THE CRY OF THE JAY
Up to the point to which Kiddie had tracked him, Rube Carter had done
precisely what Kiddie had conjectured he would do. He had reached the
eagles' eyrie just as the mist began to envelop him and cut off his
direct retreat.
He had not deliberately startled the birds to flight. The male had
been perched like a faithful sentinel on a point of rock, above his
mate sitting on her eggs. Rube had a long, close view of the pair of
them, and had watched without molesting them. But presently he had the
boyish idea that it would be interesting to see and count their eggs,
and take note of how their nest was lined.
Cautiously he approached the nest, moving very slowly and stealthily.
But the guardian male resented this bold intrusion, and attacked him
with beak and talons and fiercely-flapping wings.
Rube drew his revolver, but did not shoot. He used the weapon only as
a club with which to defend himself, while he sheltered his body from
the assault by crouching low, with his back wedged in a cleft of rock.
The eagle pursued him there and glared at him menacingly. He had what
he afterwards called a grand sight of the bird's wonderful clear eyes,
its hooked beak, and its wicked-looking claws, and he marvelled at the
enormous stretch of its pinions.
Once it made a dash at him, spreading itself close against the wall of
rock, covering him like a cloak. He thrust out his free hand to grab
at one of its legs, but, missing the leg, he seized hold of its tail,
pulling out three of the long white plumes. He crouched still closer
in his shelter, where neither beak nor talon could touch him. And soon
the eagle drew off.
When at length he raised his head to investigate, he saw the two birds
rising through the misty air and flying off together over the mountains.
Rain was now falling heavily, and the mist was thickening. He heard
the whisper of the mountain streams growing louder and louder until it
became a deep, prolonged murmur. Quite near to him a torrent of brown,
foaming water was rushing and leaping down the steep.
Rube knew it would be futile to attempt to return to camp before
daybreak. He judged that Kiddie would understand his absence and not
worry unduly. So he ate what food he had brought in his haversack,
and, regardless of the driving rain, curled himself up to try to sleep.
Once during the long, uncomfortable night he heard from afar, or
fancied that he heard, Kiddie's familiar, penetrating whistle. He knew
that his own comparatively feeble whistle in response would not carry
far enough to be even faintly heard. There were no means by which he
could send back an answering signal. No fire smoke or fitful glow
could be seen, no cry or call be heard.
Later in the night, when the moon broke through the clouds, he again
very faintly caught the sound of Kiddie's whistle; so faintly that he
could not distinguish the notes which he believed were being sent forth
as a message in the Morse code.
Rube held his breath and listened; but all that he heard now to break
the silence of the vast desolation was the weird howl of some far away
koshinee--the dreaded buffalo wolf of the prairies.
When the rain had ceased, and the black mountain peaks could be seen
against the lesser blackness of the sky, he still thought it prudent to
remain where he was.
One of the last things that Kiddie had said to him was: "Be careful.
Don't hurry; don't worry," and, rather than risk a climb up the wet and
slippery rocks, he again curled himself up and closed his eyes in sleep.
The red dawn was breaking when he awoke shivering with cold. His
buckskin clothes were wet and clammy, and his limbs were stiff.
He sat up and looked about him.
The two eagles had returned and were exactly as he had seen them at
first, the male keeping sentry on the point of rock above his nested
mate. The mountain torrents still babbled. On the farther side of the
cañon was a beautiful waterfall as white as chalk against the indigo
darkness of the cliff down which it leapt into the unseen depths. The
jagged shapes of the mountains were now exceedingly clear, showing alp
above alp into the far blue distance.
Rube was excessively hungry. And there was nothing for him to eat,
unless indeed he had chosen to make a meal of a fragment of rabbit
flesh that had fallen from the eagles' nest.
"Wonder what Kiddie's havin' for breakfast!" he said to himself
longingly. "Fried kidney, I expect, outer that stag he shot. Guess
he'll be worryin' some 'bout my not bein' back in camp yet. I'd best
quit an' get back right away. No; I ain't goin' back the way I come.
