THE GREAT JOKE
Mid-morning and Henry awoke, yawning a little and stretching himself
mightily. Then he looked questioningly at Shif'less Sol who sat in a
position of great luxury with his doubled blanket between his back and
a tree trunk, and his rifle across his knees. The look of satisfaction
that had come there in the morning like a noon glow still overspread his
tanned and benevolent countenance.
"Well, Sol?"
"Well, Henry?"
"What has happened while we slept?"
"Nothin', 'cept that Braxton Wyatt an' twenty Shawnee warriors passed,
takin' no more notice o' us than ef we wuz leaves o' the forest."
"Advancing on our old house?"
"Yes, they've set the siege by now."
"And we're not there. I'll wake the others. They must share in the
joke."
Paul, Long Jim and Silent Tom wiped the last wisp of sleep from their
eyes, and, when they heard the tale of a night and a morning, they too
laughed to themselves with keen enjoyment.
"What will we do, Henry?" Paul asked.
"First, we'll eat breakfast, though it's late. Then we'll besiege the
besiegers. While they're drawing the net which doesn't enclose us we
might as well do 'em all the harm we can. We're going to be dangerous
fugitives."
The five laughed in unison.
"We'll make Braxton Wyatt and the Shawnees think the forest is full of
enemies," said Paul.
Meanwhile they took their ease, and ate breakfast of wild turkey,
buffalo steak and a little corn bread that they hoarded jealously. The
sun continued its slow climb toward the zenith and Paul, looking up
through the canes, thought he had never seen a finer day. Then he
remembered something.
"I suggest that we don't move today," he said. "They won't approach the
hollow until night anyway, and it wouldn't hurt for us to lie here in
the shelter of the brake and rest until dark."
Henry looked at him in surprise.
"Your idea is sudden and I don't understand it," he said.
"So it is, Henry, but it never occurred to me until a moment ago that
this was Sunday. We haven't observed Sunday in a long time, and now is
our chance. We can't wholly forget our training."
He spoke almost with apology, but the leader did not upbraid him.
Instead, he looked at the others and found agreement in their eyes.
"Paul talks in a cur'ous manner an' has cur'ous notions sometimes," said
Shif'less Sol, "but I don't say they ain't good. It's a long time since
we've paid any 'tention to Sunday, but the idee sticks in my mind. Mebbe
it would be a good way fur us to start our big fight ag'inst the tribes
an' the renegades."
"When Cromwell and his Ironsides advanced against the Royalists," said
Paul, "they knelt down and prayed first on the very field of battle.
Then they advanced with their pikes in a solid line, and nothing was
ever able to stand before them."
"Then we'll keep Sunday," said Henry decisively.
Paul, feeling a thrill of satisfaction, lay back on his blanket. The
idea that they should observe Sunday, that it would be a good omen and
beginning, had taken hold of him with singular power. His character was
devout and a life in the wilderness among its mighty manifestations
deepened its quality. Like the Indian he wanted the spirits of earth and
air on his side.
The five had acquired the power of silence and to rest intensely when
nothing was to be done. Their food finished, they lay back against their
doubled blankets in a calm and peace that was deep and enduring. It was
not necessary to go to the edge of the canebrake, as in the brilliant
light of the day they might be noticed there, and, where they lay, they
could see anyone who came long before he arrived.
Paul, as he breathed, absorbed belief and confidence in their success.
Surely so bright a sky bending over them was a good omen! and the tall
canes themselves, as they bent before the wind, whispered to him that
all would be well. Henry in his own way was no less imaginative than his
young comrade. He let his eyelids droop, not to sleep, but to listen.
Then as no one of the five stirred, he too heard the voice of the wind,
but it sang to him a song far more clear than any Paul heard. It told of
triumphs achieved and others yet to come, and, as the great youth lifted
his lazy lids and looked around at the others, he felt that they were
equal to any task.
