THE COMING OF KENNEBEC
The wolf-brothers were playing in the sun. There were four little
brown cubs, very fat and puppy-like, and full of fun. They chased
each other up and down, and had wrestling matches and biting
competitions, and all sorts of rough-and-tumble games. Shasta sat in
the mouth of the cave watching them and laughing softly to himself.
He had known many a lot of wolf-brothers, and they were always the
same funny, fat, frolicsome little rascals until they grew too old to
frolic, and began to get their fighting fangs and be ready for the
fierce work of the grown-up world. Shasta loved all his
foster-brothers and never forgot them, even after they had gone out
into the world. And not a single wolf-brother ever forgot him, or
would have refused to fight for him to the death if he were in
danger. Every year Shasta looked forward to the appearing of the
fresh lot of cubs, and loved them with all his heart as soon as they
were born. Only he had an instinct which warned him that when they
were very new babies they were not to be touched; for although Nitka
remained devoted to her man-cub, she would not allow him to meddle
with the babies while they were very new, and partly out of respect
for her wishes, and partly for fear of what she might do if he
disobeyed, Shasta never touched a cub until it was a moon old; while
Nitka, though she would never allow anything to approach the
cave--not even Shoomoo himself--while the cubs were small, would let
Shasta come in and go out as he chose, so long as he kept to his own
end of the cave and did not interfere with her while she mothered the
new family.
This morning she had gone down to the stream to drink, and lie awhile
by the runway to see what might come by. She only intended to be a
short time away, and had left Shasta on guard while she was gone.
Shasta liked to feel that Nitka trusted him, and that he was doing an
important thing. It was a very warm morning, and everything seemed
at peace. A sweet, clean air blew along the trails, and those who
used them scented it delicately and went springily, because of the
pent-up life that was in them, and the goodness of the world.
High up on the opposite ridge a lynx was sunning herself and her
kittens outside her den. With her keen eyes she swept the landscape
near and distant in a glance that noted everything and lost nothing.
Though Shasta could not see _her_, she saw _him_ and the cubs
perfectly. She was no friend of the wolves, as they knew full well,
but this morning the historic enmity between them seemed to lie low,
and she stared at the little group calmly with no blazing hate in her
green eyes.
A big red fox came down to the edge of the lake. He stood with one
forefoot up, all ears and nose, scenting and listening for any hint
that should come from the trail; and, as he listened he wrinkled his
nose, wobbling it quaintly to catch whatever faint smell might come
drifting his way.
In the shallows the buffalo-fish were basking on the bottom with the
water flowing softly over their gills, and the sunlight shining on
their scales. Up in the high blue a pair of fish-hawks sailed airily
on the look-out for food. But the buffalo-fish were so busy doing
nothing that they escaped observation. They guessed the hawks were
somewhere about, but they just lay low and didn't say a word; and it
is surprising how much mischief may be avoided simply by doing
nothing! Old Gomposh was having a good rub against his favourite
tree. It was plastered with mud and hair, and was quite as plain to
read as a book, if you only knew how to read the "rub." He set his
back against the rough bark, and rubbed and rubbed till the most
exquisite sensations went thrilling down his spine.
But all these quiet little happenings were really of no consequence
to the wolves. What did matter was--although they didn't know
it--that, high up on the tall crags, Kennebec, the great eagle, was
thinking wickedly.
When Kennebec thought wickedly some one was sure to suffer. He would
sit on the pointed summit of a crag, which was now worn smooth with
the constant gripping of his great claws, and his wonderful eyes
would shine with a strong light. Down below him, for a thousand
feet, the tops of the spruces made the forest look like a green
carpet worn into holes. And beyond that, to the south, the lake
glimmered and shone, and the Sakuska showed in loops of silver. Over
the lake Kennebec could see the fish-hawks at their fishing. He
looked at them in his lordly way, watching them, ready to swoop at
the first sign of a fish. He could not catch fish himself, but that
made no difference to his diet. When he felt like fish, he waited
till one of the hawks swooped and rose with a fish in its claws.
