owners of former days--cruel, stupid, unsympathetic, utterly unable to
understand the peasants whom fate had placed at their mercy, or to treat
them with intelligent consideration; not even wise enough to keep within
the laws as to the rights of manor-lord and peasant, but exacting more
labour than they were by law entitled to, and, in a word, treating them
as very slaves, instead of as--what they really were, or ought to have
been--semi-free peasants holding land allotments for which they paid
rent by the labour of their hands.
For two whole months and a week the poor mother wept as much as she
dared, for she could in no wise get over the loss of her darling. In
vain the mistress threatened, and her companions, fatalists all, argued.
The soul of the mother refused comfort; she still mourned for her baby
boy.
Then, one glad day, the most astonishing, marvellous, and joyful thing
happened that any one in the village had ever heard tell of. The wise
woman said that it was certainly a miracle, and pointed out that she
herself had always prophesied a wonderful future for the little son of
the widow Fedosia. The marvel, for it was nothing less, was in this
wise. A moujik happened, as he declared, to be walking about in the
woods (he was stealing firewood, as a matter of fact, but that detail
did not appear in the man's tale) when he suddenly saw one of the most
astonishing spectacles that ever the eye of moujik beheld. A large wolf,
a she-wolf, lay fast asleep under the shade of a spreading pine, and
around her gambolled a whole family of little wolves, amongst which was
a small form which Ivan first of all took to be a _lieshui_, or
wood-spirit, but soon decided could be none other than a human child. It
played quite naturally with the little wolflings its companions, and
presently went for refreshment to the old she-wolf, just exactly as they
did.
Ivan did not know, what is nevertheless the case, that ever since the
world began there have been tales and legends, some well authenticated,
of lost human babes being fed and protected by she-wolves, the maternal
instincts of which animals seem to be most highly developed.
The peasant was, naturally, much alarmed. He stood and stared, crossing
himself and praying, as he declared, for quite a long while, not able to
decide what would be the best course to pursue. It was Fedosia's child.
He was soon certain of that fact, for when he had collected his
scattered wits he recognized the infant; but what was to be done in
order to make sure of securing the boy while driving away the wolf to a
safe distance? He was not afraid for himself, for he had his axe at his
girdle, but he was in terror lest the old wolf should awake suddenly,
and, perceiving him, either make off with the baby, or else gobble it up
or injure it, then and there, in the excitement of the moment. However,
something must be done, for he must have the baby at all hazards; so,
after reflection, Ivan decided to awake the old mother with a shout, and
then rush in before she should have time to attend to her human
foster-child.
Ivan crossed himself, took a deep breath, yelled his very loudest, and
ran in. In an instant big wolf and little wolves were all on their feet
and half a score of yards away, galloping through the pines in a long
grey procession, quick as the flight of a thought, the little human baby
trying its utmost to follow and keep up with them, scrambling on feet
and hands, but lagging hopelessly behind, though it crawled quickly--far
quicker than Ivan had ever before believed a child capable of getting
over the ground in that way. The wolves disappeared in the density of
the forest, and Ivan made after the poor little scrambling amateur wolf,
and caught him without much difficulty, though the savage little thing
bit and scratched at him, emitting queer growls and snarls, as though it
had acquired the ferocious spirit of its foster-mother. Ivan had
considerable difficulty in carrying the little savage home, for it
struggled and fought the entire way. Once or twice he put it down upon
the ground in order to rest his arms, when it would make off on all
fours as fast as it could in the direction of the forest.
I must not attempt to describe the joy of the mother when, in the
evening, she returned to find her house filled with neighbours who
surrounded, and cried over, and attempted to fondle the little one,
recovered, as it were, from the very depths of the grave. The wise woman
was there among others, pronouncing charms over the fierce little
creature, in order to exorcise the savage spirit which had usurped its
breast. It did not appear that these exorcisms produced much discernible
effect, for as soon as any one touched or attempted to approach the
child, it still bit and clawed at them with its tiny brown hands and
long, sharp nails with the greatest energy and spirit. Even the poor
mother, weeping and laughing, and thanking God by turns, was scarcely
more successful than her neighbours in placating it; but in her joy at
finding the child alive and well she thought little of so trifling a
drawback to her perfect happiness. "He will soon learn to know his
mother again," she said, with true maternal instinct. "God has sent him
back to me from the jaws of the wolves. That is enough of mercy for the
present. My Petka will soon love his mother. If a savage wolf could
teach him to love her so well, cannot I, his own mother, find his heart?
