.
"Motoza friend--he not want gun of brother," he remarked.
"You wouldn't get it if you _did_ want it," said Jack, not to be
mollified by this sudden change of front. Instead of accepting the
hypocritical proffer, the youth was imprudent enough to add, as he felt
his Winchester once more in his grasp:
"You are the meanest thief in the country, Motoza, and this must be the
last time you try your hand on us."
"Off with you!" added Fred, beginning to tire with the constraint of his
position; "good-by, Motoza, and I hope we shall not meet again."
At the moment of obeying, the Sioux glanced at the lad who had thus
turned the tables on him. The expression of his face was frightful.
Ferocious hate, thirst for revenge and flaming anger shone through the
coat of paint and were concentrated on the younger of the youths. Fred
saw it and cared not, but Jack was so alarmed that he almost wished his
comrade would fire his weapon and thus shut out the fruition of the
horrible threat that gleamed through that look.
It lasted, however, but an instant. Much in the same manner as in the
grove, when caught at a disadvantage by Jack Dudley, the Sioux walked
off and was quickly lost to view.
Neither of the boys spoke for several minutes. Then Jack asked, in an
awed voice:
"Did you see his face when he turned toward you just before walking
away?"
"Yes; and I have seen handsomer ones."
"You may make light of it, Fred, but I was much nearer than you, and
that expression will haunt me for many a day and night to come."
To the astonishment of the elder, Fred began laughing, as if he found it
all very amusing. Jack, in surprise, asked the cause of his mirth.
"If Motoza had only known the truth! There isn't a cartridge either in
the magazine or the chamber of my rifle, which reminds me."
And still laughing, the younger proceeded to fill the magazine from his
belt and to put his Winchester in condition for immediate use.
"We have been told many times, Jack, that the first thing to do after
firing a gun is to reload, and I see how much more important it is here
than at home."
When Jack came to examine his weapon he found a half-dozen cartridges
remaining in the magazine, and he, too, placed the weapon in the best
form for use. They changed their position, returning to the spot where
the crisis had taken place with the grizzly, for both felt some
misgiving concerning the Sioux, who could not be far off.
"Jack, what about the feelings of Motoza _now_?"
"It begins to look as if Hank was right. I am sure the Indian doesn't
hold much friendship for either of us. He is bad clean through."
"He may have some regard for _you_, but there wasn't much tender
affection in the last lingering look he gave _me_."
Jack shuddered.
"I never saw anything like it. If he had had the power he would have
killed you with that look. I feel like urging Hank, when we next see
him, to make a change of quarters."
"Why?"
"That we may find some section where we are not likely to meet Motoza
again. I don't understand why so many Indians are off the reservation.
There must be a number of them that are friends of Motoza, and they will
try some other trick on us."
"He has tried one or two already," replied Fred, much less impressed
with the danger than his friend.
"True, we have had remarkably good fortune, but it can't last. Motoza
will learn to be more cunning next time."
"If you feel that way, Jack, the best thing for us to do is to go home."
"Your words are hardly worthy of you, Fred," replied Jack, hurt at the
slur.
"I ask your pardon. I know it is your friendship for me that speaks, but
I cannot feel the fear that disturbs you. Suppose we drop the question
till we see Hank. We will let him know everything that has taken place
and rely upon him."
This was a wise conclusion, but the fact remained that there was no
expectation of seeing their guide until night, which was a number of
hours distant, and, since the Indians were in the vicinity, there was
plenty of time for a great many things to happen. It would seem, indeed,
that the advantage was almost entirely on the side of Motoza, for, with
his superior woodcraft, he could keep track of the movements of the boys
without their discovering or suspecting his presence. Altogether, it
looked as if a meeting with their guide could not take place too soon.
From a point perhaps a mile away came the faint report of a rifle,
followed in the same second by another report. The fact suggested more
than one startling supposition, but the youths were in no mood to
speculate thereon, for it will be admitted that the incidents of the
forenoon were sufficient to engage their thoughts.
It was a hard fact, however, that when they looked at their watches and
found that it was noon, the most interesting subject that presented
itself was as to how they could secure the meal which they felt was
overdue.
"Let's make a hunt in a different direction," said Fred. "It is best to
keep away from the neighborhood of those Indians, so far as we can
locate them from the shots we occasionally hear, for the game isn't
likely to stay where they are."
"Off yonder to the north appears to be a valley," remarked Jack, after
the two had studied their surroundings for some minutes through their
glasses. "I can't tell how extensive it is, for it is shut out by that
mountain peak on the right, but I suppose one place is as good as
another."