The afternoon, keeping all its promise of brilliant beauty, waxed and
waned. The great sun dipped behind the forest. The twilight came, at
first a silver veil, then a robe of dusk, and after it a night luminous
with a clear moon and myriads of stars wrapped the earth, touching every
leaf and blade of grass with a white glow.
Still the five did not stir. For a long time they had seemed a part of
the forest itself, and the wild animals and birds, rejoicing in the dry
and beautiful night after the stormy one that had passed, took them to
be such, growing uncommonly brave. The restless black bear came back,
looked at them, and then sniffing disdainfully went away to hunt for
roots. The great wings of the eagle almost brushed the cane that hung
over Henry's head, but the little red eyes were satisfied that what
they saw was not living, and the dark body flashed on in search of its
prey.
"Three hours more at least, Paul," said Henry at last, "until Sunday is
over."
"And I suggest that we wait the full three hours before we make any
movement. I know it looks foolish in me to say it, but the feeling is
very strong on me that it will be a good thing to do."
"Not foolish at all, Paul. I look at it just as you do, and since we've
begun the observance we ought to carry it through to the finish. You
agree with me, don't you, boys?"
"I shorely do," said the shiftless one.
"Ef Paul thinks it's right it's right," said Long Jim.
"Can't hurt anythin'; it may help," said Silent Tom.
They resumed their silence and waiting, and meanwhile they listened
attentively for any sound that might come from those who were stalking
their old home. But the deep stillness continued, save for the light
song of the wind that sang continually among the leaves. Henry, in his
heart, was truly glad of Paul's idea, and that they had concluded to
observe it. A spiritual atmosphere clothed them all. They had come of
religious parents, and the borderer, moreover, always personified the
great forces of nature, before which he was reverential. The five now
were like the Romans and the Greeks, who were anxious to propitiate the
gods ere going into action.
Henry gazed at the moon, a silver globe in the heavens, and he
distinctly saw the man upon its surface, who returned his looks with
benevolence, while the countless stars about it quivered and glittered
and shed a propitious light. Then he gazed at his comrades, resting
against the trunks of the trees, and unreal in the silver mist. They
were yet so still that the wild animals might well take them to be
lifeless, and the power to sit there so long without stirring a muscle
was one acquired only by warriors and scouts.
A faint whining cry came out of the silver dark, a sound that had
traveled a great distance on waves of air, and every one of the five
understood it, on the instant. It was one of the most ominous sounds of
the forest, a sound full of ferocity and menace, the howl of the wolf,
but they knew it came from human lips, that, in truth, it was a signal
ordered by the leader of the besieging band. Presently the reply, a
similar cry, came from another point of the compass, traveling like the
first on waves of air, until it died away in a savage undernote.
"They've probably set their lines all the way around our hollow, and
they're sure now they'll hold us fast," said Henry, with grim irony.
"That's 'bout it, I take it," said Shif'less Sol, "an' it 'pears to me
that this is the time for us to laugh, purvidin' it won't be in any way
breakin' uv our agreement to keep the day till its very last minute."
He looked questioningly at Paul.
"To laugh is not against our compact," replied the lad, "since it has
such good cause. When a net is cast for us, and those who cast it are
so confident we're in it, we've a right to laugh as long as we're
outside it."
"Then," said Shif'less Sol with conviction, "ez thar's so much to laugh
at, an' we've all agreed to laugh, we'll laugh."
The five accordingly laughed, but the laughs were soundless. Their eyes
twinkled, their lips twitched, but the canebrake, save for the ceaseless
rustle of the singing wind, was as silent as ever. No one five feet away
would have known that anybody was laughing.
"Thar, I feel better," said Shif'less Sol, when his face quit moving,
"but though they're a long distance off I kin see with my mind's eyes
Braxton Wyatt an' his band stalkin' us in our home in the rock, an'
claspin' us in a grip that can't be shook off."
"Shettin' down on us," said Silent Tom.
