THROUGH THE CASCADE RANGE.
The scene now changes to the western slope of the Cascade Range.
The spot is hundreds of miles from where we last saw Old Ruff Robsart
and Harry Northend. Long days and nights have passed since then, and
during that time these two, who have become deeply attached to each
other, have followed the river to its kenyon in the mountains, and
taking advantage of a pass well known to the trapper, they have safely
worked their way through the immense snowy chain, and are now upon the
western slope, facing the Pacific.
It was a daring feat for these two to attempt, and many a time and oft
they have been in the most imminent peril of their lives. Snow, biting
arctic winds, fierce Indians, savage wild beasts and hunger—these were
the enemies that man and boy were compelled to encounter again and
again, and only the matchless skill of the great bear-tamer, his
coolness and self-possession under all circumstances, his wonderful
knowledge of the mountain solitudes and fastnesses, and the superb
physical condition of both, enabled them to come forth from this
tremendous labyrinth of snow-crowned peaks, roaring kenyons, dizzying
ravines, gorges and chasms, not merely in as good condition as they
entered, but (notably in the case of the lad) stronger, more rugged and
better prepared to face the remaining difficulties to be overcome.
Although, as we have stated above, many days have passed since Maquesa
and his little party gave them the slip on the river, yet despite the
most determined exertions upon the part of the trapper, the trail had
never been recovered.
Maquesa was one of the most cunning of a proverbially cunning race, and
the lesson taught him by the sudden appearance of the mottled grizzly
had not been taught in vain. He knew at once that his old adversary and
friend was after him and his charge, and he “sloped” in such a decidedly
French style that his pursuer with all his remarkable skill had not
again caught sight or sound of him.
Finding that the trail was irrecoverably lost, the trapper gave up the
attempt entirely, and believing that Maquesa’s ultimate destination was
a village upon the other side of the Cascade, he made his way through by
the shortest and most expeditious route, intending, if possible, to head
him off.
That curiously colored bear seemed to have given up as hopeless the
attempt to keep up with the two, as they slowly worked their way through
the vast mountain-chain, and he had not been seen since their encampment
several nights before in the pass.
Harry was alone in a glen where he had kindled a fire secure from the
observation of any and all who did not pass too close. He had learned a
great deal since he and his friend had left the river, and there was
little danger of his committing the rash mistake that had marked his
first essay in hunting a party of Blackfeet Indians.
Old Robsart carefully noted the rapid improvement of the lad, and he had
come to trust him far more than he would have done a week before.
Harry was sitting alone with his blanket thrown over his shoulders, for
there was a chilliness in the air that seemed to come from the snowy
mountains on the east. His rifle was between his knees, and he sat upon
a bowlder looking down in the embers, thinking and speculating upon the
future.
“Here we are on the other side of the mountains from Fort Abercombie,”
he thought, “and who shall tell whether we are ever to see Little Rifle
again. Old Ruff seems to lose no heart, and yet he is silent and
thoughtful, and I think he must feel at times as though all hope was
about over. He has taken the telescope and gone off to hunt a Blackfoot
village. I went yesterday with him to find the village where Maquesa
reigned a few years ago; and when we got there, not a sign of a lodge
was to be seen.”
Such was the fact. Confident of discovering the chief, the trapper in
company with the lad had made his way directly to the spot where he and
a portion of his people had had their homes for years; but only to find,
that, like the Bedouins of the desert, that they had departed—months
before—no one could tell, and there was no means of learning, whither.
This was a damper, and for a time he was completely nonplused. But,
declaring his belief that the village was somewhere in the neighborhood,
he had returned, and from an elevated point, carefully surveyed the vast
area that was spread before him toward the Pacific.
Finally he had detected the appearance of an Indian town many miles to
the west and south; and, as Harry had been constantly on the watch and
tramp for several days, it was arranged that he should go into camp in a
secure spot and await the return of the trapper, who expected to put his
own powers of endurance to the severest test.
He had no misgivings in doing this, as there were no signs of the
immediate presence of Indians, and, as for wild animals, they were to be
met with at all times, and he had an abundance of ammunition, with which
to defend himself.
Harry was also furnished with enough meat, cooked and prepared, to last
several days—it having been their prudent custom, when among the
mountains, to guard against any emergency in the way of food, by
carrying at all times a supply with them.
The lad had secured a comfortable little nook in which the fire was
kindled, and had gathered enough fuel, as he supposed, to last until
daylight.