Having agreed as to their course, they wasted no time. It was a long and
severe tramp to the locality, for again the peculiar purity of the
atmosphere misled them, and what they took to be one mile proved to be
fully double that length. Finally the hungry lads reached a ridge from
whose top they could look down in the valley that had first caught their
attention, but which for the last hour had been excluded from their
sight by the intervening obstacles.
"Now, we can't tell whether any game is below waiting for us," said
Jack, "but we can't lose anything by acting as if there is."
It was a wise precaution, as speedily became apparent. As carefully as a
couple of Indians they picked their way up the slope, and just before
reaching the crest sank upon their knees, and, crawling a little
further, peeped over the top as if they expected to discover a hostile
camp within a hundred yards.
The prospect caused an involuntary exclamation of pleasure from both.
The valley was two or three hundred yards in width, and, after winding
past, curved out of sight behind the mountain range already referred to.
It was one emerald mass of rich grass, in which ten thousand cattle
could have found abundant pasturage. No trees appeared anywhere except
at the furthest bend in the valley, where a small grove stood near the
middle, and seemed to surround a spring of water, which, flowing in the
other direction, was not within sight of the young hunters.
What lent additional beauty to this landscape was the singular
uniformity of the valley. The slope was gentle on each side, without any
abrupt declivities, and there was hardly any variation in its width. The
dark-green color of the incline and bottom of the valley gave the whole
scene a softness that would have charmed an artist.
The young men admired the picturesque prospect, the like of which they
had never before viewed, and yet it must be confessed that one feature
of the landscape appealed more strongly to them than all the rest.
Perhaps a half-mile away six or eight antelope were cropping the grass,
unconscious of the approach of danger. They were near the small clump of
trees alluded to, and may have lately drank from the water flowing
therefrom. They were in a bunch, all their heads down, and had evidently
taken no alarm from the occasional distant reports of guns.
"I say, Jack, there's a splendid dinner!" whispered Fred, excitedly.
"What good will it do us, so long as it is _there_? I should like to
have it _here_."
"It ought to be easy to pick off one of those creatures; Hank told us
they make fine eating."
"That is all true, but it is also true that the antelope is one of the
most timid of creatures, and the best hunter finds it hard work to get
within reach of them."
"You know how curious they are? The men at the ranch told the other
night about lying down in the grass in the middle of a prairie and
holding up a stick with a handkerchief at the end of it. Timid as was
the antelope, it would gradually draw near to find out what the thing
meant, and pay for its curiosity with its life."
Such incidents are quite common in the West, but neither of the boys
felt it safe to rely upon the stratagem. They feared that at the first
attempt the antelope would take fright and make off beyond recovery, and
Fred Greenwood's proposition was adopted.
"There doesn't seem to be any wind blowing, but if we try to steal down
the side of the valley we are sure to frighten them off. Now, if you
will stay here, Jack, I'll pick my way round to the other side, so that
the herd will be between us. Then I'll do my best to get near enough for
a shot; if I fail, they will run for this point and come within range of
you. Between us two, one is certain to get a shot at them."
"It's putting a big lot of work on you, Fred," said the chivalrous Jack.
"It won't be half as hard to bear as the hunger I'll feel in the course
of an hour or two if we don't get one of them."
The plan was so simple that no explanation was necessary. Jack Dudley
had only to remain extended on the ground where he was, with his
Winchester ready, and keep an eye on the little herd, which could not
observe him unless he was unusually careless. He could easily judge of
Fred's success or failure by watching the animals, and it would seem
that success was almost certain for one of the young hunters. The only
thing to be feared was that Fred would betray himself before reaching
the other side of the game that was so tempting to both.
The comrades looked at their watches at the moment of separating, and
found it was precisely one o'clock. Fred gave himself an hour to reach a
point from which to start on his return, though it was possible that
double that time would be required. Before the interval had expired Jack
had his glass to his eyes, and was studying the valley below.
As the antelope cropped the rich grass they occasionally took a step in
the direction of the watcher; but the largest one, evidently the leader,
changed his course so as to work back toward the little grove of trees,
the others following. Now and then the leader raised his head and looked
around, as if suspecting danger, though his fears were not confirmed. At
longer intervals other members of the herd did the same, but it was
evident that they neither saw nor scented anything amiss.
Jack's constant fear was that Fred would betray himself through some
accident. His course would bring him nearer the game and the risk was
considerable; but as the minutes passed without anything of that nature
taking place, his hope increased.
"More than likely Fred himself will get the shot instead of me. It makes
no difference, so that we don't lose our supper; for," he added,
dismally, "the dinner is already gone."
When another half-hour had passed, he was sure his chum was on the other
side of the herd.