The shiftless one bent upon him a reproving look.
"Thar you are, Tom!" he said, "talkin' 'us to death ag'in. Can't you
ever give your tongue no rest?"
Silent Tom blushed once more under his tan, but said nothing, abashed by
his comrade's stern rebuke.
"Yes, I kin see Braxton Wyatt an' his band stalkin' us," resumed
Shif'less Sol, having the floor, or rather the earth, again to himself.
"Braxton's heart is full o' unholy glee. He is sayin' to hisself that we
can't git away from him this time, that he's stretched 'bout us a ring,
through which we'll never break. He's laughin' to hisself jest az we
laugh to ourselves, though with less cause. He's sayin' that he an' his
warriors will set down at a safe distance from our rifles an' wait
patiently till we starve to death or give up an' trust ourselves to his
tender mercy. He's braggin' to hisself 'bout his patience, how he kin
set thar fur a month, ef it's needed, an' I kin read his mind. He's
thinkin' that even ef we give up it won't make no diff'unce. Our scalps
will hang up to dry jest the same, an' he will take most joy in lookin'
at yours, Henry, your ha'r is so fine an' so thick an' so yellow, an' he
hez such a pizen hate o' you."
"Your fancy is surely alive tonight, Sol," said Henry, "and I believe
the thought of Braxton Wyatt's disappointment later on is what has
stirred it up so much."
"I 'low you're right, Henry, but I'm thinkin' 'bout the grief o' that
villain, Blackstaffe, too. Oh, he'll be a terrible sorrowful man when
the net's closed, an' he finds thar's nothin' in it. It will be the
great big disappointment o' his life an' I 'low it will be some time
afore Moses Blackstaffe kin recover from the blow."
The silent laugh again overspread the countenance of the shiftless one
and lingered there. It was one of the happiest moments that he had ever
known. There was no malice in his nature, but he knew the renegades were
hunting for his life with a vindictiveness and cruelty surpassing that
of the Indians themselves, and he would not have been true to human
nature had he not obeyed the temptation to rejoice.
"A half hour more and Sunday will have passed," said Henry, who was
again attentively surveying the man in the moon.
"An' then," said Long Jim, "we'll take a look at what them fellers are
doin'."
"It will be a good move on our part, and if we can think of any device
to make 'em sure we're still in the hollow it will help still more."
"Which means," said Paul, "that one of us must pass through their lines
and fire upon them from the inside, that is, he must give concrete proof
that he's in the net."
"Big words!" muttered Long Jim.
"I think you put it about right," said Henry.
"Mighty dang'rous," said Shif'less Sol.
"I expected to undertake it," said Henry.
"You speak too quick," said the shiftless one. "I said it wuz dang'rous
'cause I want it fur myself. It's got to be a cunnin' sort o' deed, jest
the kind that will suit me."
"By agreement I'm the leader, and I've chosen this duty for myself,"
said Henry firmly.
"Thar are times when I don't like you a-tall, a-tall, Henry," said
Shif'less Sol plaintively. "You're always pickin' out the good risky
adventures fur yourse'f. Ef thar's any fine, lively thing that will
make a feller's ha'r stan' up straight on end an' the chills chase one
another up an' down his back, you're sure to grab it off, an' say it wuz
jest intended fur you. That ain't the right way to treat the rest o' us
nohow."
"No, it ain't," grumbled Silent Tom, but Shif'less Sol turned fiercely
on him.
"Beginnin' to talk us to death ag'in, are you, Tom Ross?" he exclaimed.
"Runnin' on forever with that garrylous tongue o' yourn! You jest let
me have this out with Henry!"
Again Tom Ross blushed in the darkness and under the tan. A terrible
fear seized him that he had indeed grown garrulous, a man of many and
empty words. It was all right for Shif'less Sol to talk on forever,
because the words flowed from his lips in a liquid stream, like water
coursing down a smooth channel, but it did not become Tom Ross, from
whom sentences were wrenched as one would extract a tooth. Paul laughed
softly but with intense enjoyment.