Good-night, neighbours, and thank you all for your sympathy. God has
been good to the poor widow. In a week Petka will be wholly mine."
The widow was right. Gradually the child, who had temporarily forgotten
his own mother during his association with his foster parent and
brothers and sisters, became humanized; and gradually the present began
to efface the lately past, just as it must have done when he first fell
into the company of the wolves; and his mother day by day enjoyed the
rapture of seeing how her own influence was perceptibly gaining ground
in the child's affections. From the very first evening he no longer bit
and scratched at her when she came near, for he soon comprehended that
there was nothing to fear from this amiable human being whose presence
had filled him, at the beginning, with terror and suspicion.
The key to the heart with animals, and, to a certain extent, with little
children, is through the stomach, and the tiny wolf-boy soon learned
whence to expect his rations. He was fed upon bread and milk, and took
kindly to the new food, though it was impossible to administer it with a
spoon. He would, for the first day or two, lie upon the floor with the
basin in front of him, and get at the food as best he could, making a
terrible mess of the place, and growling in a ridiculous cat-like manner
as he consumed it, and until the last drop was finished.
He had arrived at his old home naked, as might be expected, and it was
some little while before he could be persuaded to wear any clothes put
upon him by his mother. Gradually, however, he learned to sit upon his
mother's lap, and allowed himself to be nursed, and washed, and fondled,
and dressed, like ordinary children. He was not, indeed, to be touched
by any of the neighbours. It was long before he would trust any one but
his mother, but to Fedosia herself he was tame.
As the boy grew older and learned to talk, he lost all his wolfishness,
excepting that it occasionally showed itself in bursts of savage passion
if irritated, when he would relapse into wolfish ways until the fit
passed off, giving vent the while to the most curious sounds, half
growling and half articulate, which at once betrayed his connection with
the lower animals.
Moreover, he never lost that love for the open air and for the freedom
of the forest which he had acquired while in the society of his
foster-brethren. He loved to roam about the woods seeking mushrooms, or
dreaming beneath the pine trees; but as years went on, and he became
strong enough to carry a gun, he became a matchless wood-craftsman. He
was a hunter from the top of his head to the sole of his foot--savage in
the pursuit of every bird and beast, with one exception: nothing would
ever induce him to shoot a wolf. Whether his aversion to the very idea
of killing one of those animals sprang from any natural instinct of
personal connection with them, or whether from an equally natural sense
of gratitude for the great service which his foster-mother had
undoubtedly rendered him in cherishing and suckling him in the old days,
it is impossible to say, but the fact remained that he would never raise
his hand to do hurt to any member of the family, nor would he suffer any
one else in the village to injure one. For this reason, and on account
of his experiences as a baby, Petka had been christened by his
companions "Volkitch," or Wolfson, and by this name alone he was known.
As time went on, Volkitch came to be renowned for miles around by reason
of his marvellous skill and courage as a hunter of every conceivable
animal, great or small. He had inherited from his foster-relations a
singular faculty for tracking and stalking, and could glide through the
cover as stealthily as one of themselves, or as one of the foxes which
formed an important objective for his hunting expeditions. He made his
living and supported his mother by means of this instinct or talent in
the pursuit of game, selling the skins to a dealer in the nearest town,
and hawking grouse, black-game, and other birds about the country on
those days when he was free to do so--that is, when his services were
not required by the manor-lord.
The latter was a late acquisition to the community. His father and
predecessor as lord of the manor was, happily for the peasants, dead. He
had been a thoroughly bad master to them while alive--cruel and unjust,
disregarding alike the laws of the emperors Paul and Nicholas and those
of common humanity, exacting four and even as many as six days in the
week in labour from the serfs, instead of the maximum three, as by the
law of Paul enjoined. Worse than this, he had sold or exchanged serfs,
separating families which had in any way made themselves obnoxious to
him, and thus severing their connection with the land of their fathers,
of which he had no right to deprive them.
