"Moseyed, by gum! I'll be tarnally tarnashuned if that terri-fa-ca-cious
spook hain't pulled out!" was the exclamation that awakened me the
morning after our adventure with the bear.
Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment at the sun just peeping over the
mountain, then closed them again; but when I attempted to change my
position a sharp pain in my ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I lay
quiet because it was some time before I could collect my scattered
senses and separate in my mind the real incident and the dream
phantasms.
The pain in my ankle, the swelled and irritated condition of my nose
plainly proved to me that there was no dream about my injuries, but I
discovered that my head and leg were neatly bandaged with strips of fine
linen. I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents of the past
twenty-four hours, arranging them in my mind in their proper order and
place. I cut out the dream portion from the realities with very little
trouble until I reached the part where I had awakened in the night and
had seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild Hunter. I could not be sure
whether that was a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange old man
with his eagle and his wolf pack beside our camp fire or had I dreamed
it? Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my own father, rescued me from
death at the claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds for me, or was
that but a dream too? Had not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for me
afterward?
"Pete, old fellow," I said presently, rising to my elbow, "who brought
me to camp? Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?"
"The Wild Hunter," replied Pete gravely. "He bathed my head with some
sort of good smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a dead
buffaler, toted me to camp; he 'lowed that I was all sort of shuk up and
a little hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched you in on his
shoulders just as if you was a dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages
torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave you a drink which you
didn't seem to appreciate, but just swallowed like you were asleep, then
he laid you out. I had my eye peeled on him but he said nary a word, an'
when we wuz both all comfortable he pulled out a long cigar, sot down by
the fire and was smoking tha' with his bird and his wolves around him
when I went to sleep.
"He cut his bullets out, as he allus does," muttered Pete a little while
later.
"Who cut what bullets?" I asked.
"Whomsoever cud I mean but th' Wild Hunter, and wha's tha' been any
bullets lately but in th' b'ar?" queried my companion.
"Yes, of course," I admitted, "but why do you suppose he cut out the
bullets?"
"Wal, I reckon tha' might be right scarce and he haster be kinder
sparing with them. I calculate you'd like to have a hatful of them
balls, leastwise most folks would; cause the Wild Hunter don't use no
common low-flung lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly! Tain't
good 'nuff for a high-cock-alorum like him--_he shoots balls of virgin
gold!_"
But I was more interested in what had become of this strange man than in
the sort of projectiles rumor said that he used in his gun and so
dismissed the subject with a request for further information about our
rescuer.
"This morning when I opened my peepers," Pete continued, "I t'ought
maybe the Wild Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but he's done clared
out for good, and tuk his wolves and bird with him. I'm some glad he
took th' wolves, I don't sorter like the look of their mean eyes; they
do say that he is a wolf himself and the head of the pack."
"What's that, Pete? Steady, old man, now let's go slow."
"All right; tha's wha' I mean ter do. 'Cause it hain't a varmint natur'
to help men folks, and he done helped us, and no mistake, and left us
the bulk of the b'ar too,--only took the claws, teeth and tenderloin or
two for himself and pack; that is, if he be a wolf. But we will settle
that if your foot will let you walk a bit."
"How far?" I asked.
"Only over yan way to the first piece of wet ground, and the trail leads
down to tha' spring tha', and tha' is quite a right smart bit of muddy
swail beyont."
"All right, I'll try it," I exclaimed. But I could not touch my foot on
the ground, and it was not until my guide had made me a crutch of a
forked branch, padded with a piece of fur, that I was able to go limping
along after Big Pete.
We followed the trail left by the Wild Hunter to the spring. The trail
after that was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes; and when we reached
the muddy spot the print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like tracks
of the wolves were distinctly visible.
But look at Big Pete!
As motionless as a statue, with a solemn face he stoops with a rigid
figure pointing to the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that the
moccasin prints ceased in the middle of an open, bare, muddy place and
beyond were nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.
I looked up and all around; there were no overhanging branches that a
man could swing himself upon, no stones that he could leap upon--nothing
but the straggling bunches of ferns; but here in this open spot the Wild
Hunter vanished.
We walked back in silence, for I had nothing to say, and Pete did not
volunteer any further information.