CONCLUSION.
Chase was awakened the next morning by the crackling of the fire
which the hunters had replenished at daylight. He started up with a
cheery “good-morning” on his lips, but no sooner was he fairly awake,
than a sight caught his eyes which arrested the words ere they were
spoken. The men, having finished their breakfast, were overhauling his
bundle—or rather one of them was, while the other sat by smoking his
pipe and looking at him. Chase found, too, that the blanket which had
covered him during the night, had been pulled off, and was now rolled
up and tied to the horn of one of the saddles.
“I am to be robbed, I can see that plainly enough,” said Chase, his
heart sinking within him. “I have been afraid of it all along, and it
has come at last. I might as well give up now. But if I am to lose all
my things, I’ll at least have a breakfast in part payment,” he added,
after a moment’s reflection.
The men looked at Chase as he got up, but did not speak to him. He took
down the haunch of venison, and while he was cutting off a portion
of it, the hunter who was examining his bundle, coolly rolled up the
blanket from which he had just arisen, and laid it down beside his
saddle. Chase shivered as he watched the operation, and thought of the
nights he had yet to pass in the mountains, but said nothing. He thrust
some sticks through the slices of venison, and proceeded to roast them
over the flames.
“Now, then,” said the hunter, who had done the most of the talking the
night before, “whar’s them shiners?”
Chase, holding his breakfast with one hand, emptied his pocket with the
other, giving up his hard-earned wages without a word of remonstrance.
“Be these all you’ve got?” asked the man.
“Every cent. If you don’t believe it, you can go through me.”
The man took him at his word, turning all his pockets inside out,
passing his hand around his neck to make sure that he did not carry a
purse suspended beneath his shirt, and even feeling of the seams of his
trowsers and jacket. Having satisfied himself that the boy had told the
truth, he ordered him to pull off his boots. Chase obeyed, shaking each
one as he did so, to show that there was nothing in it.
“O, I know you hain’t got no more money,” said the man, impatiently.
“Hand them boots here. They’re too big for you, an’ mebbe they’ll fit
me.”
“Now you are not barbarian enough to turn me adrift in this wilderness
at this time of the year barefooted, are you?” cried Chase, in great
alarm.
“You cook that grub o’ your’n, an’ let it stop your mouth; that’s the
best thing you can do,” was the reply.
Chase thought so too. The savage look on the man’s face frightened him,
and he told himself that he would not object again, no matter what they
did to him.
The hunter pulled off his moccasins and proceeded to draw on Chase’s
boots, which, contrary to the boy’s hopes, fitted him as if they had
been made for him. He grunted out his satisfaction, and picking up
his moccasins was about to toss them to Chase, when his companion
interposed. “Hand ’em here,” said he. “I reckon I can use ’em as well
as anybody.”
The hunter accordingly passed the moccasins to his friend, who drew
them on over his own, and Chase settled back on the ground with a
despairing sigh. He was to be left barefooted, sure enough.
The men having appropriated every article of value that Chase possessed
(fortunately they did not think his pocket-knife and the contents of
his bundle worth stealing), brought up their horses, and while one put
the saddles on them, the other employed himself in gathering their
luggage together, not even forgetting what remained of the haunch of
venison, which Chase hoped they would leave behind them. When all was
ready for the start, they mounted and one rode off at once, while the
other stopped to say a parting word to the boy. “No follerin’ now,” he
exclaimed, savagely. “If we set eyes on you agin, you won’t get off so
easy.”
The hunter then rode on after his companion, and Chase was left alone.
So stunned and bewildered was he that he could scarcely realize his
situation. Hardly knowing what he was about, he replenished the fire,
cooked and ate his slices of venison, and then picking up the only
extra shirt he possessed, set to work to cut it into strips, so that he
could make of it some protection for his feet. He could not stay there
and starve while he had the strength to move, and neither could he
travel barefooted over those frosty stones. Having wrapped up his feet
as well as he could, he bundled up his clothes and resumed his journey.
In after life, Chase was never able to tell just what happened during
the two weeks following the night he spent in the hunters’ camp. He
knew that he lived through them, and that was all he did know. During
all this time he was lost—there was not a road or a path to be found
anywhere. While daylight lasted he picked his way wearily over logs
and rocks and through tangled thickets, and at night sat beside his
lonely fire, shivering with the cold and thinking of home. Fortunately
he had a flint and steel and an abundance of tinder, and fortunately,
too, grouse were plenty and he knew how to snare them, so that he never
suffered for want of food. The clothing in his bundle was gradually
used up for protection for his feet, and he had not yet been able to
make up his mind what he would do when the last piece was gone.
