With an imperceptible movement, as steady and almost as slow as that of
a glacier, my guide twisted his neck until his face was turned from the
puma and the side of the mouth pressed against the flat surface of his
rock. I was crowded up against Big Pete, who occupied a position but
slightly in advance and a little above me. My agony of fear having
somewhat subsided I ventured to steal a momentary glance at my comrade's
face. To my unutterable surprise I discovered a whimsical twinkling at
the corners of his eyes and a mirthful expression of mischief in his
countenance. This was incomprehensible to me, for I could imagine no
more awe-inspiring position than the one we then occupied.
While my thoughts were still busy trying to fathom the cause of Pete's
untimely mirth, the long-drawn howl of the big timber wolf floated over
the valley and sent a new lot of shivers down my back. It was the
rallying call used by the wolves to call the band together when game is
in sight. The sound increased in volume until it reverberated among the
crags like the voice of a winter's storm, and then it gradually died
away. Big Pete was not only a good mimic but he proved himself to be a
ventriloquist of no mean ability; by the help of the rock against which
his cheek was pressed he had been able to throw his voice off into space
in such a manner that it baffled me for several moments.
The gray wolves are old and inveterate enemies of the panther or cougar,
hunting the cats on all occasions. Consequently all panthers know the
meaning of that wild lonesome howl, the assembling call, as well as the
oldest wolf in the pack, and its effect upon the lion in our path was
instantaneous. The hair, which had a moment before been as slick as if
it were oiled, now rose upright until the fuzzy hide gave the animal's
body the appearance of being twice its original size.
Scarcely had the big cat vacated the path before we scrambled to the
firm foothold and I breathed a great sigh of relief when it was reached.
But Big Pete was convulsed with suppressed laughter at the practical
joke he had played on the mountain lion.
"Gosh darn my magnolia breath! That painter went as if he had a ball of
hot rorrum tied to his tail," cried my guide.
It was difficult for me to realize that it was Big Pete himself who had
given vent to that shuddering howl, and now the danger was over I
pleaded with him to give another exhibition of his skill in wolf calls.
The good-natured fellow at first seemed reluctant to repeat his
performance, but at length consented and put his hands to his mouth,
forming a trumpet, then bent forward his body, stooping so low that his
face was was below his waist, after which he began again that wild cry
which so closely resembles in sentiment and tone the shriek of the wind.
As the sound increased in volume the man waved his head from side to
side; continuing the movement he gradually assumed an upright pose, and
ended by making a low obeisance as the sound died away.
The imitation was perfect and I was expressing my delight and
appreciation when my ear caught a distant sound which put a sudden stop
to our conversation.
Was it the wind which I now heard? No! there was not a breath of air
stirring, neither was it an echo. There could be no doubt about it, the
long-drawn sepulchral howl which filled and permeated the shivering air
was an answering cry to Big Pete's call.
Scarcely had the sound waves faded away when in the mysterious distance
came another and another answer, until it seemed as if a troop of lost
souls were vocalizing their misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my
revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete only shrugged his
shoulders and said,
"Come, let's be moseying. 'Taint nothin' but wolves." A fact of which I
was as well aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was, could not
treat howling of wolves with the same unconcern as did my guide.
We soon reached a point where the goat trail turned again up the
mountain and we forsook that ancient path for a diagonal fracture very
similar to the one by which we had ascended, which led down the face of
the precipice "slantendicularwise," Big Pete said, and soon plunged into
the bluish gray sea which filled the valley. We were now enveloped in a
dense fog, which added materially to the dangers of the journey. I had
had so many thrills in the last few moments that my nerves were becoming
dull and failed to vibrate on this occasion, so that descending the
cliff in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock became only an
incident of our journey; this trail, however, was wider than the one by
which we ascended.
The Rocky Mountains are full of new sensations and I got a new one when
I discovered that the fog through which we had been traveling was in
reality a cloud, and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the clear mellow
light below the floating vapor. It was an enchanting scene which met our
eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.
For the first time in months I saw a human habitation. The blue smoke
from the chimney ascended slowly in a tall column and then floated
horizontally in stratified layers. There were fields of ripe grain,
orchards, groves, pasture lands and a winding stream fringed with
poplars, which flowed in a tortuous course across the valley. As I
feasted my eyes on the peaceful scene a great longing took possession of
my soul.
Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured up by the scene below us.
He stood leaning on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting
picture; so full of unconscious dignity was his pose, so immovable stood
the mountain man that he looked like a grand statue done by a master
hand.
But what thoughts were conjured up in the guide's brain by the
unexpected sight of this ranch could not be interpreted from the
expression of his countenance, for that showed no more trace of emotion
than an American Indian at the torture stake, or the marble face of a
Greek god. Presently he shifted his pose, threw back his head, and Big
Pete's eyes were fixed on the valley in front of us, as with distended
nostrils he sniffed the mountain air, his brows contracted to a frown,
his eyes lost their gentle angelic look and seemed to change from China
blue to a cold steel color, and his tightly closed mouth had a stern
expression about the corners which appeared altogether out of keeping
with the occasion.
"Rot my hide!" he exclaimed, "if I hain't had a neighbor all these years
and never knowed it. Waugh! Some emigrant--terrification seize him!--has
found another park an' squatted, t'ain't more'n eight miles as a crow
flies from mine, nuther, Le-loo." He looked at the sun and muttered.
"Hang me, but 'tis t'other end of my own park," then he paused a moment
and added fiercely, "if these geysers know when they are well off,
they'll steer shy of Darlinkel Park. If I catch 'em scoutin' 'round my
claim, I'll send 'em a-hoppin'."
"Bless me, you are neighborly," exclaimed a voice in smooth, even tones.
"What!" said Pete, looking sternly at me. "Did you speak?"
"I said nothing," I replied.
Big Pete's countenance changed and he ran his hands over the cartridges
in his belt in the old familiar manner, and with a motion quicker than I
can describe it, whipped out his revolvers and wheeled about face, at
the same time snapping out the words, "Throw up your hands!"