THE STRANGE AWAKENING
THERE was little that the two lads did not know about making a camp,
for they had been accustomed to spending nights in the woods ever
since they first learned to handle a gun, and bring down the game so
necessary for daily food.
The spot chosen by their guide for passing the night was as suitable
as could be found at that late hour. Around them lay the woods, the
trees tall and not of any generous girth, for the slopes of the hills
bordering the Yellowstone are covered with a growth of pine that is not
noted for its size.
When Mayhew tossed his pack aside the boys followed suit. They had made
a long day of it, and were tired, though ready enough to keep moving
could it be to their advantage.
The woodranger started to make his little cooking fire, while Dick
and Roger arranged their blankets and made other preparations for the
night. If they noticed the actions of the guide at all it was with
slight interest, for both were fully acquainted with the methods which
he used in his work.
Like many other things copied from the Indians, this idea of a small
blaze that could not betray their presence had become a part of every
woodsman's education. The way in which it was done was very simple.
First a hole was scooped out of a place where there was something
of a depression, and in this a small quantity of inflammable tinder
was placed. Flint and steel, upon being brought violently together,
produced the necessary spark, and the handful of fine wood took fire.
It was carefully guarded on all sides so that not a ray might escape to
attract attention; and, when sufficient red coals had accumulated, what
cooking was necessary could be carried on over them.
When properly done, this sort of fire might remain undetected twenty
paces away by the possessor of the keenest vision. Only the presence
of suspicious odors, such as of burning wood, or food cooking, might
betray the fact that there was a fire in the vicinity.
All Mayhew wanted was to heat some water, and make a pot of tea, of
which he was very fond, although it was a great luxury of that early
day. The supper itself would have to be eaten just as it was. They had
a fair amount of bread, such as was baked by the camp cook; plenty of
pemmican, and that was about all. If the food supply ran short they
must depend wholly on what game they could bring down with their rifles.
Most boys of to-day would view such a limited bill of fare with alarm,
and think starvation was staring them in the face. These lads of the
frontier, however, were accustomed to privations. They faced empty
larders every time stormy weather prevented hunting. And early in life
they learned that it does no good to borrow trouble.
The night closed in around them. Dick and his cousin lay in their
blankets and conversed in whispers, while Mayhew continued to busy
himself over his tiny fire.
Around them lay the wilderness that was almost unknown to the foot of
white man, yet it did not seem to awe these adventurous souls, simply
because they had been brought up in the school of experience, and were
familiar with nearly all the ordinary features of a vast solitude.
[Illustration: "MEAGER THOUGH THAT SUPPER MAY HAVE BEEN, THERE WAS NOT
A WORD OF COMPLAINT"]
When the guide had his pannikin of tea ready he told the boys to fall
to, and, being sharp pressed by hunger, they did not wait for a second
invitation. Meager though that supper may have been, there was not a
word of complaint, even from Roger. The pemmican tasted good to him,
the dry bread was just what he craved, and the bitter decoction which
Mayhew had brewed seemed almost like nectar.
Having accomplished its mission, the tiny fire was allowed to die
out. Mayhew managed to light his pipe, which appeared to afford him
much solace, and all three lay there, taking things as comfortably as
possible, while they discussed in low tones the prospects ahead of them.
Each one offered an opinion with regard to what sort of weather they
might expect in the near future. In doing this they consulted the
stars, together with the prevailing winds, and whether this last
seemed to carry any moisture in its breath since that would indicate
approaching rain or snow.
It was the general belief that the prospect could be set down as
uncertain. It might storm, or another fair day might speed them on
their way; matters had not as yet developed far enough to settle this
question.
The silence that had accompanied the coming of the night no longer held
sway.
From time to time various sounds drifted to their ears to announce that
the pine forest bordering the banks of the mysterious Yellowstone River
were the haunts of many wild animals that left their dens, after the
setting of the sun, for the purpose of roaming the wilderness in search
of prey.
Far in the distance they could occasionally hear, when the wind
favored, the mad yelping of a pack of gray mountain wolves, undoubtedly
on the track of a stag which they meant to have for their midnight
supper, if pertinacity and savage pursuit could accomplish it.
Closer at hand there came other sounds. Once the boys stopped speaking,
and bent their heads to catch a repetition of a peculiar cry that would
have sent a cold chill through any one unaccustomed to woods life.
"That sounded like a painter to me, Dick!" ventured Roger, handling his
gun, so as to make sure the weapon was within reach of his hand.
Of course a "painter" meant a panther, for it was so called by nearly
all back-woodsmen and pioneers of that day. And these two lads knew
well what a fierce antagonist one of those great gray cats became when
wounded, or ferociously hungry.