One day he found himself standing on the brink of a precipice
overlooking a valley, about ten miles in circumference. In attempting
to work his way to the bottom he missed his footing and fell, bruising
himself severely and tearing his clothing almost into shreds. He had a
roasted grouse in each hand, to which he held fast; and when he had
rested a few minutes, leaning against the boulder which had stopped
him in his descent, he arose and struggled forward again. After some
trouble he succeeded in finding an outlet to the valley, which was a
rocky gorge running between lofty mountains. He camped in the mouth of
this gorge, and on the afternoon of the next day found himself within
sight of the prairie. His hopes rose a moment, and then sank to zero
again. There were no more mountains and gullies to be passed, but
there was many a mile of prairie to be traversed, and he was in just
as much danger of being hopelessly bewildered and lost, as he had been
at any time during his journey. While he was thinking about it, he
came suddenly around a tall rock, which jutted out into the gorge like
a promontory into the ocean, and was brought to a stand-still by an
unexpected sight. A drove of horses were on the point of entering the
gorge. They were close upon him, and Chase, to save himself from being
run down by them, sprang quickly behind the nearest tree. The horses
saw him and swerved from their course, and at the same time Chase
heard some words addressed to him by a horseman who was riding in the
rear of the drove. He was sure the words were addressed to him, for the
horseman looked straight toward him, and, more than that, he raised his
hand and shook something at him. It was the first time for many a long
day that Chase had heard the sound of a human voice, but it was not a
welcome sound, for he thought he recognised the horseman. It was one
of the hunters who had robbed him. Remembering the parting threat they
had uttered, Chase turned and retreated up the hill with all possible
speed. Before he reached the top he heard the horses rushing down the
gorge, and then the sound of voices came to his ears. No doubt the
hunters believed that he had followed them, and were about to hunt
him up and do something terrible to him. Frightened at the thought,
Chase crept away and hid himself in a hollow log, from which he never
ventured out again until long after dark.
The week following this incident was another memorable one to the
wanderer. He was lost again. The mountains were full of gullies, which
crossed and recrossed one another in every direction, and he could not
find the prairie. He knew which way he ought to go, for the sun told
him; but none of the gullies ran that way, and their sides were much
too steep to be scaled. Turn which way he would, nothing but rocks and
stunted trees met his gaze.
Finally the last bone of the last grouse he had snared was picked clean
and thrown away, and for the first time Chase began to suffer from the
pangs of hunger. That same day, too, something came which he had long
been dreading—a snow-storm. It was wonderful how rapidly it increased
in violence when it was once fairly started! The wind which roared up
the gorges could not have been colder if it had come off some of the
icebergs he had seen in going around Cape Horn, and he had never in
his life seen so much snow as he saw during the next few hours. Drifts
began to show themselves. Some of them were a foot or more in depth,
and when Chase waded through them, he felt the snow settling around his
bare ankles. That took all the courage out of him.
“I don’t know what I shall do now,” said he, almost ready to abandon
himself to despair. “I’m snowed up. It will be of no use for me to try
to find the prairie now, for I would not dare go out there; and if I
stay here——”
Chase suddenly stopped, faced quickly about and made an effort to
take to his heels, but the bundle of cloths which he wore on his feet
impeded his progress, tripped him up and he went down in a snowdrift.
Scrambling up with all possible haste, he wiped the snow out of his
eyes, and took a survey of the objects that had excited his alarm.
There was no one in sight; but there was a smouldering fire under
the cliffs, two wagons in the road, one with a broken axletree, two
mules lying dead in the harness, an ox lying dead in his yoke, and the
remains of another, which had been butchered, close by him. There were
plenty of footprints about, and the persons who made them could not
have been long absent, for the snow, which constantly sifted down from
the bluffs above, had not yet filled them entirely up.
“They’re gone!” said Chase, looking all around, “and even if they
should come back and should prove to be enemies, they could not have
the heart to refuse me something to eat. The men who robbed me gave me
a supper and breakfast.”
