THE COVERT
It was one of the most thrilling moments in the life of Henry Ware. He
was in a kind of exaltation that made him equal to any task or danger,
and rather to court, instead of avoiding them. His feeling of kinship
with the herd that was saving him had grown stronger with the dawn. The
dust entering his eyes and mouth, nose and ears, had a singular quality
like burned gun powder that excited him and stimulated him to efforts
far beyond the normal. He was for the time being a physical superman out
of that old dim past, and he was scarcely conscious of anything he was
doing, save that he ran with the great beasts, and was their friend.
His exalted state increased. He continued to shout to the buffaloes to
run faster, and to hurl challenge and defiance at the warriors who could
not hear him. Once more he swung his clubbed rifle and hit a buffalo on
the side, not in anger, but as a salute from one hardy friend to
another, and the buffalo, uttering a bellow, rushed on with mighty
leaps.
Although he could not see them for the dust, Henry knew now by the
crashing and crackling of boughs that they were among the bushes, but
they did not trouble him, as the herd, like a huge wedge, first clearing
the way trampled everything under foot. How long the race lasted and how
long they ran he never knew, but after a lapse of time that was
surcharged with an enormous elation and an unexampled display of
physical power the herd began to recover in some degree from its panic.
Its speed decreased. The great cloud of dust that had wrapped Henry
around and that had saved him sank fast. Then he came suddenly to
himself, out of the exalted regions of the spirit in which he had been
dwelling. His throat was sore from excessive shouting and the sting of
the dust, and it was a few minutes before he was able to clear his eyes
and see with his usual keenness. Then he found that his body, too, ached
from his flight with the buffaloes and his excessive exertions.
But he had escaped. Nothing could alter the fact. When he had been
surrounded so completely by powerful foes that his destruction seemed
inevitable a miraculous way had been opened through their lines. Kindly
chance had drooped about him an impenetrable veil and he had passed his
enemies unseen. His first emotion was of deep thankfulness and gratitude
to the power that had saved him.
The pace of the herd sank to a walk. The light wind caught the last
streamers of dust and carried them away over the trees. Then some of the
buffaloes, puffing with exhaustion, stopped, and Henry, coming back
wholly to himself, turned aside into the deep forest. But he gave a
parting wave of his hand to the great animals that had enabled him to
make his invisible flight. Never again would he kill a buffalo without
reluctance.
An immense weariness came suddenly upon him. One could not run so far
with a herd without draining to their depths the reservoirs of human
endurance, but he would not let his body collapse. He knew he must put
the danger far behind him before it was a danger passed or even a danger
deferred. Calling upon his will anew, he turned toward the southeast and
walked many miles through a stony region. Here again he felt that he was
watched over by the greater powers, as leaping from stone to stone it
was easy to hide his trail, for the time at least. When the last ounce
of strength was exhausted he came to a blue pool, ten or fifteen yards
across, clear and deep.
He looked at the pool and was about to make another effort to go on, but
the blue waters crinkled up and laughed under a light wind, and looked
so inviting that he concluded to take the risk. He still felt the dust
in eye and ear, mouth and nose. He knew that it was caked upon his face
by perspiration, until it had become a mask, and now his whole body
tingled like fire with the tiny particles that had stopped up the pores.
And there was the pool, clear, blue and beautiful, inviting him to come.
Delaying not an instant longer he threw off his clothing and sprang into
the water. It was cold, but it was full of life. New strength shot into
every vein. He dived again and again, but without noise, and then,
swimming about a minute or two, emerged clean, shining and refreshed.
While he stretched himself, flexing and tensing his muscles and drying
his body in the sun, a stag, seeking water, came through the forest on
the other side of the pool. Perhaps that sense of kinship was felt by
the stag, too. It may be that Henry was in spirit an absolute creature
of the wild that morning, and by some unknown transmission of knowledge
the stag knew it.
However it was, the great deer took no fright, but, sniffing the air
once or twice, looked at the great youth, and the great youth looked
back at him. Henry would not have harmed any inhabitant of the forest
then, and the deer may have read it in his eye, as after his first
hesitation he came boldly to the pool and drank his fill. Henry on the
other side was dressing rapidly. When the stag had drunk enough he
raised his head and gazed out of great mild eyes at the human being who
was perhaps the first he had ever seen. Then he turned and stalked
majestically into the forest, his mighty antlers visible after his body
was hidden.
