LONE WOLF CAÑON.
They were not long in crossing to the farther side of the lake and
making a landing within the entrance to Lone Wolf Cañon. Neither of
them had ever been here before, and they were disappointed in the
prospect presented by the steep walls of barren cliff and the sunless
gloom.
"Seems ter me we may as well leave our traps in the canoe," said Rube.
"There ain't much chance of findin' any game where there's no bush for
the wild critters ter hide, an' no herbage for the little 'uns ter feed
on."
"It's the kind of place where our guns'll be of more use than the
traps," Kiddie added. "I c'n make out a beaten track winding down
among the rocks there. 'Tain't a human footpath, I reckon. Guess it
was made by mountain goats, antelopes, deer, foxes, wolves, an' even
buffalo, comin' down t' th' water for their evenin' drink. Have a
close look, an' see if you can distinguish any footprints."
Rube examined the ground at various points, particularly near the
water, where it was moist.
"Quite right, Kiddie," he reported. "It's sure a water trail. I made
out the tracks of a bear and a lynx; an' thar's heaps of others that
might be any of the critters you've named."
"There's birds as well," said Kiddie, "eagles, hawks, wild turkeys,
grouse."
"I've never seen a eagle close at hand," Rube regretted. "I want to,
badly. Did y' ever shoot one, Kiddie?"
"No, I've no use f'r a dead eagle. Caught one in a fox-trap once, in
Lost Man's Gulch. Hadn't visited that trap for several days. When I
went to it, there was a fine male eagle in it, an' all round about were
the remains of rabbits an' birds. Couldn't make out at first just how
that trapped eagle had gotten so much food. The rabbits an' lambs an'
grouse didn't sure go up an' ask him ter kill an' eat them, and thar
wasn't any humans near to take pity on him. Well, I watched from a
distance, an' after a while I see the eagle's mate fly down an' give
him a cub fox. That's how it had been all the time."
"Say, what did you do then, Kiddie?" Rube asked.
"Went an' opened the trap an' came away with two fine tail feathers and
a nasty scratch on the arm," Kiddie answered, turning from the canoe to
search for a suitable pitch for the camp.
He found a good place on a stretch of sloping ground between two high
rocks at the edge of the lake, and in a very little time the teepee was
erected, a fire well kindled, and the camp in order.
Their store of food had been almost exhausted on the island, where they
had not set their traps and had caught only fish. They still had
abundance of flour, however, as well as tea, sugar, tinned milk, and
rice; and Kiddie was confident in the prospect of being able soon to
add meat to his larder.
On that same evening of their arrival in Lone Wolf Cañon, he went out
with his gun and climbed the mountain side in search of game. But he
returned to camp without having fired a shot, and with only a capful of
thimbleberries as spoil.
"Didn't you see anything?" Rube questioned.
"Oh, yes," said Kiddie, "I saw plenty--a big-horn antelope that was too
far away for a shot, a herd of black-tail deer, still farther away, a
family of rattlesnakes, a skunk, and a racoon. And you'll be
interested to know that there's a pair of white-tail eagles nestin' on
one of the crags up the cañon. I got a good view of them from the
opposite side."
"I'm goin' ter have a look at those eagles," decided Rube. "I'll go
to-morrow evenin' the same time as when you were there, an' when
they're likely to be at home."
On the following evening his expedition was interfered with by the fact
that earlier in the day Kiddie had stalked and killed a black-tail deer
and needed Rube's help in carrying the carcass into camp and cutting it
up for venison.
But Rube was not to be denied a sight of the eagles, even if he could
not hope to capture an eaglet and take it home with him as a pet.
"I see you're preparin' yourself for a climb up those crags, eh?" said
Kiddie on the next afternoon. He spoke without encouragement.
"Yep," Rube nodded. "Any objections t' offer?"
"Not exactly objections," returned Kiddie. "I was only thinkin'."
"A habit you have--thinkin'. What was you thinkin', Kiddie?"
In response, Kiddie looked around at the mountains and the sky.
"Wind's changed," he said. "Looks like rain, don't it? Might keep off
till after sunset time, though."
"Guess I'll chance it, anyway," resolved Rube.
