Following the escape of their human victim, the wolves had maintained a
frightful and most discordant howling, as if angered beyond expression
at the style in which they had been baffled of their prey.
The lad sat listening to this, when suddenly it ceased. Silence from
each beast came as completely and simultaneously as if they were members
of an orchestra subject to the wand of such an enchanter as Theodore
Thomas. What could it be?
For the space of two or three minutes the silence remained as profound
as that of the tomb, and then there came a rush and patter, made by the
wolves as they fled pell-mell.
At first sight this seemed a reason for congratulation in getting rid
of such unwelcome company; but Fred saw in it more cause for alarm. Very
evidently the creatures would not have left the spot in such a hurry
unless they were frightened away by some wild animal more to be dreaded
than themselves.
“I'm afraid I'll have to use my rifle,” he thought, as he moved softly
downward until he reached a point from which he could see anything that
passed beneath. “It's pretty rough to have to fire a fellow's last shot,
when he's likely to starve to death for it; but a beast that can scare
away a pack of wolves is likely to be one that will take a well-aimed
bullet to stop---”
This train of thought was abruptly checked by a sight which almost
paralyzed him. He could dimly discern the ground beneath, and he was
watching and listening when a large figure came to view, and halted
directly beneath him, where the first wolf had sat upon his haunches and
looked so longingly upward.
No noise could be heard and it seemed to move like a phantom; but, even
in the gloom, the peculiar swinging motion of the body showed prodigious
strength and activity. There could be no doubt, either, that the animal
was a climber, and therefore more to be feared than a thousand wolves.
Fred had gained quite a knowledge of the animals of the country on his
way across the plains, and in the indistinct view obtained he made
up his mind that this was that most dangerous of wild beasts in the
Southwest, the American cougar. If such were the case, the lad's only
defense lay in the single charge of his rifle. The cougar could leap
among the limbs as easily as a cat bounds from the floor into the chair.
Fred had left his rifle beyond his reach, and he was about to climb up
to it, when the possibility occurred to him that, perhaps, the cougar
was not aware that any one was in the tree, and, if unmolested might
pass by. Accordingly, the fugitive remained as motionless as a statue,
his eyes fixed upon the dreaded brute, ready to make for his gun the
instant the cougar showed any sign of making for him.
The animal, known in some parts of the country as the panther, or
“painter,” remained equally motionless. It looked precisely as if he
suspected that something was in the wind and had slipped up to this
point to listen for some evidence of what it was. Fred, who had heard
fabulous stories of the “smelling” powers of all wild animals, feared
that the cougar would scent him out, but he showed no evidence of his
ability to do so.
After remaining stationary a minute or two, he moved forward a couple of
steps, and then paused as before. The lad was fearful that this was an
indication that he had detected his presence in the tree and was about
to make his leap; but, preliminary to doing so, all such animals squat
upon their haunches, and pick out a perch at which to aim. This he had
not done, and the boy waited for it before changing his own position.
The head of the cougar was close to the trunk of the tree, and he had
maintained the attitude hut a few seconds when he started forward again
and continued until he vanished from view.
“I hope he is gone,” was the wish that came to Fred, as he peered
through the leaves, in his effort to catch a glimpse of him.
But the intervening leaves prevented, and he saw him no more.
He remained where he was for some time, on the look-out for the beast,
but finally climbed back to his former place, where his gun was within
reach, and where he disposed of himself as comfortably as possible.
In less than ten minutes thereafter, the whole pack of wolves were
back again. The cougar had departed, and they returned to claim their
breakfast. They were somewhat less demonstrative in their manner, as
though they did not wish to bring the panther back again.
They were scarcely upon the ground, however, when Fred noticed that
it was growing light in the east. The long, terrible night, the most
dreadful of his life, was about over, and he welcomed the coming day as
the shipwrecked mariner does the approach of the friendly sail.
The light rapidly increased, and in a short time the sun itself
appeared, driving the darkness from the mountain and bathing all in its
rosy hues.
The wolves seemed to dread its coming somewhat as they did that of the
cougar. By the time the morning was fairly upon them, one of them slunk
away. Another speedily followed, and it soon became a stampede.
Fred waited awhile, and then peered out. Not a wolf was to be seen, and
he concluded it was safe to descend.