Henry, lying down in the brown grass, remained a half hour by the pool,
and he became a part of the wilderness, recognized as such by the others
that dwelled in it. Wild fowl descended upon the water, swam there a
while and then flew away, but not because of him. A black bear made
havoc in a patch of berries, and paid no attention to the youth.
When he started anew he still kept to the northeast, but he was
uncertain about his immediate action. He did not doubt that Red Eagle
and his host would pick up his trail some time or other, and would
follow with a patience that nothing could discourage. It would not be
wise to turn back to the oasis and his comrades, as that would merely
bring upon them the attack that he had drawn aside. Not knowing what to
do he kept on in his present course until certainty should come to him.
Hunger assailed him and, imitating the bear, he ate great quantities of
berries which were numerous everywhere in the forest. They were not
substantial food, but they must suffice for a time. After a while, when
he felt that he was far beyond the hearing of Red Eagle's men, he would
shoot game, though in his present mood he did not like to kill anything
that lived in the forest. But he knew that he must, in time, overcome
his reluctance, as such a frame as his, in the absence of bread, could
not live without meat.
He saw ahead of him a line of blue hills, much such a region as that in
which lay their warm, stony hollow, and he believed that he might find
kindred shelter there. At least it would be safer from pursuit, and,
keeping a straight course, he reached the ridges in about two hours. He
found an abundance of rocky outcrop, so much of it that he was able to
walk on it a full mile without putting a foot on earth, but there was no
deep hollow, although he did come to a tiny valley or cup among the
stones, well sheltered from the winds, and here he lay for a long time
on a bed that he made for himself on dead leaves. Toward night he went
out and was fortunate enough to find a wild turkey, which, overcoming
his reluctance, he shot. Then he cleaned it, and, daring all dangers,
lighted a fire in the cup and cooked it.
But before taking a bite of the turkey he made a wide and careful
circuit about the dip to discover whether any wandering warrior had seen
the glow of his little fire, and, satisfied that none had been within
sight, he returned and ate, putting what was left in his pack for future
use. Then he lay down again and felt very grateful. The stars were out,
and, in their courses, they had undoubtedly fought for him. He did not
ascribe his great successes in the face of obstacles that seemed
insurmountable to any especial virtue in himself, but the idea that, for
some unknown cause, he was favored by the greater powers was still
strong within him. He could but thank them and looking up at the sky he
did so without words.
Then, feeling sure that his trail could not be found for hours, he
wrapped his blanket about his body and pillowing his head on a heap of
leaves fell asleep. The sense of watching remained so strong that it was
alive while he slept, and about midnight it awakened him to see what a
noise meant. It was, however, only the hungry whining of two wolves,
drawn by the odor of the turkey, and, throwing a stick at them, he went
back to sleep.
He did not awaken again until morning, and then he felt so warm and snug
in his blanket and on the bed of leaves that he was loath to move. The
dawn was clear and cold, the first frost of the season touching his
blanket with white, and he yawned mightily. While his body was
refreshed, his spirit was not as high as it had been the night before,
and he would have been glad for the pursuit to stop, a day at least,
while he dawdled there among the hills. He reflected that his four
comrades were probably lying at their ease in the oasis, and the thought
brought a certain envy, though the envy contained no trace of malice. He
wished that he was back with them, but the wish vanished in an instant,
and he was his old self, ingenious, resourceful, resolute.
He rose from his bed, folded the blanket into the usual tight square,
which he fastened on his back, and took a look at his surroundings.
There was no human presence save his own, but innumerable tracks showed
him that the hills were full of game. Then sharp hunger assailed him,
and he ate another portion of the wild turkey, calculating that enough
would be left for several more meals. He considered himself extremely
lucky in securing the turkey, as it undoubtedly would be dangerous now
to fire his rifle, since the warriors must have come much nearer in the
course of the night.
Going to the crest of the highest hill, whence he could get a long view,
he saw smoke in the west, not more than three miles away, and he was
quite certain it was made by some portion of Red Eagle's band. They
would not allow so much smoke to rise, unless it was intended as a
signal, and his eyes followed the circle of the horizon in search of the
answer.
From his lofty perch he saw far over the tumbled mass of hills to the
eastern sky, and there he caught a faint trace across the sunlit blue.