Encouraged by these thoughts, Chase drew near and looked into both
the wagons, examined the footprints, to see whether those who made
them were white men or Indians, and then raking the coals together
and blowing them into a blaze with his hat, piled on some wood that
happened to be lying near, and went to the slaughtered ox to select a
piece of meat for his dinner.
“Something is always happening just in the nick of time,” said Chase,
as he turned the piece of meat before the fire. “My affairs may take
a turn for the better yet. I noticed a pair of boots in one of those
wagons—pretty well worn, it is true, but much better than what I have
been wearing during the last three weeks, and also some clothing that
will perhaps be more comfortable than this I have on. I hope the owners
will not return until I have had time to make a selection from their
store. It is always darkest just before daylight.”
Yes, and Chase’s day was just on the point of dawning. While he was
talking thus with himself, the sound of footsteps in the snow caused
him to look up in alarm. There was a party approaching, but there was
nothing in the appearance of those who composed it to induce Chase to
flee from them. He felt more like running to meet them. The new-comers
were the Pike and his family. The old man led the way with a bundle
thrown over his shoulder, and a child on each arm. He seemed surprised
to see Chase, but was as profuse in his offers of hospitality as he had
been when Archie Winters and his two companions first entered his camp.
“How do, stranger?” said he, cheerfully. “Making yourself to home, eh?
That’s right. It hain’t much we’ve got to offer now, but you’re as
welcome as the flowers of May.”
“Is this your property, sir?” asked the boy.
“Yes, and it is all I have left of what I brought with me from the
States.”
“You have met with an accident?”
“Yes, and been robbed!”
“By Indians?”
“No; by white men!”
“I was served the same way,” said Chase, in alarm. “I hope they have
gone away.”
“O, yes. They’ve taken all that is worth stealing, and there is no
fear that they will come back. But they left me this,” said the Pike,
patting his bundle as he placed it carefully on the ground, “and I can
soon replace what I have lost. I’ve got a million dollars here.”
“Why, I should think they would have taken it from you,” said Chase,
looking doubtfully at the man and wondering if he was in his right mind.
“It would have been of no use to them—that’s the reason they didn’t
take it.”
Chase glanced at the Pike’s wife and children, who ranged themselves on
the opposite side of the fire without saying a word, and then turned
his attention to the man himself, who began undoing his bundle, finally
disclosing to view the machine which was to run his quartz-mill when he
reached his gold-mine in the mountains. Chase, unable to make out what
it was, asked some questions concerning it, but the Pike was too busy
to reply. Reuben, with whom he next tried to be sociable, didn’t want
to talk or didn’t know how; but the woman had a tongue and it was a
matter of no difficulty to set it going.
While Chase was eating his meat, and listening to her story of the
adventures that had lately befallen herself and family, another
party approached the camp-fire—three boys about Chase’s own age,
who came plodding along through the snow with bundles thrown over
their shoulders. They looked at Chase in great amazement, and one of
them said, in a voice which he meant should be audible only to his
companions, but whose shrill, piping tones nevertheless reached the
wanderer’s ear and set his heart to beating like a trip-hammer—
“Hallo! who is this stranger, and where did the Pike pick him up?”
The boys behind looked over their leader’s shoulder to see who the
stranger was, and Chase heard one of them exclaim: “I declare, that’s
the Wild Man of the Woods, fellows! He’s the one who frightened the
horses!”
As the three boys drew nearer Chase’s heart continued to beat loudly,
and his eyes began to open with amazement. He looked again and again,
brushing away a mist that appeared to obstruct his vision, and then
sat as motionless as if he had been turned into one of the boulders
that lay scattered around. He noticed, too, that something created
a commotion among the approaching boys. The one in front uttered an
exclamation that quickly brought the one in the rear to his side,
and the two stood looking first at Chase, then at each other, and
whispering eagerly. At length one of them called out abruptly:
“Say, fellow, who are you?”
“O, Eugene!” was all poor Chase could say He had borne up bravely so
far, but he could bear up no longer. To hear the tones of a familiar
and kindly voice out there in that wilderness, when he had thought
himself a thousand miles from everybody he had ever seen or heard
of, was too much for the wanderer in his demoralized condition. He
leaned his hands upon his knees, buried his face in them and sobbed
convulsively.