He made several careful surveys of his surroundings before trusting his
feet on solid ground again. When he found himself there he grasped his
rifle firmly, half expecting the formidable cougar to pounce upon him
from some hiding-place; but everything remained quiet, and he finally
ventured to move off toward the eastward, feeling quite nervous until he
had gone a couple of hundred yards, and was given some assurance that no
wild beasts held him in sight.
Now that the lad had some opportunity to gather his wits, he paused to
consider what was best to do, for with the coming of daylight came the
necessity for serious work. His disposition was to return to the ravine,
which he had left for the purpose of seeking a sleeping-place, and to
press homeward as rapidly as possible. There was no time to be lost, for
many a long and wearisome mile lay between him and New Boston.
As was natural, Fred was hungry again, but he resolved to make no
attempt to secure food until night-fall, and to spend the intervening
time in traveling. Of course, if a camp-fire should come in his way,
where he was likely to find any remnants of food, he did not intend
to pass it by; but his wish was to improve the day while it lasted. By
taking to the ravine again, he entered upon the Apache highway, where he
was likely, at any moment, and especially at the sharp turns, to come in
collision with the red men, but the advantage was too great to overlook,
and he hoped by the exercise of unusual care to keep out of all such
peril.
He was on the margin of the plateau, and before returning to the gorge
he thought it best to venture upon a little exploration of his own.
Possibly he might stumble upon some narrower pass, one unfit for horses,
which would afford him a chance of getting out of the mountains without
the great risk of meeting his old enemies.
For a short distance, the way was so broken that his progress was slow.
He found himself clambering up a ledge of rocks, then he was forced to
make his way around some massive boulders, and in picking his way along
a steep place, the gravelly earth gave way beneath his weight, and he
slid fully a hundred feet before he could check himself. His descent was
so gradual that he was not bruised in the slightest, but he was nearly
buried beneath the gravel and dirt that came rattling down after him.
“I wish I could travel all the way home that way,” he laughed, as he
picked himself up. “I would soon get there, and wouldn't have to work
very hard, either.”
But this was not very profitable work, and when he had quaffed his
fill from a small rivulet of icy-cold water, he was conscious of the
importance of going forward without any further delay.
“I guess the best thing I can do is to get back in that ravine or pass
without any more foolery. It looks as though the way was open ahead
yonder.”
It was useless to attempt to retrace his steps, for it was impossible to
climb up that incline, which came so near burying him out of sight, so
he moved forward, with rocks all around him--right, left, in the rear,
and in the front. There was considerable stunted vegetation, also, and,
as the day was quite warm, and no wind could reach him, he found the
labor of traveling with a heavy rifle anything but fun. Still, he had no
thought of giving up, or even halting to rest, so long as his strength
held out, and he kept it up until he concluded that it was about time
that he reached the ravine for which he aimed from the first.
“It must be right ahead, yonder,” he said, after pausing to survey his
surroundings. “I've kept going toward it ever since I picked myself up,
and I know I wasn't very far away.”
He had been steadily ascending for a half hour, and he believed that he
had nearly reached the level upon which he had spent the night. His
view was so shut in by the character of his surroundings, that he could
recognize nothing, and he was compelled, therefore, to depend upon his
own sagacity.
Fred had enough wit to take every precaution against going astray, for
he had learned long since how liable any one in his circumstances was to
make such a blunder. He fixed the position of the sun with regard to the
ravine, and as the orb was only a short distance above the horizon, he
was confident of keeping his “reckoning.”
“That's mighty strange!” he exclaimed, when, having climbed up the place
he had fixed in his mind, he looked over and found nothing but a broken
country beyond. “There is n't anything there that looks like the pass
I'm looking for.”
He took note of the position of the sun, and then carefully recalled the
direction of the ravine with regard to that, and he could discover no
error in the course which he had followed. According to the reasoning
of common sense, he ought to strike it at right angles. But just then he
recalled that the gorge did not follow a straight line. Had it done so,
he would have succeeded in what he had undertaken, but it was otherwise,
and so he failed.
“I'll try a little more.”
With no little labor, he climbed to an eminence a short distance away,
where he hoped to gain a glimpse of the promised land; but the most
studied scrutiny failed to show anything resembling the pass.
“I'm lost!” he exclaimed, in despair.