It was miles away and only eyes of the keenest, like his, would have
noticed the vague smudge, but he did not doubt that it was a response to
the first signal. They could not see from the first to the third smoke,
but there must be a second in between, probably to the north, where the
hills shut out his view, and the messages were transmitted from the
extremes through it.
He gazed a long time at the eastern smoke, trying to read what it was
saying. The warriors of Red Eagle's band were not likely to have gone so
far in the night, and, at last, he came to the conclusion that Yellow
Panther and the Miamis had come up. The more he thought about it the
more thoroughly he was convinced that it was so, and that his situation
had become extremely dangerous again. The Shawnees were bound to pick up
his trail in time, they would find that it led into the hills, and then,
by means of signals of one kind or another, they would tell their
allies, the Miamis, to close in on him. They would also send warriors to
both north and south, and he would be surrounded completely.
Henry did not despair. It was characteristic of him that his spirits
should rise to the highest when the danger was greatest. The lassitude
of the soul that he had felt for a few moments disappeared and once more
he was alert, powerful, with all his marvelous senses attuned, and with
that sixth sense which came from the perfect coordination of the others
ready to help him.
He examined as well as he could from his summit the maze of hills in
which he stood, and it seemed to him to be a region three or four miles
square, a network of crests, ridges, cups, and narrow valleys like
ravines. He resolved that for the present, at least, he would make no
attempt to break from it and pass the Indian lines. He would be for a
day or two the needle in the haystack. One might move from cover to
cover and evade pursuit for a long time in a tumbled and tangled mass of
country fifteen or sixteen miles square, covered moreover with heavy
vegetation of all kinds.
He had been the panther before, now he would be the fox, and leaping
from stone to stone, and from fallen trunk to fallen trunk he plunged
into the very heart of the maze, finding it wilder and even more broken
than he had hoped. Small streams were flowing in several of the gullies
or ravines, and there were pools, around which reeds and bushes grew
thickly. At least he would not suffer for water while he lay in hiding.
Near the center of the little wilderness was a valley larger than the
others, but before he descended into it he climbed a hill, and took
another long look around the whole horizon. The smoke signals had
increased to nearly a dozen, making a complete circuit of the hills, and
it would have been obvious, even to an intelligence much less acute than
his, that they were sure he was in the hills, and had drawn their lines
about him.
Well, it would be a chase, he said to himself grimly. He did not
particularly like the rôle of fox, but once he had undertaken it he
would play it to the last detail. He went down into the valley which
was like a bowl filled with a vast mass of bushes and briars, many of
the briars covered with ripe berries, a fact of which he made a mental
note, as he might need those berries later on, and picked a way through
them until he came to the other slope, which was as rough and broken as
if it had been taken up by an earthquake, shaken for several days, and
then allowed to lie as the pieces fell. There were many blind openings,
like the box cañons of the west, running back into the hills, and they
were crossed by other gullies and ravines, and he decided that he would
find a temporary covert somewhere among them.
As he wandered about in the maze of bushes and stones, he did not
neglect the least possible precaution to hide all traces of footsteps,
and he knew that he had left a trail invisible like that of a bird
through the air. There were many able warriors among the Shawnees and
Miamis, but if they found him at all it must be by currying the maze as
if with a comb, and not by following directly in his path.
A ravine that he was following led a little distance up the slope, and
then another crossed it at right angles. A small stream, rising above,
flowed down the first ravine, and he resolved that he would not go far
from it, as he could not lie long in hiding without water. The smaller
cross ravine, which was pretty well choked with briars and bushes, ended
under an overhanging stony ledge, and here he stopped.
As the place had a floor of dead leaves and was sheltered well he
thought it likely that in some former time it had been a den of a large
wild beast, but it could not have been put to such a use recently, as
there was no odor. He was thankful that he had found the ledge. It would
protect him from any rain except one driven fiercely into the face of it
by the wind, and, if it came to the last resort and he had to make a
fight, it would prove a formidable little fortress.
Having located his refuge he went back to the stream and took a long,
deep drink of the water, which was cold and good. Then he returned to
the ledge and lay down in its shadow, his eyes on the briars and bushes,
through which alone one could approach.
