THE PURSUIT--CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES OF THE ARTIST--STRATEGIC MOVEMENTS--
SURPRISED IN THE WILD-CAT PASS--MARCH SHOWS COOLNESS AND PLUCK IN THE
HOUR OF DANGER--A TERRIFIC ONSLAUGHT BY A WONDERFUL WARRIOR--THE
BATTLE--HARD KNOCKS AND MYSTERIOUS DIFFERENCES OF OPINION.
Crossing the open ground in front of the Mountain Fort, Bounce and
Bertram entered the wood beyond, and traversed it with comparative ease,
by means of a bridle-path which had been cut there by the fur-traders.
A few minutes' gallop brought them to the other side of the wood, which
was one of those narrow strips or clumps of forest which grow, more or
less thickly, on the skirts of the Rocky Mountains, forming that fine
picturesque region where the prairie and the forest meet and seem to
contend for the mastery.
The plain beyond this belt of wood was open and level--at least,
sufficiently so to enable the two horsemen to see for a considerable
distance around them. Here, in the far distance, they descried their
companions, sweeping over the turf at their utmost speed, and making
towards a low hill or ridge that intercepted the view of the more
distant country.
"They'll have to draw in a bit," said Bounce, turning to his comrade.
"Horses no more nor men can't go helter-skelter up a hill without takin'
breath; so rouse up your beast, Mr Bertram, an' we'll overtake 'em
afore they gits to the t'other side."
Bertram obeyed his friend's command, but made no rejoinder, his thoughts
being too deeply engaged at that moment in a controversy with his
conscience as to the propriety of the business he had then in hand.
The young artist had a deep veneration for abstract truth--truth pure
and simple, not only in reference to morals, but to all things
terrestrial and celestial; and he was deeply impressed with the belief
that what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong, and could
not, by any possibility, be otherwise. He felt, also, that the man who
recognised truth and acted upon it must go right, and he who saw and did
otherwise _must_ go wrong!
Holding this simple creed very tenaciously, and, as we think, very
properly, Bertram nevertheless found that his attempts to act up to it
frequently involved him in a maze of perplexities.
On the present occasion, as he and Bounce thundered over the green turf
of the flowering plains, scattering the terrified grasshoppers right and
left, and causing the beautifully striped ground-squirrels to plunge
with astonishing precipitancy into their holes, he argued with himself,
that the mere fact of a murderous deed having been done was not a
sufficient reason, perhaps, to justify his sallying forth with a
reckless band of desperate fur-traders, bent on indiscriminate revenge.
It was quite true, in his opinion, that a murderer should be punished
with death, and that the pursuit and capture of a murderer was not only
a legitimate act in itself but, in the circumstances, a bounden duty on
his part. Yet it was equally true that most of the men with whom he was
associated were thirsting for vengeance, and from past experience he
knew full well that there would be no attempt to find out the murderer,
but a simple and general massacre of all the Indians whom they could
overtake.
Then it suddenly occurred to him that the murderer had already been shot
by Redhand, so that his mission was one of simple revenge; but, a moment
after, it flashed across his troubled mind that Lincoln had been left in
the fort wounded--might possibly be dead by that time; so that there
were probably among the flying savages other murderers to be dealt with.
This idea was strengthened by another thought, namely, that the savage
who stabbed and scalped Dupont might not have been the savage who shot
him. The complication and aggregate of improbability amounted, in
Bertram's mind, so nearly to a certainty, that he dismissed the
digressive question as to whether there might or might not be a murderer
among the Indians, and returned to the original proposition, as to
whether it was right in him to take part in a pursuit of vengeance that
would very likely terminate murderously. But before he could come to
any satisfactory conclusion on that point he and Bounce found themselves
suddenly in the midst of the cavalcade, which had halted on the summit
of the ridge, in order to allow them to come up.
"Here we are, lads," cried Macgregor, his flushed face still blazing
with wrath, which he made no effort to subdue, and his eyes red with
prolonged debauchery, flashing like the eyes of a tiger--"here we are,
too late to cut off the retreat o' these detestable reptiles from the
woods, but not too late to circumvent them."
The fur trader spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly, and pointed to the
band of Indians they were in pursuit of, who, observing that their
pursuers had halted, also drew rein on the edge of a belt of thick
forest that extended for miles into the mountains. They appeared to
wait, in order to ascertain what their enemies meant to do.
"The villains," continued Macgregor, "think we've given up pursuit as
hopeless, but they're mistaken--they're mistaken, as they'll find to
their cost. Now, mark me, men; we shall turn back as if we had really
given in; but the moment we get down into the hollow, out of sight,
we'll go as hard as we can bolt up that valley there, and round by the
place we call the Wild-Cat Pass. It's a difficult pass, but who cares
for that? Once through it we can get by a short cut to the other side
of that wood, and meet the redskins right in the teeth. They're
Blackfoot Indians, I know by their dress; and, as they don't belong to
this part o' the country, they can't be aware of the pass. But some of
us must go back a good way towards the fort, so as to deceive the
blackguards, who'll be sure to get on the first hill they can to see
where we've gone to. Now--away! Stay," he added in a less commanding
tone, "I don't know that my guests are willing to go with us through
thick an' thin in this fashion. I've no desire to have unwilling
warriors."