I'm figurin' as th' easiest an' safest way's ter climb up higher an'
then make tracks across Lone Wolf Mountain an' down to the lake.
That's what Kiddie'd do, I reckon."
He looked upward, calculating his direction. Before he moved away he
picked up his eagle plumes. He had been lying on them; their
feathering was ruffled and their quills were fractured. Still, they
were worth preserving as trophies of his adventure.
The ascent of the cliff was not difficult, though at first he made two
or three awkward slips on the wet moss and lichen. After a while the
climbing became quite easy, and he reached the rounded shoulder of Lone
Wolf Mountain without difficulty. Here, however--as Kiddie afterwards
discovered--he was obliged to make a long detour in order to get to the
farther side of the mountain.
Rube started off at a brisk walk, and was in hopes of reaching camp
early in the forenoon. The wild desolation of these mountain heights
oppressed him. So much so that he was startled by the cry of a jay.
He looked round, thinking it strange that such a bird should live
here--here, where there were no trees and none of the smaller animals
for a jay to kill and feed upon.
As he turned, he saw a movement beside an outcropping rock. At the
same instant something like the buzz of a large insect sounded close
over his head. He saw an arrow strike the ground and remain upright,
trembling with the impact.
Rube knew now the meaning of the jay's cry. It was not the cry of a
bird, but the signal call of an Indian.
He started to run in his original direction, but he had not gone more
than a hundred yards when another arrow struck his cap, taking it off.
He staggered, then, taking a new direction, ran a few strides, then
stopped in hesitation, seeing an Indian rise to his knees, fixing an
arrow to his bowstring.
With a quick glance Rube realized that he was surrounded, and that
there was no way of escape, no shelter of any sort on the barren
mountain side. He drew his revolver as the Redskins closed in upon him.
Just as he was about to press the trigger, he reflected upon the
inevitable consequences. They would capture him in any case; he could
not escape. But if he killed one of their tribe they would torture him
to death; whereas, if he quietly submitted, there would still be a
chance of his being set free and unharmed.
The Indians had already seen his pistol, however, and they did not
doubt that he intended to use it. They ran swiftly up to him. One
approached from behind and seized him by the arms.
Rube struggled, but was soon overpowered and flung to the ground, where
his hands were tied to his back. What became of his cap and revolver
he did not see, for a greasy, ill-smelling rag was bound tightly over
his eyes.
They led him away, forcing him to a quick walk down the mountain side,
for miles and miles, it seemed. He often stumbled on the rough ground.
Sometimes he was half-pushed, half-dragged along the rocky side of a
watercourse; more than once he was led waist deep across a rushing
stream that was icy cold. Then there was a steep climb up another
mountain slope and down into a farther valley.
Here the Indians came to a halt. Rube heard the movements of horses,
and presently he was lifted and flung over the back of one of them. He
managed to get comfortably astride, in spite of his imprisoned hands.
Fortunately for himself, he was a good rider and could keep his seat on
the pony's bare back without great difficulty.
All the time he was thinking less of his own position as a captive than
of Kiddie. He knew very surely that Kiddie would be anxious about him.
What would he do? Would he just wait in camp in fretful annoyance?
Rube knew Kiddie pretty well by now; knew that so soon as a reasonable
time had gone by he would judge that an accident of some kind had
caused the delay, and would set out in search.
"Pity I didn't blaze the trail, somehow," Rube reflected. "Dessay
he'll squander heaps of valuable time lookin' fer my dead body along
the foot of the cliffs away down in the cañon. Though I reckon he'd
foller on my tracks as far's he could. If Kiddie noticed that pair of
eagles takin' flight, he'll know it was my bein' near their nest that
scared 'em. He'll make for the nest, sure."
Rube was applying Kiddie's method of imagining himself in the other
person's place, and, following up this process, he decided that it
would not be very long before Kiddie would get on to the track of these
Indians.