"When I die, seventy or eighty years from now," he said, "and go to
Heaven, I expect, when I pass through the golden gates, to hear a steady
and loud but pleasant buzz. It will go on and on, without ceasing. Maybe
it will be the droning of bees, but it won't be. Maybe it will be the
roar of water over a fall, but it won't be. Maybe it will be a strong
wind among the boughs, but it won't be. Oh, no, it will be none of those
things. It will be one Solomon Hyde, formerly of Kentucky, and they'll
tell me that his tongue has never stopped since he came to Heaven ten
years before, and off in one corner there'll be a silent individual, Tom
Ross, who entered Heaven at the same time. And they'll say that in all
the ten years he has spoken only once and that was when he passed the
gates, looked all around and said: 'Good, but not much better than the
Ohio Country.'"
Both Shif'less Sol and Silent Tom grinned, but the discussion was not
pursued, as Henry announced that he was about to leave them in order to
enter the Indian ring, and make Wyatt and the warriors think the rocky
hollow was defended.
"The rest of you would better stay in the canebrakes or the thickets,"
he said.
"We won't go so fur away that we can't hear any signal you may make,"
said Long Jim Hart. "Give us the cry uv the wolf. Thar are lots uv
wolves in these woods, Injun an' other kinds, but we know yourn from the
rest, Henry."
"And don't take too big risks," said Paul.
"I won't," said Henry, and he quickly vanished from their sight among
the bushes. Two hundred yards away, and he stopped, but he could not
hear them moving. Nor had he expected that any sound would come from
them to him, knowing that they would lie wholly still for a long time,
awaiting his passage through the Indian lines.
The heart of the great youth swelled within him. As truly a son of the
wilderness as primitive man had been thousands of years ago, before
civilization had begun, when he depended upon the acuteness of his
senses to protect him from monstrous wild beasts, he was as much at home
now as the ordinary man felt in city streets, and he faced his great
task not only without apprehension, but with a certain delight. He had
the Indian's cunning and the white man's intellect as well, and he was
eager to match wits and cunning against those of the warriors.
He would have been glad had the night turned a little darker, but the
full burnished moon and showers of stars gave no promise of it, and he
must rely upon his own judgment to seek the shadows, and to pass where
they lay thickest. The forest, spread about him, was magnificent with
oak and beech and elm of great size, but the moonlight and the starshine
shone between the trunks, and moving objects would have been almost as
conspicuous there as in the day. Hence he sought the brushwood, and
advancing swiftly in its shelter, he approached the place that had been
such a comfortable home for the five, but which they had thought it wise
to abandon. A whimsical fancy, a desire to repay them for the evil they
were doing, seized him. He would not only draw the warriors on, but he
would annoy and tantalize them. He would make them think the evil
spirits were having sport with them.
A half mile, and he sank to the earth, lying so still that anyone a yard
away could not have heard him breathe. Two warriors stood under the
boughs of an oak and they were looking in the direction of the hollow.
He had no doubt they were watchers, posted there to prevent the flight
of the besieged in that direction, and he was shaken with silent
laughter at this spectacle of men who stood guard that none might pass,
when there was none to pass. He was already having his revenge upon them
for the trouble they were causing and he felt that the task of repayment
was beginning well.
The two Shawnees walked back and forth a little, searching everything
with their questing eyes, but they did not speak. Presently they turned
somewhat to one side, and Henry, still using the shelter of the
brushwood, flitted silently past them. Three or four hundred yards
farther and he lay down, laughing again to himself. It had been
ridiculously easy. All his wild instincts were alive and leaping, and
his senses became preternaturally acute. He heard some tiny animals of
the cat tribe, alarmed by his presence, stealing away among the bushes,
and the sound of an owl moving ever so slightly in the thick leaves on a
bough came to his ears. But he was so still that the owl became still
too, and did not know when he arose and moved on.