Then Kennebec would sail out majestically from his crag and bully the
hawk till it dropped his prey. Before the fish touched the water
Kennebec, falling in a dizzy rush, would seize it in his talons and
bear it off in triumph. But this morning he was for bigger game, and
the glare that came and went in his eyes was a danger-light to any
who should be so unfortunate as to see it. About fifty yards to the
left of where he sat a cleft rock held his nest. It was a huge mass
of sticks, filling the cleft from side to side. In the middle of it
two young eaglets sat and _gawped_ for food. Their mother would
bring it to them presently. Kennebec was not in a mood to worry
about that! They could gawp and gawp till she came! And if they
thought their gawping would have any effect upon him, they might gawp
their silly heads off without upsetting _him_!
Suddenly he lifted his great wings, loosed the pinnacle with his
horny feet, and plunged into space.
Below him the world seemed scooped out into a vast abyss. He rose
higher and higher till he was nothing but a speck in the surrounding
blue.
* * * * * * *
Shasta, watching the foster-brothers lazily, saw the speck appear in
the high blue. At first it was no larger than a fly. Then it grew
and grew till it was the size of a grasshopper, then of a fish-hawk.
And then the blue jays began to scold.
Shasta had never forgotten the lesson of the blue jays. When they
scolded he knew that something was happening, and that you had better
watch out. He looked quickly about him on every side, throwing the
keen glance of his piercing eyes down into the forest and up among
the rocks. So far as he could see, nothing stirred. If any enemy
was approaching, it was coming unseen, unheard, along the mossy ways.
Yet there was no sign of any living creature upon the Bargloosh, nor
in all the wide world beside, except that solitary fishhawk circling
overhead.
Yet, although he couldn't see anything, Shasta had a sort of feeling
that he ought to drive the cubs back into the den. They would be
safe there whether anything happened or whether it didn't. And the
blue jays went on scolding all the time. But surely Nitka must hear
them and know what was going on! If she didn't take the warning and
come racing back, then it was because nothing _was_ going to happen.
Moment after moment went by, and still she did not appear. Shasta
was growing more and more uneasy. In spite of not seeing anything,
there was a vague feeling that something was wrong. That strange
warning which comes to the wild creatures, no man can tell how, came
to him now. The screaming of the blue jays had aroused him, but the
warning had come independently of them. It was so clear, so
unmistakable, that he made a wolf-noise in his throat to attract the
attention of the cubs. Then suddenly he was aware of something
overhead.
He looked up quickly. The fish-hawk had disappeared. Instead, a
winged thunderbolt was dropping out of the sky. It fell from a dizzy
height with a rush so swift that it seemed as if it must dash itself
to pieces on the earth before it could stop.
Shasta was spellbound. He could not stir. Then, before he had time
to understand, the thunderbolt had spread wide wings, and Kennebec
was hovering overhead.
Shasta heard the rustle of those tremendous wings, and a swift fear
shot into his heart. But his courage did not forsake him, and, with
a howl, he sprang to protect the cubs.
It was too late. Before he could reach them Kennebec had swooped,
and, when he rose again, he bore a wolf-cub in his claws.
Just as he did so, however, and while he was still beating his wings
for the ascent, a few feet from the ground, Nitka, her hair on end
with fury, came leaping up the slope.
As she reached the spot she made a mighty bound in the air, springing
at the eagle with a snarl. But Kennebec was already under way.
Nitka's bared fangs clicked together six inches short of his tail,
and she fell back to the earth with a moan of grief and rage.
Shasta, looking on, felt his body shivering like a maple leaf in the
wind. He was terrified of what Nitka might do in the present state
of her mind. As Kennebec, flying heavily, passed slowly over the
tree-tops in his gradual ascent, the she-wolf's eyeballs, riveted
upon him, blazed with fury. As long as he remained in sight, growing
gradually smaller in the distance, she raged up and down, with the
saliva dropping from her jaws. She had been roused by the screaming
of the jays, and had come racing back as soon as she realized that
something was wrong. But she was too late to prevent the tragedy.
And now the horrible thing had happened, and she would never see her
cub again!
As soon as her straining eyes could no longer follow the flight of
the robber, she hustled the other cubs back into the cave. But that
was all. She did not turn on Shasta, nor even so much as growl at
him as he sat shivering in the sun. He waited miserably at the mouth
of the cave, wondering if Nitka would come out and comfort him; but
she remained inside for the rest of the afternoon, trying to console
herself for her loss by fondling the three remaining cubs. And after
a while Shasta crept away to his look-out above the valley, where he
had met Gomposh for the first time.