"Had we not been _willing_" replied Redhand dryly, "we wouldn't have
come even thus far."
"Very good," rejoined Macgregor with a grim smile; "then, perhaps, since
you are so good as to go along with us, you'll make for the head of that
valley, and when you come to the Wild-Cat Pass I've spoken of, you'll
wait there till the rest of us, who are to sham going back to the fort,
come up with ye; then we'll go through the pass together, and polish off
the redskins."
To this plan Redhand assented; so he and his comrades prepared to take
the way to the pass, while the men of the fort turned homewards. A
triumphant shout from the Indians showed that they imagined the pursuit
was given up; but Macgregor knew their cunning too well to fall into the
mistake of at once concluding that they were thoroughly deceived. He
knew that they would send out scouts to dog them, and felt, that if his
plan was to succeed, he must put it into execution promptly.
"I've scarce had time to ask your names or where you've come from," he
said on parting from the trappers; "but there'll be plenty of time for
that when we meet again. Keep close in the bottom, and ride fast, till
the shadow of yonder crag conceals you from view. If the Indians get
sight of you, they'll smell the dodge at once and escape us. Perhaps,
young man, you'd like to come with my party?"
The latter part of this speech was made rather abruptly to March
Marston, who received it with some surprise, and with a distinct
refusal.
"I'll stick by my comrades," said he, "till I see good reason--"
"Well, well, boy--please yourself!" muttered the trader angrily, as he
broke away at full speed, followed by his men.
Our trappers instantly turned their horses' heads towards the mountains,
and made for the Wild-Cat Pass.
Macgregor's estimate of the cunning of the Indians was but too correct.
The instant the fur-traders disappeared behind the ridge, as if on their
return homewards, several of their fastest riders were dispatched to the
nearest hill, to watch the movements of the enemy. They ascended one
which commanded a wide view of the surrounding country, and thence
beheld the fur-traders proceeding swiftly back in the direction of the
fort. Unfortunately, they also perceived the bottle-brush of Bertram's
steed, as it disappeared behind the crag which already concealed the
rest of his comrades from view. One instant later, and the Indians
would have failed to make this discovery, for a deep impassable gorge
lay between them and the ravine which conducted to the pass. It was but
the barest possible glimpse they got of that shabby tail; but it told a
tale which they perfectly understood, for they flew back in the utmost
haste to warn their comrades, who, knowing the smallness of the party
thus sent against them, from the largeness of the party that had shammed
returning to the fort, resolved upon executing a counter movement.
They had a shrewd suspicion, from the nature of the country, that the
intention of the whites was to get through a pass of some sort and
intercept them, and, concluding that this pass must lie at the head of
the valley up which the bottle-brush had vanished, they resolved to
proceed to the same spot through the gorge that separated the hill from
the crag or rocky ridge before referred to.
Promptitude they knew to be everything, so they swept up the gorge like
a whirlwind. Thus both parties drew nearer to the chaotic opening
styled the Wild-Cat Pass--the trappers, all ignorant of what awaited
them there; the savages bent on giving their enemies an unpleasant
surprise.
But, unknown to either, there was a pair of eyes high on a rock above
the Wild-Cat Pass, that overlooked the two valleys or ravines, and gazed
with considerable interest and curiosity on the two advancing parties.
Those eyes belonged to a solitary horseman, who stood on the edge of the
wild precipice that overhung the pass. The hunter, for such his
leathern dress bespoke him, stood beside his horse, his right arm over
its arched neck, and his right hand patting its sleek shoulder. From
the position which he occupied he could see without being seen. His
magnificent steed seemed to be aware that danger was at hand, for it
stood like a statue, absolutely motionless, with the exception of its
fine fiery eyes. Whatever this solitary hunter's thoughts regarding the
two approaching parties might be, it was evident that he meant to remain
an invisible spectator of their doings; for he stood in the same
attitude of statue-like attention until they reached the heads of the
two ravines, where they were separated from each other only by the pass.
Here, on the one side, the Indians, about forty in number, lay in
ambush among the rocks, prepared to surprise and attack the trappers
when they should pass. On the other side the trappers halted, and
dismounting, allowed their horses to graze while they awaited the
arrival of Macgregor and his party.
"They won't be long o' comin'," remarked Redhand, seating himself on a
stone and proceeding to strike a light. "That fellow Macgregor an't the
man to waste time when he's out after the redskins. I only hope he
won't waste life when he gets up to them."
"So do I," said Bounce, seating himself beside Redhand and carefully
cutting a small piece of tobacco into shreds by means of a
scalping-knife. "A sartin amount o' punishment is needful, d'ye see, to
keep 'em down; but I don't like slaughtering human bein's onnecessary
like."
"I'd skiver 'em all, I guess--every one," observed Big Waller angrily.
"They're a murderin', thievin' set o' varmints, as don't desarve to live
nohow!"