The present lord was a young fellow of about five-and-twenty, scarcely
older than Volkitch himself, who was now of age, and a strapping, strong
lad, active and powerful as the creatures which gave him his name. The
young lord, though infinitely juster and more humane than his late
father, was still imbued with some of the autocratic spirit of his
predecessor--haughty and arrogant. He treated the moujiks as beings of
an altogether inferior order, and though he bore himself towards them
with strict legality, and allowed them the full rights and privileges to
which they were by law entitled, yet he never showed them the slightest
personal sympathy or took any notice of them beyond occasionally
swearing at them or gruffly bidding them do this or that. There was,
however, one exception to this rule of hauteur towards his serfs; for
the manor-lord invariably showed himself kindly disposed towards
Volkitch, the great hunter. Sportsman himself, he admired this young
Nimrod's wonderful skill in every matter bearing upon the pursuit of
wild animals, and was glad enough to have Petka with him when out in the
forest after game. Together they hunted the wily lynx, pursuing it on
snowshoes until they tired it out and "treed" it; or attacked the sleepy
bear in his den, disturbing his winter's rest with the rude awakening of
the long pole, and smashing in his brain with axe or bullet as he rushed
out to wreak his vengeance upon the destroyers of his peace.
But it was an understood thing between the lord and his hunter that
wolves were to be exempt from attack. It was a sign of grace on the
part of the young man that he should thus have humoured his companion in
this matter; but there was another reason for his concession besides
that of desiring to keep on good terms with the wolfman. It was a very
remarkable thing, and yet nevertheless an actual fact, that wolves,
though occasionally known to be in the neighbourhood of Dubina--indeed,
any one could hear them howling at night often enough--never either
attacked the peasants of that privileged village, or attempted to carry
off their dogs, their cattle, or anything that was theirs. The wise
woman declared that the reason for this friendly abstention on the part
of the wolves was undoubtedly the presence in the village of Volkitch,
the beloved of wolves, and in a manner their relative. The fact that the
same wolves, while sparing Dubina, frequently carried off the property
of dwellers in neighbouring villages, certainly seemed to lend colour to
the statement of the wise woman, though the priest at Lvof and perhaps a
few other sceptical persons in the district were of opinion that the
"gentlemen in grey," being about as astute and cunning as any creature
that has a vested interest in the forest, were well aware of the
wolfman's presence certainly, but that they kept away from that great
hunter, not out of a sentimental regard for his connection with their
family, of which connection they were probably ignorant, but simply out
of respect for the prowess of Volkitch and the safety of their own grey
skins. However this may have been, it is a fact that they did no hurt to
any fellow-villager of Volkitch, and that was a very admirable
characteristic about the Dubina wolves.
One day, however, something occurred which looked rather as though this
millennium were at an end. A wolf broke into the manor sheep-fold one
winter night, and stole a young lamb. The lord heard the news, and grew
grave and thoughtful, but decided to let the matter pass, out of
consideration for his favourite, the hunter Volkitch. But when, a few
nights later, a second lamb was taken, its haughty owner lost his temper
and sent hurriedly for the wolfman.
"Volkitch," began the barin, when the latter appeared, "you have heard
the news. What is to be done?"
"I will pay for the two lambs," said the hunter, "and I will watch by
night and see that your fold is not robbed again."
"You shall neither pay for the lambs nor watch," said the young lord;
"but it is time this nonsense about wolves was ended. You shall go out
and rid me of this thief, Volkitch."
"I?" said the horrified hunter. "Would you have me slay my own
foster-mother or a relative?"
"Nonsense," said the other. "Your foster-mother, as you call her, and
her children and grandchildren have died out long before this. You have
shown your devotion to her pious memory long enough. Go out and shoot
this beast, as I command you, or--or--well--yes, I will go and rid the
world of the infernal thief myself."
Volkitch looked wolfish and wicked, but he kept his temper.
"I will not go, your mercifulness," he said; "and if you will believe my
honest word, it were better that you did not slay this wolf either. A
worse thing may happen to Dubina than the loss of two lambs."