“It is strange,” he continued, as he sat gazing absently into the fire,
“that Robsart makes no explanation of the reason why Little Rifle
deserted me on that night. I shall never ask him again if I never learn;
I have puzzled my brains over it a hundred times, but all to no use.
“And now, if he fails to find Maquesa, what is to be done? Among these
thousands of miles of wilderness, ten thousand Blackfeet may hide for
their lifetime, and no one can find them. But for that mishap of the
bear, it might have been ended long ago. Now the chief has been warned
of what is afoot, and he is too sharp to be caught—”
He paused suddenly in his meditations, as he heard the sound of
something moving near him, and looking up, caught the outlines of some
huge dark animal as it moved back out of the range of the fire.
There was nothing particularly alarming in this, as he had become
accustomed to such creatures; but, as he sat alone, miles from any
friend, in a mournful reverie, it was a rather startling awaking, and he
caught up and cocked his rifle, as though he expected a charge from it.
His second thought was that it was “Speckled Beauty,” still faithful to
his friends; but the action of the brute proved the contrary, as he
remained in the background.
Harry caught the phosphorescent glare of his eyes, and heard a deep,
guttural growl, which proved that if he belonged to the bear species, he
was not the one which had been so well trained by Adams, and so
skillfully but unprofitably ornamented by the Yankee speculator.
The young man was somewhat loth to fire his gun, as the trapper had
cautioned him never to do so unless compelled, as the report was
frequently more dangerous to the one discharging it than the bullet was
to the one at whom it was aimed.
But Harry had to choose between the horns of a dilemma. If he did not
give the brute his quietus, he would probably prowl around all night and
keep him continually on the alert to save his own life. The
probabilities, too, were that additional fuel would be required to keep
the fire up to the requisite point, and in the end he would be obliged
to kill the creature in self-defense.
“And such being the case,” he concluded, after turning the matter over
in his mind, “I may as well dispose of my visitor at once.”
But the brute, although he was growling and nosing around the camp-fire,
as though seeking an unguarded point where he could seize his prey,
still remained too much in the background to afford the fair aim that
was desirable.
Now and then the glassy glitter of its eyes could be discerned, but they
flashed in and out of view before a fair aim could be settled upon, and
the boy had no disposition to throw away a shot.
The agility displayed by the beast, as it appeared here and there in the
gloom, caused Harry more than once to suspect that it was some other
kind of creature than a bear, while its cat-like stealth of movement
made him fearful that it would make some sudden, treacherous spring that
would take him off his guard.
He sat with his gun at his shoulder, waiting for the coveted chance,
when all at once it advanced into full view, and taking a quick aim, he
fired.
There was a fearful snarling howl, and the brute made a tremendous bound
directly backward in the gloom, that carried him entirely out of sight.
“There! it’s my opinion that that pill will have a good effect upon your
system,” exclaimed Harry, as he proceeded to reload his piece. “I think
it struck you somewhere about the head, and will make it ache, to say
the least.”
He confidently expected to hear it roll over on the ground, clawing and
clutching the earth in its death-struggles; but the howl and leap were
succeeded by a profound silence.
“He has subsided without making any extra fuss,” was his conclusion, as
he placed the cap upon the tube of his gun. “That is, perhaps, the plan
most to be commended, for he might have rolled over in the fire and
burned himself—”
A soft, stealthy movement just then caught the listening ear of Harry,
and turning his gaze as quick as thought to the opposite side of the
fire, he saw, to his amazement, the beast that he had just pronounced
dead, stealing toward him on its belly.
The sight that met the eye of the young adventurer was enough to startle
a man of stronger nerve. The animal was as black as midnight, quite
large, with a long neck, and a snout that resembled that of a wolf or
fox, only much larger and fiercer. Stretched out, as it stole along in
the manner mentioned, it seemed unnaturally prolonged, while the
almond-shaped eyes seemed to emit fire, as they were fixed with the most
deadly intent upon the one who had already lodged a bullet in its body.
This horrid head and front were covered with blood, that trickled upon
the ground, showing that if the shot had not killed, it had certainly
inflicted a grievous wound. To what species the animal belonged, it was
impossible to say; but most probably it was a cross of some kind,
combining in itself the activity and fierceness of the panther, and the
treacherous cunning of the wolf.
Whatever it was, it was bent upon the life of the boy, and would have
had it in another moment but for its soft, gliding movement over the
ground, which providentially revealed its approach before its sharp
claws could be buried in his body.