Henry believed that the two warriors were merely guards on the outer rim
and that soon he would encounter more, a belief verified within ten
minutes. Then he heard talking and saw Braxton Wyatt himself and three
Shawnees, one a very large man who seemed to be second in command. Lying
at his ease and in a good covert he watched them, laughing again and
again to himself. For such as he this was, in truth, fine sport, and he
enjoyed it to the utmost. Wyatt was looking toward the point where the
cliffs that contained the rocky hollow showed dimly in the silver haze.
His face expressed neither triumph nor confidence, and Henry, seeing
that he was troubled, enjoyed it.
"I wish we knew how well they are provided with food and ammunition," he
heard him say.
"They will have plenty," the big warrior said. "The mighty young chief,
Ware, will see to it."
Henry felt a thrill at the words. The Shawnee was paying a tribute to
him, and he could not keep from hearing it.
"They beat us off before," said Wyatt gloomily. "We had them trapped in
the hollow, but we could not carry it."
"But this time," said the warrior, "we will sit down before it, and wait
until they come out, trembling with weakness and begging us to give them
food that they may keep the life in their bodies."
"It will be a sight to make my eyes and heart rejoice," said Braxton
Wyatt.
The hammer and trigger of Henry's rifle were a powerful magnet for his
hand. The young renegade's voice expressed so much revenge and malice,
so much accumulated poison that the world would be a much better place
without him. Then why not rid it of his presence? He stood there
outlined sharp and clear in the silver dusk, and a marksman, such as
Henry, could not miss. But his will restrained the eager fingers. It was
not wise now, nor could he shoot even a renegade from ambush. Using the
extremest caution, lest the moving of a leaf or a blade of grass betray
his presence, he passed on, and now he was sure that he was well within
the Indian ring.
Advancing more rapidly he ascended the slope, and came to the hollow,
which he reached while yet under cover. He waited a long time to see
whether Wyatt had posted any sentinels within eyeshot or earshot, as he
had no desire to be trapped inside, and then, feeling sure that they
were not near, he entered.
Their home was undisturbed. The dead ashes of their last fire lay
untouched. Various articles that they could not take with them were
undisturbed on the rocky shelves. But he gave the interior only a few
rapid and questing looks, and then he went outside again, his mind set
on a dense clump of bushes that grew near the entrance.
He buried himself in the heavy shade, but he did not seek it alone
because of shelter. He saw that a good line of retreat led from it over
the shoulder of the hill, and then down a slope that admitted good
speed. Having made sure of his ground, he filled his lungs and sent
forth the cry of the wolf, long and sinister and full of a power that
carried far over the forest. He knew that the listening four would hear
it, and he knew, too, that it would reach the ears of Braxton Wyatt and
all the Shawnees. And hearing it, they would be absolutely sure that the
five were now in the hollow where they might be held until they dropped
dead of hunger or yielded themselves to the mercy of those who knew no
mercy.
Fierce, triumphant yells came from all the points of the circle about
him, and once more and with deep content Henry laughed. He would fool
them, he would play with them, and meanwhile his comrades, to keep the
sport going, might sting them on the flank. After the yells, the night
resumed its usual silence, and Henry, lying in his covert, watched on
all sides, while he laid his plans to vex and torment Braxton Wyatt and
his band. He knew it was an easy matter for his comrades and himself to
escape this particular expedition sent against them, but it was likely
that they would encounter other and larger forces farther south, and he
wished the battlefield, if it shifted at all, to shift northward. Hence
he intended to hold Wyatt there as long as possible.
After a while, he was sure that he saw the tops of some bushes moving in
a direction not with the wind, and he was equally sure that Shawnees
were coming forward. Nearly half an hour passed and then a bead of fire
appeared as a rifle was discharged, and the shot had an uncommonly loud
sound in the clear, noiseless night. He heard, too, the click of the
bullet as it struck against the stone near the mouth of the hollow, and
once more he laughed. It was an amusing night for him. The warriors, now
that they had crept within range, would be sure to sprinkle the stone
around the cleft with bullets, and lead was too precious in the
wilderness to be wasted.