"I have said that I will slay the thief if I come across it," the barin
insisted. "Now go to your work. Stay; come back here at twelve o'clock
with your gun. I have a fancy to track a hare or two with you this
afternoon."
Volkitch sighed, crossed himself before the ikon, and left the room.
On hearing the wolfman's tale, which that worthy quickly made known at
the village drinking-shop, every moujik present was horrified with the
sacrilegious words of the lord. To them it seemed no less than sacrilege
to speak of slaying wolves, so accustomed were they to the idea that
the wolf was a sacred and privileged creature at Dubina. As for the wise
woman, she did not hesitate to declare that a great calamity would
befall the community if such a thing were to happen as the violent death
of a wolf at the hands of an inhabitant of the place. The hunter himself
did not say much--he was never a great talker; but he looked moody and
wolfish, as was his way when crossed. Nevertheless, he went obediently
to the mansion at noon, as commanded, in order to accompany his master
into the forest for the purpose of ringing and driving a hare or two for
the shooting of the lord of the manor.
Volkitch was as capable in the matter of ringing and driving a hare as
any man that ever wore snowshoes. Within a few minutes a track was found
and singled out from among the mazes of old footprints which covered the
snowy surface of the land (Volkitch could tell at a glance how many days
or hours each track had been made), the barin was placed in position,
and the driving commenced. But before he had proceeded many yards the
young hunter's practised eye detected the track of another and a larger
animal--a wolf. There was evidence that two of these animals had supped
beneath a thicket on the left, for there were the remains of the feast
strewing the ground--bones and the unfinished portion of the carcass of
a lamb. Tracks led away from these remains in the direction of the place
in which the manor-lord had taken his stand: probably Volkitch had
disturbed the wolves in the midst of their mid-day siesta. Filled with
apprehension for the consequences of this unfortunate circumstance, the
hunter rushed at full speed towards the right, in order to drive the
wolf out of dangerous quarters. The next moment came a shot, followed by
a second, and then by a cry of "Volkitch! help!"
The wolfman was not without love for his master, and though angry with
him at this moment, he was not so angry that he would stand still while
the young lord stood in deadly peril of his life.
"I come!" shouted the wolfman.
He came quickly as the wind travels, but he was only just in time. The
young lord had missed a wolf with his first barrel, and firing again had
slightly wounded the savage beast, which instantly turned upon him, and
with a rush and a spring bore him to the ground.
It was at this moment that Volkitch appeared, when the second wolf,
which had been about to dash in to the assistance of its companion, saw
him and made off.
For an instant only the wolfman hesitated, then with a shout of rage he
sprang upon the savage beast that stood snarling and showing its teeth
over the prostrate count.
"You fool!" cried the wolfman. "Would you attack one of my own? I would
have protected you; now you shall die!" He plunged his knife, with the
words, into the heart of the great brute, which glared at him for an
instant with glazing eye, then fell forward, expiring. The count arose
to thank and praise his hunter, but the wolfman took no notice.
"You shall have your freedom, Volkitch, from this day," said his master;
"for you have well earned it." But Volkitch neither smiled nor thanked
him.
For a minute or two the wolfman leaned up against a tree close by,
weeping bitterly; then he turned and fled through the forest.
* * * * *
When the young lord realized, a few days after this, that the wolfman
had finally fled, he inaugurated a great hue and cry after him, for he
was concerned about his hunter, whom he really liked and valued. The
peasants of the villages upon the estate were all pressed to take part
in the search, which lasted for many days; but, though rewards were
offered for his discovery, and though threats of punishment in case of
his non-capture were freely scattered, the moujiks entirely failed to
find any traces of him.
There had been a fresh fall of snow, which had obliterated, they
explained, all tracks. It was impossible to find him; so the chase was,
eventually, abandoned. The young lord rightly conjectured that the
peasants knew more about the matter than they chose to reveal, and
punished certain selected individuals whom he suspected to be more
guilty than the rest; but his severity did not result in the discovery
of the missing hunter.