He had not been there very long before he heard a sound of rustling
and tearing to the left. Then the great form of Gomposh himself
pushed itself into the glare of the golden afternoon. He had been
refreshing himself in his clumsy way among the wild raspberry bushes,
and as he came out was licking the juice from his mouth. He came
along slowly, his little eyes glancing right and left for any sign of
food. There was a hollow log lying full in his path. He gave it a
heavy blow with his paw, and then put his ear close to listen to the
insects in its crevices which he had disturbed. Evidently what he
had heard satisfied him, for he ripped open the log with one slash of
his paw, and then proceeded to lick up the grubs and scurrying
insects. When he had finished, he caught sight of Shasta and came
lumbering towards him.
As before, they sat together on the rock, and said nothing in a very
wise way. But presently Shasta unladed himself of his heavy heart,
and told Gomposh all his grief.
And old Gomposh wagged his head slowly, and let Shasta understand
that that was only what had happened many, many times before in his
memory, and was likely to happen as many times again. Eagles would
be eagles, he said, as long as feathers were feathers and fur was
fur. And if wolf-cubs would also be fat and juicy and lollop in the
sun, then what were you to expect if Kennebec came by, and admired
the fat rolls at the back of their absurd little necks?
But besides that, he gave Shasta to understand that Kennebec was
worse than other eagles, and had worked more destruction in his time
than any other person with wings.
Shasta's talk with Gomposh was a very long one, for the thoughts that
were in them oozed out slowly, and trickled drop by drop into each
other's minds. Yet though the dripping was slow, the thoughts were
clear as crystal, and plain to understand! That is the difference
between animals' talk and ours. The beasts speak seldom and with
perfect understanding; while we humans stir up our thick brains with
a stick that we call an idea, and pour out floods of muddy talk!
At sunset Gomposh lumbered back into the woods, and Shasta took
himself home. He crept very softly into the den, because he felt
that he was in disgrace. But Nitka was off hunting and the cubs were
fast asleep.
Very early in the morning Shasta stole out again. He went along
swiftly, following a caribou trail that trended south. It was one of
the old forest trails which had been used for centuries by the
journeying caribou in their autumn and spring migrations. He went on
steadily, following the directions which Gomposh had given him the
evening before. Gomposh knew all the trails of the forest; where
they came from and where they led to; also what sort of company you
were likely to meet on the way.
Shasta met but few travellers in that pale time just before dawn, and
of those he met he had no fear. One was a big timber wolf travelling
slowly after a kill. His eyes flashed when he saw Shasta; but Shasta
spoke to him in the wolf language, and in a moment they were friends.
And although Shasta did not recognize the wolf, the wolf remembered
Shasta, for he was one of those who had taken part in the great wolf
chorus on the memorable night.
Then, when they had spoken a little and rubbed noses together, to
show that they were members of the wolf family, they parted, each
going on his separate way.
It was late that evening before Shasta reached the end of his
journey. It was a place monstrously tall, and everything there shot
up to an immense growth as if it had been sucked upwards by the white
lips of the moon in the tremendous nights. Right before him a
precipice glimmered vast, and built itself up and up towards the
stars.
He lost no time, but curled himself up at the foot and fell asleep;
and all night long his dreams were of Kennebec, whose eyrie was at
the top.
With dawn he was up, and began to climb. Though the precipice looked
one huge unbroken wall, it had many crannies and crevices where you
might get a foothold if you knew how to climb; and that is just what
Shasta could do beyond everything else. He could climb a tree like a
marten, and among the rocks his foothold was as sure as that of a
mountain sheep.
He went up and up steadily; sometimes he had to wait while he
searched for a sure foothold in the gigantic wall. Here and there a
shrub or tree would grow out of a crevice, and with the aid of these
he pulled himself up, hand over hand, while half his body hung in
air; and then the muscles of his back stood out like whipcord and
rippled along his arms.
As he climbed, the depth under him deepened. He had long passed
above the summits of the loftiest pines. Now the forest was far
below him, and he was hanging between earth and sky in the middle
air. He was climbing from the wolf-world, with its old familiar
trails, to the world of the eagles, where the earth trails cease for
ever in the trackless wastes of air. What had Shoomoo or Nitka, or
the wolf-brothers, to do with this upper world where, surely, if you
went on climbing, you must come at last to the sheep-walks of the
stars where the pastures are steep about the moon?