He saw a few coarse hairs in the crevices of the rocks and he was
confirmed in his opinion that it had once been a lair. Perhaps the
original owner would return to it and claim it while he was there, and
Henry smiled at the thought of the meeting. It would not be easy to
displace him. The feeling that he too was wild, a creature of the
forest, was growing upon him. He was hunted like one and he began to
display their characteristics, lying perfectly still, facing the opening
and ready to strike, the moment a foe appeared. However dangerous may
have been the wild beast that once lived under the ledge it was far less
formidable than its successor.
Henry was at his ease, watching the briars and bushes and with his rifle
thrust forward a little, but a sort of cold rage grew upon him. It was
the rage that a fierce animal must feel, when hunted beyond endurance,
it turns at last. He rather hoped that one or two of their scouts would
appear and try to force the ravine. They would pay for it richly, and he
would take some revenge for being forced into such a hard and long
flight.
But no scalplock appeared in the bushes, nor did he hear any sound of
advancing men. But he was not deceived by the false appearance of peace.
The Shawnees and Miamis had drawn their lines about the hills and they
would search until they found. Now they had two great chiefs instead of
one, both Red Eagle and Yellow Panther, to drive them on. Meanwhile he
would wait patiently and take his ease until they did find him.
He was conscious of the passage of time, but he took little measure of
it until he noticed that the sun was low. Then he ate another portion of
the turkey, rolled himself into a new position on the leaves, and
resumed the patient waiting which was not so hard for one trained as he
had been in a school, the most important rule of which was patience.
The entire day passed. At times he dozed, but so lightly that the
slightest movement in the thickets would have awakened him. He was
neither lonely nor afraid, and his sense of comfort grew. He had been
carried back farther than he knew into the old primitive world, in which
shelter and ease were the first of all things. He was content now to
wait any length of time while the warriors searched for him, and he was
so still, he blended so thoroughly into his surroundings, that the other
people of the maze accepted him as one of themselves.
He saw a splash of flame over his head, and a scarlet tanager, alighting
on a bush not a yard from him, prinked and preened itself, until it felt
that its toilet was perfect, when it deliberately flew away again. It
had not shown the slightest fear of the motionless youth, and Henry was
pleased. He intended no harm to the creatures of the forest then, and he
was glad they understood it.
A small gray bird, far less brilliant in plumage than the tanager,
alighted even nearer, and poured forth a flood of song to which Henry
listened without moving. Then the gray bird also flew away, not in fear,
but because its variable mind moved it to do so. It too had come as a
friend and it departed without changing. A rabbit hopped through the
brush, stared at him a moment or two, and then hopped calmly out of
sight. Its visit had all the appearance of a friendly nature, and Henry
was pleased once more.
When the twilight came, he crept through the bushes to the little stream
in the ravine and drank deep again. His glance caught a pair of red eyes
gleaming through the dusk and he saw a wildcat treading lightly. But the
cat did not snarl or arch its back. Instead it moved away without any
sign of hostility and climbed a big oak, in the brown foliage of which
it was lost to Henry's sight. In his mind the thought grew stronger that
he was being accepted as a brother to the wild, and it gave him a
thrill, a compound of pleasure and of wonder. Had he really reverted so
far? It seemed to be so, for the time, at least.
He crawled back through the bushes to his lair, ate another portion of
the wild turkey and disposed his lodgings for the night, which he
foresaw was going to be cold, drawing the dead leaves into a heap with a
depression in the center, in which he could lie with the blanket over
him.
The full dark had now come, and, as he finished his bed, he heard a
light step which caused him to seize his rifle and sit silent, awaiting
a possible enemy. The light step was repeated once, twice, thrice, and
then stopped. But he knew it was not that of a human being. He had heard
the pad, pad of an animal too often to be mistaken, and his tension
relaxed, though he still waited.
He gradually made out an ungainly figure in the dusk, and then two small
red eyes. The figure moved about a little and the eyes seemed to
question. Henry smiled once more to himself. It was a large black bear,
and he knew instinctively that it had not come as an enemy. Its visit
was one of inquiry, perhaps of search for an old and comfortable home,
which it remembered dimly. As it stared at him, showing no sign of
fright and making no movement to run away, he knew then that he was in
truth in a former home of the bear.
He was sorry that he had dispossessed any one. He would not willingly
keep from his home a friendly and worthy black bear, but since it was
the only home of the kind he needed that he could find, he must keep his
place. The bear was not hunted as he was, and required less to give him
comfort and shelter. He could improvise elsewhere a home that would
suffice for him.
