LOST IN THE WILDERNESS.
Stella could not keep her eyes from the silver mask of the man who rode
by her side. She was wondering continually at the mystery of him.
For an hour or more they rode up one valley, then across a hill or
stretch of prairie, and through valleys again, the black mountains
coming nearer all the time, until at last they entered a forest of
pines, which they traversed until night began to fall.
At a gesture from "Silver Face," as Stella had named the man who rode by
her side, the party came to a halt.
Stella now saw that it was the intention to camp, for, while some of the
men cared for the horses, others cut down several small pine trees and
built a shelter of pine boughs, into which she was ushered, and before
which a blazing fire had been lighted.
It had grown very cold, and Stella was grateful for the heat that filled
her shelter.
One of the men had brought food, and a pan and coffeepot from a pack on
one of the horses, and now began to cook supper.
Stella fully realized the peril of her situation, but particularly that
of Bud, who had been left alone, bound and helpless, in that wilderness.
If he had not given the impression to the boys that he was going west
instead of east, things might have been easier for them, but now Bud
might perish of cold or be the prey of wild animals before Ted could
come to their rescue, which she was sure he would do soon.
After she had eaten the supper which the man with the silver face
brought her with his own hands, she felt better and more cheered, and
began to take a brighter view of the situation.
The floor of her lean-to shelter had been thickly strewn with pine
boughs, which were soft and aromatic, and Stella reclined upon them, and
gazed into the fire, listening to the strange sounds that filled the
forest, for the camp was absolutely quiet.
After eating their supper the men had silently smoked their pipes and
then curled up on their blankets, which had been spread on mattresses of
pine boughs, and were asleep.
Only Silver Face was awake, and he sat wrapped in his cloak near the
fire, his eyes taking on a fiercer gleam as the flickering lights struck
them.
Stella wondered who he was. Evidently the mask concealed a horrible
mystery. Could he talk, and would not? Was that eerie, bubbling laugh of
his the only articulate sound he could make?
Stella wished she knew more about him, and that he would talk to her.
The night was growing on, but Stella did not feel like sleeping.
Occasionally Silver Face arose and replenished the fire with resinous
pine logs, and for a while the flames leaped high, filling the woods
with strange shadows and ghostly, wavering spots of light.
Then afar, it seemed, there sounded the night cries of wild animals,
timber wolves, those dreaded monsters of the lupus tribe, and
occasionally the scream of the cougar, like a woman in agony. Then,
close behind her shelter, there sounded a horrible, snarling shriek. It
was the night cry of a bobcat close at hand, attracted to the camp by
the scent of the meat which had been cooked for supper.
It was so near and clear that for a moment Stella's heart seemed to stop
beating altogether, and she felt as if she would suffocate, and buried
her face in her hands, expecting every moment to feel the claws of the
terrible animal sink into the flesh of her back.
But at the sound Silver Face leaped to his feet, and was coming swiftly
around the fire.
Through the silver mask his eyes were gleaming wickedly.
Stella heard him, and looked up. He was standing before her at the
corner of her shelter, his blank face turned toward the place from which
the cat's cry had come.
Suddenly a strange thing happened. From the breast of the black garment
worn by Silver Face leaped a flame, followed by the crash of a revolver.
This was succeeded by another, and a third.
The sleeping men had been aroused, and were sitting up in their
blankets, blinking stupidly.
Behind her shelter Stella heard a thrashing among the frozen underbrush,
while Silver Face stood immovable, the blazing eyes in the mask staring
in that direction.
Meanwhile, Stella was marveling at those shots which had seemed to
spring from his very body, and without the apparent use of his hands.
But soon the noise in the brush ceased, and Silver Face stepped out of
sight.
In a moment he was back, and threw into the circle of light about the
fire the body of an enormous mountain cat.
The men had fallen back into their blankets and were sleeping again,
while Silver Face resumed his place before the fire.
Soon Stella, began to yawn, and her eyes grew heavy with sleep.
But she did not want to sleep. She had a foreboding that if she slept
she would be in danger.
However, the dancing flames and the soft, comfortable heat which came
from the fire were too much for her resolution, and her head began to
droop, and presently her body sank gently down, and, as she pillowed her
head on her arm, she fell into a deep sleep.
How long she slept she did not know, but when she awoke it was light.
The fire had burned low, and she felt cold and numb.
Staggering to her feet, she looked around. The camp was deserted.
The men were gone, and so were the horses. Beside the fire was a
considerable pile of wood, and Stella hastily pulled the embers of the
fire together and threw several sticks upon it. As the fire blazed up
and she grew warmer, she tried to review the situation.
Why had the men who had captured and brought her thus far deserted her?
Had they been frightened away by the proximity of the boys? No, it could
not have been that, for the boys were far away.
Then a thought of horror flashed across her mind. She had been brought
here to perish in the wilderness. Probably Silver Face and his men,
desiring to wreak vengeance upon Ted, and feeling that keeping her a
prisoner would be too much of a burden, had brought her into this
dangerous place to leave her a prey to the wild animals that she knew
infested the forests.
If they had only left her Magpie, she might have stood some chance of
escaping.
But her fortitude soon returned to her. She was not dead yet, and, while
she had a fighting chance, she would not despair.
Something of pity must have moved the men, for she found that they had
left her revolver and her rifle beside her in the lean-to, and that in a
pile not far from the fire was food enough to last her for several
meals.
She set about cooking some breakfast, and caught herself singing as she
did so.
After she had eaten she sat down in her shelter to think a way out of
her predicament.
She was in the midst of a reverie when she was brought to her feet by
that most dreaded of sounds--the howl of the timber wolf.
For a moment she stood trembling, trying to think what her best course
would be.