_And the world yawned under!_
A false footing, or the breaking of a shrub, and down he would go to
certain death and be dashed to pieces. Yet, in spite of the awful
spaces about him and that yawning gulf below, there was no fear in
him, nor any dizziness when he looked down. As he rested for a
moment, and let his eyes wander, he gazed down five hundred feet as
calmly as if he sat by the side of a quiet pool and watched the
mirrored world.
If Kennebec had known what was approaching his eyrie on the
impossible crags, he would have launched himself out at the intruder
with fury and dashed him down the precipice; but he and his mate were
far away, having left before dawn for a long journey, and had not
come back. Up in the nest in the cloven rock, the eaglets sat and
wondered why neither of their parents returned with food.
After a while Shasta could see the eyrie rock and the ends of sticks
which stuck out from the side. It was above him--right over the edge
of the precipice. He had just reached it and was holding on to the
branch of a stunted spruce which grew below the rock, when the branch
cracked. Without it the foothold was not sufficient, his feet were
only clinging to the roughness of the rock; and suddenly that great
chasm below seemed to suck him back.
For one brief moment fear clutched at Shasta's heart, and he seemed
to feel himself falling--falling down the steep face of the world.
Then the muscles of his feet braced themselves, clinging to the rock;
before they relaxed, his whole body became a steel spring, and, when
the branch broke, his arms were round the stem of the tree. Once his
hands found firm hold there was no more danger; even with half his
body hanging in air it was a simple thing for him to lift himself
into the tree. In a few moments more he had scaled the rock and was
looking down into the eagle's nest.
As soon as his eyes fell on the eaglets his fingers began to twitch.
They were horrible-looking things, scraggy in their bodies and
covered with dark down, with short, stubby quills sticking out here
and there.
Shasta hated these quillish young monsters with all his heart. They
gawped up at him in their ridiculous way with their beaks open. The
thing he wanted to do was to grab them at once by their ugly necks
and send them spinning down the precipice; yet they looked so stupid,
squatting there, that it seemed a silly thing to do. If they could
have fought, and there could have been a struggle, he would not have
hesitated.
The nest was surrounded by a litter of bones and odds and ends of
feathers and fur. If the eaglets were hungry it was not for want of
gorging themselves in the past; the whole place spoke of Kennebec's
ravages, and his constant desire to kill. Much of the food was only
half-eaten, showing that there was no need for all this slaughter.
It was left there to rot in the sun and to poison the sweet air.
Shasta was still hesitating what to do, when his eye fell on
something which set his blood throbbing. It Was the remains of the
wolf-cub which Kennebec had carried off.
At the sight of it Shasta became a different being; there was wolfish
rage in his brain and a strange wolfish glitter in his eyes. He saw,
in the ugly forms of the eaglets before him, the hateful offspring of
the hated Kennebec, the destroyer of his wolf-brother and the enemy
Of his race.
The note of anguish in Nitka's voice when she beheld her cub carried
away before her eyes had not haunted his ears in vain. A wild desire
to avenge his wolf-kindred swept over him; and now the chance to do
so lay within his power--a chance which, in the countless moons that
followed, might never come again!
The thing was big; it was tremendous. If the eaglets were destroyed
it would strike at the heart of Kennebec--nay, at the heart of the
whole eagle world!
Shasta stooped. He seized an eaglet fiercely by the neck, lifted it,
swung it, sent it spinning dizzily out into the void. He watched it
fall, tumbling over and over, down the immense depth, and then strike
the summits of the trees. The second followed the fate of the first.
Shasta looked down savagely upon an empty nest.
But what was that driving furiously up the long steeps of the dawn?
It was coming swiftly, terribly, a blazing fire in its yellow eyes;
and as the great wings thrashed the air the whistling roar of the
approach filled all the hollow space.
[Illustration: WHAT WAS THAT DRIVING FURIOUSLY UP THE LONG STEEPS OF
THE DAWN?]
Shasta needed only to look once to realize what was upon him; and
that now, if ever, he was face to face with death.
Kennebec had _seen! He was coming back!_