He waved his hand, but the bear did not withdraw, uttering instead a low
growl which had some of the quality of a purr, and which was not at all
hostile. Henry felt real grief at ousting such an amiable animal, and he
realized anew that he had become, in fact, a creature of the wild. It
was obvious that the bear looked upon him as a brother, else it would
have taken to hasty flight long since. Instead it continued to stare at
him, as if asking to come in that it might have a share of the leaves.
But Henry shook his head. There was room for only one, and while not
selfish he needed it worse than the bear, which, after a minute more of
gazing, uttered another growling purr and then shambled away among the
bushes. Henry felt real sorrow at its departure. Obviously it had been a
good and kind bear, and he was regretful at having crowded it out of
house and home.
But as bears were adaptable creatures and the dispossessed tenant would
find quarters elsewhere, he settled himself back to further rest and
contemplation. The lair under the ledge was really a better place than
he had at first thought it. The leaves were so abundant that he had a
soft bed, and they contributed not only to warmth in themselves, but he
was able to throw them up in little ridges beside him, where they would
cut off the cold air. He felt himself splendidly hidden, and both body
and mind were invaded by a dreamy sense of peace and ease.
Believing that the invasion of the valley would yet be delayed some
time, he dared to go to sleep, though he awoke at frequent intervals.
All these awakenings told him that the warriors had not yet come nor was
their vanguard even at hand. The bear was not the only wild animal to
inhabit the valley and now and then he saw their dim figures moving in
the leisurely manner that betokened no alarm brought by sight, scent or
sound. He silently made them his sentinels, his watchers, the bear, the
rabbit, the squirrel, the wildcat and even the tawny yellow panther.
Morning broke, the air heavy and clouds betokening rain. He strengthened
his banks of leaves with some dead wood, and, after eating half the
remaining portion of wild turkey, crouched again in the lair. In an hour
it began to rain, not to the accompaniment of wind, but came down
steadily, as if it meant to fall all day long.
Having a good shelter Henry was glad of the rain, as he knew that it
would cause the warriors further delay in the search. The wilderness,
cold and dripping with water, is a funereal sight, full of discomforts,
and savage man himself avoids it if he can. The warriors, feeling that
they had the fugitive within the inescapable circle, would wait. Henry
would willingly wait with them. He had but one problem that troubled him
greatly, and it was food. But perhaps the ravens would provide, as they
had provided for the holy man in the olden time.
As he had foreseen, the chilling rain fell all day long, and no sign
came from his pursuers. The valley grew sodden. He saw pools standing in
low places, and cold vapors arose. At night he ate the last of the
turkey, and, resolutely dismissing the question of more food from his
mind for the time, fell asleep again and slept well.
The second dawn came, clear and cool, and the foliage and the earth
dried rapidly under the bright sun. Henry's powerful frame craved
breakfast but there was none, and, from necessity, he made up his mind
to do without, as long as he could. But the cravings became so strong by
noon that he stole out to the blackberry briars and ate his fill of the
berries. He also found some ripening wild plums and ate those, too.
Fruit alone was not very staying and he also saw the risk of disclosing
his trail, but he felt that he must have it. One might talk lightly of
enduring hunger, but to endure it was much harder. If he only had two or
three more wild turkeys he felt that he might defy the siege.
That afternoon he heard the signals of Indians, showing that they were
in the maze, looking for him. They imitated the cries of birds and
animals, but they did not deceive him a single time. None was nearer
than a quarter of a mile, and he was sure that they had a long hunt
before them. Then he resolved upon a daring venture. If the coming night
was dark he would make the Indians themselves provide him with food. It
was tremendously risky, but the kind of life he lived was full of such
risks.
His plan in mind, he watched the setting of the sun. It had mists and
vapors around it, and he knew that he was about to have what he wished.
Then the night settled down, heavy and dark, and he slipped cautiously
from his lair. The last signal that he had heard came from the south and
he advanced in that direction.
He calculated that boldness, as usual, might win. The warriors, daring
themselves, nevertheless would not dream of an inroad upon them by the
fugitive himself, and were likely to be careless in their night camp. It
was possible that they would leave their own food where he could reach
it unseen.
His progress was slow, owing to the extremely rough and broken nature of
the ground, and his own great caution, a caution that made no sound, and
that left no trail, as he always walked on rock. In an hour he saw the
glimmer of a fire, and then he redoubled his caution, as he approached.