Kiddie had told him exactly where the eagles' eyrie was situated and
how he might most easily and safely approach it, first by ascending the
gradual slope of the mountain and then working his way round on the
face of the precipice, and then again ascending by a craggy cleft that
would bring him close to the nesting-place. And Kiddie's directions
and advice were always too practical to be ignored. Rube followed them
exactly.
It would have been well for him if before starting he had also paid
more serious heed to Kiddie's suggestion regarding the weather. But
Kiddie had not insisted. Like Rube himself, he had not foreseen more
than a mere evening shower of refreshing rain.
In Rube's absence, Kiddie occupied himself with the ordinary work of
the camp. He was always scrupulously orderly and methodical; never
allowing any refuse to accumulate, always regulating the fire to his
requirements, washing up after every meal, and having a fixed place for
each utensil and for the different kinds of food and stores.
All of his camps were ordered on a similar plan; so much so that one
was a duplicate of another, differing only in situation and natural
surroundings.
It was the same with his packing. The things that were most urgently
needed were always packed last, to be ready to hand on his arrival at a
new pitch.
Over his work, Kiddie watched Rube climbing the mountain side, and once
or twice he whistled to him to let him know that he was going all
right. But very soon Rube disappeared into the brooding gloom of the
cañon, and Kiddie continued with his work until every tin-pot shone
like silver and the whole camp was faultlessly tidy.
"Queer how fond of that boy I've got to be," he said to himself. "I'm
missing him already." He glanced round at the mountain tops and the
lowering clouds. "Don't like the look of that mist that's rolling
down," he reflected. "He ought to turn back; but I don't suppose he
will. Hullo! he's disturbed the eagles! I hope he got a good view of
them first."
The majestic pair of birds had taken wing, and were now gliding on
seemingly motionless pinions through the misty air. Kiddie watched
them as they crossed over the lake, growing smaller and smaller until
they became tiny specks in the distance and were lost to sight among
the dark ravines of the Rattlesnake Range.
At dusk, when it was time for Rube's return, Kiddie got ready some
venison cutlets and chipped potatoes for frying with them for supper.
But before beginning his cooking he waited until he should hear Rube's
signal call from afar. He sat by the fire listening for it with his
eyes bent on the slope of the hill where he expected Rube to appear.
The long minutes went by, but he heard no signal call and saw no sign
of his companion. Still, he was not anxious. Rube might be sheltering
from the rain under the lee of some rock.
The mist on the mountains thickened, the darkness of night and the
drizzling rain blotted out all landmarks.
Kiddie whistled at regular intervals--a long, penetrating whistle it
was. He piled more fuel on the fire, so that the glow might serve as a
guide. He knew that there would be no use in going out in search of
Rube. They might so easily miss each other in these trackless wilds;
unless indeed, Rube was hurt and unable to move about. Climbing in the
fog among rocks slippery with rain and wet moss, he was likely enough
to have missed his footing and injured a limb in his fall.
This thought that Rube was possibly lying helpless on the crags began
to worry Kiddie as the night grew late. He blamed himself for having
allowed the boy to go forth alone on such a hazardous adventure.
"It's the kind of thing I'd have done myself when I was his age," he
reflected. "I can't blame Rube. But I ought to have stopped him from
going when I saw that there was rain coming on and saw the mist
gathering on the hills. Pity we didn't bring the hound with us after
all. Sheila would sure have found him."
Fearing that he might yet have to go out in search of the boy, he
cooked his own supper. He had already packed all his stores under the
shelter of the wigwam and the canoe, covering the latter with the
ground-sheet. He had also lighted the hurricane lamp and suspended it
from the top of the totem pole.
He ate his supper in the teepee, but more than once got up from the
solitary meal to open the door-flap and look out searchingly in the
darkness for signs of Rube.
Towards midnight the light of the moon behind the clouds lessened the
surrounding darkness. He could dimly distinguish the mountain ridges,
outlined against the sky. The rain had ceased. The mist had lifted
from the heights; but it still hung in fantastic layers between the
walls of Lone Wolf Cañon.
"If it's only the fog that's kept him, he ought to be back in camp
within another hour," he told himself, as the moon broke through a rack
of drifting clouds.
He waited for a while, and then renewed his whistling, sending messages
in the Morse code, which Rube very well understood.