Meanwhile, the wolfman was not very far away. After his disappearance he
was, at first, invisible, but after a while he began to make occasional
visits to his old home, though only for an hour or two at a time, to see
his mother, and to obtain ammunition and tea. He inhabited an abandoned
woodman's hut in the forest, and was rarely seen by man. It was a
curious and significant circumstance that after his departure the number
of wolves that prowled about the neighbourhood increased quickly;
neither did the village any longer enjoy that immunity from their
depredations which it had known in former days.
Then something happened which changed the whole tenor of the wolfman's
thoughts and opinions in the matter of his foster-relations.
His mother, to whom he was entirely devoted, now an elderly woman, was
wandering through the forest one evening filling her basket with broken
firewood, when she was suddenly attacked by three wolves. Having a small
hatchet in her hand she bravely kept the brutes off, killing one and
wounding another, but being herself badly bitten by the third before she
reached home, more dead than alive with the shock of her adventure and
the terror of it.
When the wolfman heard this, and saw his mother suffering, the scales
fell from his eyes. The sacred animal, from occupying the premier
position in his strange affections, next to that of his own mother, had
suddenly fallen to the lowest. From that day and until he had cleared
the surrounding forests of the enemy, there was terrible warfare between
Volkitch and the wolves. They had become abominable in his eyes, and he
in theirs; he chased them when there were but two or three of them, and
when they were assembled in a pack they chased him.
Once he was seen by a terrified peasant to cross the road, pursued by a
score of howling brutes. The wolfman led by half a dozen paces or so,
and stabbed at his foes, when one presumed to come within reach, with
the dagger he held in one hand, or struck at it with the pistol he
carried in the other. "The wolfman uttered fierce yells as he ran,"
said the peasant, "and laughed in a terrible manner. For certain," he
ended, "he was caught and killed."
[Illustration: "_The wolfman uttered fierce yells as he ran._"
Page 129.]
Yet a week after that evening the wolfman appeared at the manor-house
and announced, to the delight of the lord, that he had come to be his
hunter once again, as of old.
The count laughed, and shook his hand, and spoke kindly to him.
"You are welcome, Volkitch; and for your service to me of last year both
your mother and yourself are free peasants, and shall till your own
soil." After a while he added, "But what of the wolves, Volkitch? Will
you hunt them also now? For there have been many of late, so that they
become a terror in the place. Only last week the peasants say that--"
The wolfman laughed strangely, and his eyes glistened.
"A week ago is a week ago," he said; "but to-day is to-day. The wolves
that lived are dead. Volkitch slew them. I am their enemy. Find me a
wolf and I will kill it."
IN HONOUR BOUND.
"Hullo! What's up?" cried Elbridge Harland as he woke out of a deep
sleep with a sense of being choked, while he struggled to free himself
from the grasp of strong hands suddenly laid upon him. No answer came
but deep guttural grunts; his struggles were futile, his head was
pressed hard into his blankets, and his hands were tightly held behind
him and tied there. The thongs seemed to cut into his wrists, and then
his captors rose and relieved him of their weight. With difficulty he
turned his face round, only to see the copper-hued forms of Indians all
about him, and their bead-like black eyes watching him.
"What is it?" he gasped, recovering his breath. "Tom, where are you? Are
you alive?" He was calling to his companion, Tom Winthrop, another young
Harvard man with whom he had been spending the last three weeks in camp
on the outskirts of Estes Park in the Rocky Mountains.
"I'm here," came the reply in a half-smothered voice. "I'm tied up fast.
How are you? What's happened?"
"I don't know, but I'm tied up fast too," answered Elbridge, by a
violent effort turning over and raising himself to a sitting posture in
spite of his bound hands.
The sight that met his eyes was alarming enough. A dozen armed red-skins
were in possession of their camp; they had seized the two young men's
guns, and were eagerly ransacking the rest of their belongings in search
of plunder. A bunch of Indian ponies stood a little way off. Tom
Winthrop was lying bound upon the ground close by.
"I never dreamed of this," said Elbridge with a groan. "The Longmont
people said"--Longmont was the little town where they had fitted
themselves out for their mountain trip--"that no hostile Indians ever
came up into these mountains, and that the Utes were always friendly,
didn't they?"