The wolves had smelled the frying bacon from afar, and had been
attracted to it, for the scent had carried far in the clear air.
From another direction came another wolf cry, and presently they seemed
to come from every direction.
They were far away as yet, but the wolves were gathering.
Without trying to reason further, Stella gathered up what food she could
carry, and, grasping her rifle, struck out into the forest in the
direction away from that from which the howls of the wolves came to her.
Suddenly to one side appeared a slinking, gray form, which slunk along,
apparently dodging behind the trees, but following her.
As it came from behind a tree in fair sight, she swung her rifle to her
shoulder and fired.
It was a strike, for the wolf, with a howl of pain sprang in the air,
then rolled over on the snow and lay still.
As the report of the shot reverberated back from the mountains, it was
followed by a perfect crescendo of wolf howls.
They sounded louder and nearer now, and Stella's heart began to beat
rapidly with fear.
Too well she knew what would happen if they caught her.
But suddenly a thought came to her, and she stopped.
Surely Ted and the boys would come to find her. They might even now be
on the way, and who could say they were not far away?
If she could only send them a message to let them know that they were on
the right trail!
Her face lighted up with an inspiration. She had the means.
Breaking a stick from a low-growing tree, she began to write in the
snow:
"I am followed by a wolf pack. Hurry." "Stella"
These were the words she left behind her for Ted to read should he come
that way.
Then she hurried on with all speed.
Every few minutes the howls of the wolves assailed her ears as she
struggled on through the snow.
Her burden of food was becoming very heavy, and she cast away a part of
it.
Perhaps, she thought, it would serve to stop the wolves for a while when
they found it on her trail.
Every moment seemed to bring the cries of the wolves nearer.
They were following in her footsteps now, for the noise was all behind
her, not scattered over the forest, as it had been at first.
The brutes had gathered into a pack, and Stella shuddered as she
pictured in her mind the gray band coming upon her with long, loping,
tireless strides; with red, long, lolling tongues and slavering,
sharp-fanged jaws.
Presently she heard another noise behind her, and looked over her
shoulder.
The sight that met her eyes caused her to almost faint.
Not twenty yards behind her was an enormous gray wolf, loping along
easily but as swiftly as a horse.
His eyes were blazing like green lamps, and his great body was scarred
and torn. Evidently he was the king of the pack.
Stopping suddenly, she drew her revolver and fired two shots at him.
He came to a halt with a snarl of rage and began biting at his shoulder.
Then Stella turned and ran again, with the clamor of the pack close
behind her.
But she was failing, and her run had become a painful stagger, and her
breath came in gasps.
She was near the end, and she realized it. She fancied herself falling
into the midst of that ravenous crew and shuddered. What could she do to
save herself?
Not far ahead was a tree with a forked branch growing low enough for her
to reach it if she still had strength to get so far. With almost a
superhuman effort she continued her flight toward it.
As she reached it the great, gray king of the pack was only a few feet
behind her, so close that she could hear him pant from his long run.
She reached up to the branch and tried to pull herself up, but it was an
impossible task burdened with food and rifle and her coat, which she had
removed at a time when she had stopped long enough to write another
message in the snow for Ted.
She threw the rifle in the snow and tried it again, but she could not,
and then cast aside the food and the coat, and succeeded in clambering
into the sheltering nook just as the great wolf, leaping into the air,
swept past her, carrying in his teeth a shred of her skirt. She was
safe, but by a very narrow margin.
She looked up into the tree, for the branch upon which she was perched
was so near the ground that she was not safe from the leaps of the
savage and famished brutes.
But the next higher branch was far beyond her reach or her ability to
climb to.
She must defend herself as best she could.
Fortunately she had retained her revolver and had a good supply of
ammunition.
As the old wolf leaped again she fired, and knew that the ball had
entered his neck. If she could shoot him often enough, she ought to kill
him after a while.
But now the clamor was all about her. The pack had arrived, and was
leaping about the foot of the tree like waves upon a storm-tossed shore.
Her red coat had been torn to shreds, and, in the fight over the food
she had cast aside, more than one of the brutes had met his death by the
razorlike teeth of his comrades.
Suddenly, through the din about her, Stella lifted her head and
listened, while for a moment the wolves ceased leaping and howling and
stood listening also.
From afar off, and very faintly, there came to her a subdued cheer. Her
heart leaped with hope. Could it be the boys who were signaling to her?
But now the wolves, even more savage than before, were leaping at her,
their saber teeth snapping within an inch of her, as she fired into
their faces, and laughed as she saw them roll upon the snow in their
death agony.
Again she heard a faint cry in the forest. Oh, if she should be wrong,
and it was not the dear old Moon Valley yell, she would die.
Now the old king of the pack returned to the attack.
He was bigger and stronger than any of the others, and when he snapped
at them with his terrible teeth they made way for him.
He began a succession of leaps at her, and every time she planted a
bullet in his massive and seemingly invulnerable body.
But each leap brought him closer to her perch.
The next jump might be the one by which he would reach her, she thought,
and that surely would be the end, for, if he ever succeeded in getting
his hooked fangs fastened in her clothes, she would be pulled from the
tree in an eye twinkling, and she shuddered as she thought of the
sequel.
The end seemed very near, and she had about given up hope of holding out
until the boys could reach her, when a well-known yell was wafted to her
on the frozen air. The boys had come.
She felt the fangs of the king of the pack fasten in her skirt, and she
knew that she was being pulled out of her perch when, through the woods
came Ted and Bud and Ben, and the rest of her friends, yelling like mad
and amid a perfect fusillade of rifle shots.
Then she began to slide out of the tree. But she did not reach the
ground, for Ted was there, and she slipped naturally and without harm
into his arms, as the last of the pack that remained alive escaped into
the forest.