“It _is_ Hank, as sure as the world!” cried both Fred and Eugene, in
tones which showed that they were not quite ready to believe it after
all.
They dropped their bundles, and hurrying up to the long lost boy threw
themselves down one on each side of him. “Look up, Hank,” said Eugene,
“and let us see if it is really you. Speak to a fellow, can’t you?”
But Chase could neither look up nor speak. His tears flowed freely as
he rocked himself back and forth on the ground. His two friends glanced
at his tattered clothing, at the rags which covered his feet, then
at his blue cold hands, and the eyes they raised to Archie Winters’s
astonished face were not dry by any means. Fred nodded his head toward
one of the bundles, and Archie understanding the sign, quickly untied
it, and handed out a pair of blankets which Fred and Eugene threw over
Chase’s shivering form, and then patiently waited for him to speak,
resting their arms over his shoulders meanwhile, as if to assure him of
their protection.
“He is a friend of ours,” said Featherweight, in answer to an inquiring
look from the Pike and his wife. “He lives near us in Louisiana, and
used to go to school with us.”
“Well, I do think in my soul!” cried the worthy couple, in concert.
“Yes. The last time we saw him was in Cuba, and how he ever came out
here is a mystery.”
And of course it remained a mystery until Chase was ready to explain,
which he did as soon as he was warmed up both inside and out. A cup of
hot coffee (fortunately there proved to be enough of the coffee-pot
left to serve the purpose for which it was originally intended), a
roaring fire, the substitution of a pair of stockings and boots for the
insufficient protection his feet had known during the last few days,
and, better than all, the knowledge that he was among friends again,
worked a wonderful change in the wanderer. Every one about the fire
listened eagerly while he related the story of his trials, and when he
concluded, Eugene told what had happened to the Sportsman’s Club since
they had last seen Chase in Cuba; so that it was long after midnight
before a wink of sleep was had about that fire by any but the Pike’s
children.
Hemlock boughs for beds and wood for the fire were plenty; so were
blankets, such as they were; the overhanging cliff protected them from
the storm; and Chase once more slept soundly and without suffering from
the cold. The next day the boys all went out to the mouth of the gorge
to see if there were any signs of their friends, and Archie added that
sentence to the notice he had already written on the beech tree. It
would have been nearer correct had he written it: “Chase has found us.”
The very next day the looked-for help arrived, and then there was a
jubilee indeed! Chase’s story had to be told all over again, and
it lost nothing in the telling, for those who had already heard it
were just as much interested in it as were the new-comers. No less
interesting to Frank, Walter and the rest of the Club, was the history
of the exploits that Archie and his two companions had performed since
leaving Fort Bolton. They had actually succeeded in capturing the wild
horse, and it was through no fault or mismanagement of their own that
they had lost him. Of course everybody sympathized with them, and
Archie was the hero of the hour.
The storm abated that night, and early the next morning preparations
were made to return to the Fort. Dick and old Bob superintended the
work, and in a very short space of time their horses, which had never
worn a collar before, were harnessed to the uninjured wagon; and when
Chase, and the Pike and all his belongings, had been put into it, the
journey was commenced. It lasted four days, but the travellers enjoyed
themselves in spite of the cold weather that set in after the storm.
Chase remained at the Fort only one day—just long enough to provide
himself with suitable clothing; and when Uncle Dick had furnished him
with funds enough to bear all his expenses, the Club went down to the
station to see him started on his way home. A happier or more grateful
boy than Chase was that day never lived. The Club often heard of him
after that. While they were prosecuting their voyage around the world,
he and Wilson were attending the Bellville Academy—the new buildings
having been completed by this time,—and they made it a point to keep
their friends on board the Stranger posted in all that went on there.
Having seen Chase off, and the Pike and his family settled for the
winter in comfortable quarters near the Fort, the Club began active
preparations for their journey across the mountains. Old Winter had
only just “shown his teeth,” so Dick Lewis said. The roads were not
yet impassable, but soon would be, and if the journey to San Francisco
was to be made that winter, it must be undertaken at once. So the
Club started without delay, Dick and old Bob acting as guides. Of the
adventures that befell them at the other end of their journey, we shall
have something to say in “FRANK NELSON IN THE FORECASTLE; OR, THE
SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE WHALERS.”
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardized but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Footnote has been placed at end of respective chapter.