"Yes, that was just what I thought," replied Dick; "but there isn't
much chance he'll bother to pay us a visit to-night. The woods are big
enough to give him all the hunting he wants, without trying to invade
our camp."
"There seems to be plenty of life in this valley of the Yellowstone
River," the second boy continued, "and, even if Jasper Williams fails
to find the Happy Hunting Grounds he is looking for, he might do lots
worse than stay around here."
"Yes, I am sure there must be lots of fur to be picked up, and we saw
plenty of elk, you remember, Roger, as well as other food animals. From
what we have learned, the Indians never come in this direction unless
they are compelled to by a scarcity of game in other places."
"All on account of their believing an Evil Spirit haunts the land,"
commented Roger. "As for myself, I think all those stories must be made
up in the brains of foolish people. I would never believe one of them
unless I saw the things with my own eyes."
"We may know more about them before we finish this journey," Dick
remarked complacently.
"When you last examined the tracks left by Jasper Williams and his
party, Benjamin, how old did you make them out to be?" inquired Roger
of the guide.
"We are one day's journey behind them," came the assured reply.
"And if they should choose to linger on the trail we may overtake them
by to-morrow night," added Dick, in order to comfort his cousin.
"Then all I can say," continued Roger, "is that I hope they'll run
short of fresh meat, and conclude to loiter on the road. If Jasper
only discovers a big colony of beaver in a stream, I think he would be
tempted to camp near by and start trapping."
"Yes," Mayhew remarked, reflectively, between puffs, "he is always
talking about beaver pelts, and I have heard him say many times that he
never could resist taking the broadtails if given a fair opportunity."
"Well, we have seen signs of the houses of the little animals several
times as we came upon streams that flowed into the river," said Roger,
"so there may be a chance of our coming upon him before another sun
goes down."
The thought appeared to give him satisfaction, and from that time
on Dick noticed a difference in Roger's manner. Only one thing kept
cropping up to make him sigh occasionally, and this was the possibility
of snow catching them, and in a short time obliterating the trail of
the party ahead.
The last thing Roger did, before wrapping himself in his blanket, was
to step over to where he could look up at the heavens. The stars were
shining peacefully. They did not look unusually bright, which would
have been a bad outlook, according to the woodsman's reckoning of the
weather signs. The bank of low-hanging clouds must have remained close
along the horizon, or else passed away by some other route, for he now
saw no trace of them.
"I really believe it will be all right, Dick," was his cheerful
announcement as he settled down for a good night's sleep.
Dick did not reply; but, knowing how capricious the weather could
prove, he had already made up his mind to be surprised at nothing.
Even if he awoke in the morning to find three inches of snow covering
the ground, coming so silently they had not known of its fall, he was
prepared to take it philosophically. Perhaps, like a wise general, he
had already mapped out in his mind just what course they must pursue
under such conditions, for Dick Armstrong had always been prone to
foresee difficulties, and prepare to meet them as they came.
Roger soon fell asleep. Even his thoughts of the faraway home were of
a pleasant nature, and not calculated to keep him awake. Besides, that
long day's tramp over so much rough ground had wearied his muscles, and
a languor came upon him shortly after he wrapped his blanket about him.
A root served as a pillow. These hardy sons of the frontier needed
no down under their heads as they slept. Privations they had been
accustomed to from infancy, and a small amount of comfort usually
satisfied them. Doubtless their slumber was all the more sound on that
account.
Roger had no means of telling whether one hour or five had crept by,
when he was aroused by something that gave him a fierce tug. Instantly
he was awake, and, although at first he imagined he must have been
dreaming, he changed his mind when he heard a low, snarling sound close
to his ears, and felt another of those queer tugs.
It was cold, for, in rolling about as he slept, he must have displaced
his blanket.
That jerk at his right leg gave Roger a thrill. He realized that
something had taken hold of his fringed deerskin trousers, and was
endeavoring to drag him aside. Even as this startling conviction
flashed through his mind, for a third time he heard that low growl. It
was like that of a dog, when some one approaches while he is gnawing a
bone.
Roger slightly raised his head and saw two gleaming yellow spots that
seemed to glow like coals of fire.
He knew they were the eyes of some sort of forest beast that was
crouching close alongside him; though why it had seized upon his
trouser leg and kept up this spasmodic tugging Roger could not
comprehend.
Where was his rifle? He put out a hand, groping for the weapon, which
action was the signal for more growls, and a spitting sound such as a
cat might make. Then he heard a low whispering voice saying:
"Keep still, Roger; don't move! I've got my gun, and can fix him!
Steady, now!"
Then came a mighty crash that awoke the echoes of the forest.