He flattened himself upon the earth, merely keeping his rifle thrust
forward for an emergency, and he blended so perfectly with grass and
foliage that not even the keen eyes of Shawnees ten feet away could have
detected him. A second shot was fired, and he heard the bullet clipping
leaves not far away; a third followed and then a volley, all of the
bullets striking at some point near the entrance. The volley was
followed by a long and fierce war whoop and far down the valley Henry
caught sight of a dusky form. Quick as lightning he raised his rifle,
pulled the trigger and the figure disappeared. Then another war whoop,
now expressing grief and rage, came, and he knew that the band would
think the bullet had been sent from the mouth of the rock fortress. He
crept a little farther away, lest a stalker should stumble upon him, and
reloaded his rifle.
He lay quite still a long time, and the first sound he heard was of slow
and cautious footsteps. He listened to them attentively and he wondered.
A warrior surely would not come walking in a manner that soon became
shambling. Putting his ear to the earth he heard a soft and uncertain
crush, crush, and then, raising his head a little, he traced a dark,
ambiguous figure. But he knew it, nevertheless, by the two red eyes
blinking in doubt and dismay. It was a black bear, doubtless the same
one they had already disturbed.
Here he was, like Henry himself, within the Shawnee ring, but, unlike
him, not there of his own free will. The shots and the war whoops had
terrified him to the utmost, and they had always driven him back toward
the center of the circle. Henry, moved by a spirit that was as much
friendliness as sport, uttered a low woof. The bear paused, raised his
head a little higher, and inhaled the wind. At any other time he would
have fled in dismay from the human odor, but he was a harried and
frightened black bear and that woof was the first friendly sound he had
heard in a day. So he remained where he was, his figure crouched, his
red eyes quivering with curiosity. Henry smiled to himself. His feeling
for the animal was one of pure friendship, allied with sympathy. He knew
that if the bear tried to plunge through the Indian ring in his panic
they would certainly kill him. Moreover, they would cook him and eat him
the next day. The Indians liked fat young bear better than venison.
It was a whimsical impulse of his generous nature to try to save the
bear, and he edged around until the puzzled animal was between him and
the mouth of the cave. The bear once started to run to the west, but a
rifle shot fired suddenly in that segment of the circle stopped him. He
remained again undecided, his tongue lolling out and his red eyes full
of dismay. Henry crept slowly toward him, uttering the low woof, woof,
several times, and bruin, disturbed in his mind and unable to judge
between friends and enemies, edged away as slowly, until his back was
almost at the mouth of the hollow. Then, with all the possibilities
against such a combination of chances, it occurred nevertheless. A
louder woof than usual from him was followed almost instantly by a
Shawnee rifle shot, and the frightened bear, giving back, almost fell
into the crevice. Then whirling, and seeing a refuge before him, he
darted inside.
Henry, retreating into the dense bushes, flattened himself in the grass,
and laughed once more. He had laughed many times that night, but now his
mirth had a fresh savor. The bear and not the Indians had become the new
occupant of their old home, and, despite the fact that it had been so
recently a human habitation, he felt quite sure the animal, owing to his
terror and the confusion of his ideas, would remain there until morning
at least. The Shawnees would exert all their patience and skill in the
siege of one bear that lived chiefly on roots, the greatest crime of
which was to rob bees of their stored honey.
He raised himself until he could see the mouth of the cave, but all was
still and dark there. Evidently the bear was at home and was using all
available comforts. He would not come out to face the terror of the
shots and of human faces. Henry could imagine him with his head almost
hidden in one of their beds of leaves, and gradually acquiring
confidence because danger was no longer before his eyes.