But no answer came; only the repeated echoes of his own shrill whistle.
An hour went by, and yet another hour.
"Rube's wise in his way," Kiddie meditated. "I guess he's having a
sleep up there rather than risk his neck by climbing down that
precipice in the dark. There's no moonlight deep down in the cañon.
Quite right of him to wait until sunrise."
Thus arguing, Kiddie entered the teepee, dropped the door-flap, and
turned into his sleeping-bag.
But he did not sleep. All the while he lay listening and at the same
time trying to realize just what had happened to Rube. It was his
excellent habit when puzzling out any such problem as this to imagine
himself to be the other person and to figure himself in that other
person's situation. He did not consider what he himself would do in
the circumstances, but what the other, having a different character,
would attempt.
And so it was now. He imagined himself to be Rube Carter climbing
across the face of a steep precipice overhanging a chasm so deep and
narrow that the level strip of rocky ground at the base of it could not
be seen. A false step, a slip of foot or hand, would mean a fall to
certain death.
But Rube was too good and cautious a climber to make a mistake. He had
got near enough to the eagles to startle them into flight, and this had
happened just before the mist had rolled down the mountain sides into
the cañon.
Now, Rube knew well that to climb down a precipice is always more
difficult than the ascent; and that to attempt the descent in a thick
mist was doubly perilous. Kiddie argued, therefore, that Rube had
either remained where he was when overtaken by the mist, or else that
he had climbed farther up the mountain. This, indeed, was in any case
the safer way, and although it would mean a long and weary tramp back
to camp, still he might be expected soon after daybreak.
From earliest dawn until long after sunrise, Kiddie waited in hope, and
when Rube did not return he resolved to go out in search of him.
If Rube were seriously hurt, it would be necessary to take him home to
Birkenshaw's with the least possible delay. Kiddie therefore packed up
the teepee and the stores in the canoe and left the latter ready for
launching. He took his rifle and revolvers with him, filled his
haversack with food, and did not neglect to take his pocket box of
surgical dressings. In case Rube should return in his absence, he left
a message in picture-writing on the paddle of the canoe.
He followed Rube's direction over the shoulder of the mountain, and
then began to look for tracks, finding them now and again, and
particularly at the point where Rube had left the hill-side to begin
his difficult climb across the face of the precipice. Here he had
dropped a stick that he had carried, and he had evidently sat down to
tighten the thongs of his moccasins. Kiddie had now no doubt of his
way. He knew that Rube would instinctively take the easiest and
quickest course to the eagles' nest.
He found the place without much difficulty, and had proof in some
detached fragments of moss and lichen that Rube had been here in
advance of him, and had been able to look down into the eagles' nest,
where the female was even now sitting unconcerned on her eggs.
Kiddie did not disturb her, as Rube had probably done. Instead, he
searched for signs of Rube himself.
Yes, Rube had not attempted the perilous descent. He had waited until
the rain had ceased and the mist had lifted. High up above where he
stood, Kiddie saw the scratch of a slipping foot on the wet moss, which
showed that Rube had climbed upward. Again, still higher up, there was
a similar mark, and above this the way was easy as a step-ladder,
needing only very ordinary care, a sure foot, and steady nerves.
At the top of the ascent Kiddie came out upon the farther side of Lone
Wolf Mountain, which now interposed between him and Sweetwater Lake.
To reach the lake side he must either return as he came, or else cross
the next valley and work his way round the base of the mountain. He
judged that Rube had not hesitated to take the latter and longer course.
He walked round in a circle, searching for a track in the soft ground,
and at last he came upon the impression of Rube's moccasins. He
followed their direction. Presently he realized that Rube had been
running and that his tracks were leading in quite an unexpected
direction.
Greatly wondering, Kiddie went on and on. Then he came to an abrupt
stop and stood staring in astonished alarm at the ground. At his feet
lay two crumpled up eagle's feathers. A yard or so away from them was
Rube's fur cap, pierced by an Indian arrow. And all around were the
confused impressions of Indians' feet.
Kiddie drew a long breath as he picked up the boy's hat.
"That's the way of it," he said. "That's why Rube never came back.
He's been captured by Indians!"