"There must be a break pretty soon. Suppose that instead of coming
toward me," added Jack, giving expression to a dread that had not
occurred to him until then, "they dash off into the mountains on either
side. Then we shall be doomed to starvation!"
He thought that with the aid of his glass he would be able to follow
Fred as he stole down the side of the valley, since the position of the
spectator was much more elevated than that of the antelope. It would
require sharp scrutiny even with the aid of the instrument to do this,
and, look as keenly as he might, he could discover nothing that
suggested anything of that nature.
When three o'clock went by without any evidence of alarm among the
animals browsing in the middle of the valley, Jack Dudley began to
wonder what it could mean.
"Fred was sure that a single hour was enough to place himself on the
further side of them, and double that time has passed. He ought to be
well down the slope, but I can see nothing of him."
One fact, however, was apparent: the antelope were steadily though
slowly working toward the ridge on which the young man lay. At the rate
they were advancing it would not be long before it would be safe to try
a shot.
This progress could not be laid to any alarm coming from the other side.
If the animals received fright they would be off with the speed of the
wind, instead of inching along in the fashion they were now following.
"It begins to look as if I am to secure the meal, after all," thought
Jack, forgetting his slight uneasiness for his friend in his growing
excitement.
The following minute gave proof of the timidity of the American
antelope. With all the care possible, the youth extended his gun in
front of him over the slope, but the herd took the alarm on the instant,
though it seemed impossible that they should have seen or heard
anything. The leader raised his head, and whirling to one side, started
at a swift gallop toward the other end of the valley, the rest of the
animals being hardly a second behind him.
The peculiar panic and stampede of the creatures gave Jack Dudley the
best possible target, though the shot was a long one. He did not aim at
the leader, but at a smaller animal that immediately followed him. The
bullet pierced the heart of the antelope, which made a frenzied leap
high in air, staggered a few paces, and dropped to the ground without a
particle of life.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed the delighted Jack, springing up and dashing down
the side of the valley toward his prize; "I beat you, after all, Fred!"
Not doubting that his comrade would speedily appear, Jack gave no
further thought to him, but continued running until he reached the
prize. He had learned the art so rapidly that it took but a few minutes
to cut all he could need for himself and friend. Then he hurried to the
little grove near by, washed and dressed the food, which seemed to be
juicy and tender, and started a fire for the purpose of broiling it.
He had not paused in his work up to this point, but now he stopped with
the first real thrill of alarm for his friend.
"Four o'clock!" he exclaimed to himself; "what can have become of him?"
He walked to the edge of the trees and looked out, anxiously peering in
different directions, but nothing was seen of his friend. Knowing Fred's
waggish nature, Jack hoped that he was indulging in some jest, but he
could not quite convince himself that such was the fact. The hunger of
Fred would have prevented his postponing the meal one moment longer than
was necessary.
When an abundance of food was browned and crisped and ready the appetite
of Jack Dudley was less than it was two hours before, the cause being
his growing alarm over the unaccountable absence of Fred.
"I can't understand it," he repeated for the twentieth time; "some
accident must have befallen him. Can it be Motoza has had anything to do
with it?"
It was the first time that Jack had expressed this fear in words, but it
was by no means the first time he had felt it. Rather curiously, from
the moment his friend passed out of sight, several hours before, the
vague misgiving began to shape itself in his mind. He fought it off and
succeeded in repressing it for a time, but he could do so no longer.
"Fred didn't seem to give any meaning to that awful look of the Sioux
when he started to walk away, but I saw what it meant, though I never
dreamed the blow would fall so soon."
His heart was depressed almost beyond bearing, and the anguish was
deepened by the fact that he could see no way of helping his friend. The
only thing possible was to follow as nearly as he could the course taken
by Fred, but there was no certainty of that. He knew he had turned to
the right when he left the crest of the ridge, after which there had
been no glimpse of him.
"But he made for a point over yonder," reflected Jack, "and there I'll
search for him."
This was exceedingly indefinite, but it was better than standing idle.
The antelope had long since vanished, and there was no need of care in
his progress--rather otherwise, since he desired to attract the notice
of his friend. Jack broke into a loping trot, emitting the familiar
signal so often used by both, calling his name, and even firing his
rifle in air; but there came back no response, and his fears deepened.
Jack was in the mood to be unjust.
"I don't understand Hank Hazletine's action. He sets out to take us on a
hunt among the mountains, and then goes off and leaves us alone. Why
doesn't he stay with us? If he had done that, this never could have
happened. Fred and I can generally take care of ourselves, but we are
not used to this plagued country, which I wish neither he nor I had ever
set foot in."