His whimsical little impulse having met with complete success he lay in
his shroud of bushes and intense enjoyment thrilled through every vein.
He had not known a happier night. All his primitive instincts were
gratified. The hunted was having sport with the hunters, and it was rare
sport too.
The mournful howl of a wolf came faintly from the northern rim of the
forest. It made Henry start and wonder a little. He thought at first the
cry had been sent forth by Silent Tom or Shif'less Sol, but as it was
inside the Indian circle he concluded it must have been made by one of
the warriors. But he changed his mind again, when the long, whining cry
was repeated. His hearing was not less acute than his sight, able to
differentiate between the finest shades of sound, and he felt sure now
that the howl of a wolf was made by a wolf itself, the real genuine
article in howls, true to the wilderness. When several more of the
uneasy whines came doubt was left no longer. The Indian ring that had
enclosed the rocky hollow and the black bear had also enclosed an entire
pack of wolves. It complicated the situation, but for Wyatt and his
band, not for Henry, and once more the spontaneous laugh bubbled up from
his throat.
He inferred now that he had not seen all of the Indian force. There were
probably other detachments to the west and north that had been drawn in
to complete the ring, but he did not care how many they might be. The
more they were the greater their troubles. A soft pad, pad in the
thicket roused him to the keenest attention. Some larger animal was
approaching him, unaware of his presence, the wind blowing in the wrong
direction. But the wind came right for Henry and soon he discovered a
strong feline odor. He knew that it was a panther, and presently he saw
it in the moonlight, yellowish and monstrous, the hugest beast of its
kind that he had ever beheld.
But the panther, despite its size and strength, would run away from man,
and Henry understood. The Indian ring had closed about it too, and,
frightened, it was seeking refuge. Powerful, clawed and toothed for
battle, it would not fight unless it was driven into a corner, and then
it would fight with ferocity. Henry reflected philosophically that the
net might miss the particular fish for which it was cast and yet catch
others. If the Indians closed in they had the panther and the black bear
and perhaps the pack of wolves too. What would they do with them? His
irrepressible mirth bubbled up. It was their problem, not his.
Resolved not to intervene again in these delicate affairs, he crouched
as closely as he could to the earth, wishing the panther neither to see
nor to hear him, but curious himself to know what it would do. The beast
stalked out into the open, and it was magnified greatly by the luminous
quality of the moonlight. It looked like one of its primitive ancestors
in the far dawn of time, when man fought for his life with the stone
axe. But the panther was afraid. The howls of the wolf, both the real
and the false, frightened him. His instinct too told him that he was
walled around by beings that could slay at a distance, and, within a
certain area, he was a prisoner. He was sorely troubled and his great
body trembled with nervous quivers. The wolf pack howled again, and he
must have found something more alarming than ever in it, as he sheered
off to one side, and his tawny eyes caught a glimpse of a black opening
that almost certainly led to a magnificent den and refuge.
But the panther was cautious. He lived a life in which the foresight
that comes from experience was compelled to play a great part. He did
not dive directly for the cleft, and he might not have gone in at all,
had not a sudden shift in the wind brought to him the human odor that
came from the body lying so near in the bushes. Driven by his impulse he
turned away and then sprang straight into the hollow.
Henry had not expected this sudden movement on the part of the panther,
and he rose to his knees to see what would happen. A terrible growling
and snarling and the shuffling of heavy bodies came instantly from the
dusky interior. A moment or two later the panther bounded out, a huge
ball of yellowish fur, in which two frightened and angry red eyes
glared. Henry saw several streaks of blood on him and he stared at the
animal, amazed. He did not know that a black bear could make such a
fight against a powerful feline brute, but evidently, wild with terror,
he had used all his claws and teeth at once. The panther caught sight of
Henry looking at him, and, uttering a scream or two, bounded into the
bushes. In the cave, the bear remained silent and triumphant.
"What will happen next?" said Henry to himself.
The howl of the wolf pack came in reply.