"Bah!" exclaimed Gibault in disgust; "you is most awferfully
onfeelosophicule, as Bounce do say. If dey not fit for live, for fat
vas dey made? You vicked man!"
Big Waller deigned no reply.
"I'm off to look at the pass," cried March Marston, vaulting suddenly
into the saddle. "Come, Bertram; you'll go with me, won't you, and see
if we can find some wild-cats in it?"
The artist, who had not dismounted, merely replied by a nod and a smile,
and the two reckless youths galloped away, heedless of Bounce's warning
not to go too far, for fear they should find something worse than
wild-cats there.
The Wild-Cat Pass, through which they were speedily picking their steps,
in order to get a view of the country beyond, was not inappropriately
named; for it seemed, at the first glance of those who entered it, as if
no creature less savagely reckless than a cat could, by any possibility,
scramble through it without the aid of wings.
The greater part of it was the ancient bed of a mountain torrent, whose
gushing waters had, owing to some antediluvian convulsion of nature,
been diverted into another channel. The whole scene was an absolute
chaos of rocks which had fallen into the torrent's bed from the
precipice that hemmed it in on the west, and these rocky masses lay
heaped about in such a confused way that it was extremely difficult to
select a pathway along which the horses could proceed without running
great risk of breaking their limbs. The entire length of the pass could
not have been much more than a quarter of a mile, yet it took March
Marston and his companion full half an hour to traverse it.
When about half through the pass March, who led the way, drew up on a
small rocky elevation, from which he could survey the amphitheatre of
rugged and naked rocks in the midst of which he stood.
"Upon my word, Bertram," he said gazing round, "if Bunyan had ever been
in the Rocky Mountains, I think he would have chosen such a spot as this
for the castle o' Giant Despair."
"I know not," replied Bertram with a deep sigh, as he drew rein, "what
Bunyan would have done, but I know that Giant Despair has already
located himself here, for he has been trying to take, possession of my
bosom for at least twenty minutes. I never rode over such ground in my
life. However, it ill becomes pioneers to be overcome by such a giant,
so pray push on; I feel quite eager to see what sort of region lies
beyond this gloomy portal."
March laughed and turned to continue the scramble; Bertram removed his
brigandish hat, wiped his heated brows, replaced the hat firmly thereon,
and drove his heels violently against the ribs of his horse, an act
which induced that patient quadruped to toss its head and shake its
bottle-brush ere it condescended to move on. It was quite evident that,
although Bertram spoke in a half-jesting tone of Giant Despair, he was
in reality much delighted with the singularity of this extemporised and
interesting ramble.
"I say, Bertram, don't you like this sort of thing?" inquired March,
looking back at his companion, on reaching a somewhat level part of the
pass.
"Like it? Ay, that do I. I love it, March. There is a freedom, a
species of wild romance about it, that is more captivating than I can
describe."
"You don't need to describe it," returned March. "I have it all
described splendidly within me. One don't want words when one's got
feelins. But I've often thought what a pity it is that we can't
describe things or places at all with words. At least, _I_ can't," he
added modestly. "When I try to tell a fellow what I've seen, it ain't
o' no manner of use to try, for I don't get hold of the right words at
the right time, and so don't give out the right meanin', and so the
fellow I'm speakin' to don't take up the right notion, d'ye see? It's a
great pity that words are such useless things."
"Why, that was spoken like Bounce himself," said Bertram, smiling.
"Look out, or you'll go bounce into that hole, if you don't have a
care," cried March, turning aside to avoid the danger referred to. They
proceeded through the remainder of the pass in silence, as the rugged
nature of the ground required their undivided attention.
Had there been a sprite in that place, who could have hopped invisibly
to some elevated pinnacle, or have soared on gossamer wings into the
air, so as to take a bird's-eye view of the whole scene, he would have
noted that while March Marston and the artist were toiling slowly
through the Wild-Cat Pass, the solitary hunter before referred to
regarded their proceedings with some surprise, and that when he saw they
were bent on going quite through the pass, his expression changed to a
look of deep concern.
With slow and gentle hand this man backed his quiet and docile horse
deeper into the bush; and when he had got so deep into the shade of the
forest as to be perfectly safe from observation, he leaped on its back
with a single bound, and galloped swiftly away.
A few minutes after the occurrence of this incident, March and his
friend emerged from the pass and trotted out upon a level plain whence
they obtained a fine view of the magnificent country beyond. The pass
from which they had just issued seemed to be the entrance to the heart
of the Rocky Mountains. The plain, or rather the plateau, on which they
stood was a level spot covered with soft grass, free from bushes, and
not more than a hundred yards in extent. On three sides it was
encompassed by inaccessible precipices and rocky ground, in the midst of
which the opening out of the pass was situated. On the fourth side it
was skirted by a dense thicket of bushes that formed the entrance to a
magnificent forest which extended for several miles in front of the
spot. Beyond this forest the scene was broken by hills and valleys, and
little plains, richly diversified with wood and water--the former in
dense masses, scattered groups, and isolated clusters; the latter
shining in the forms of lakelet and stream, or glancing snow-white in
numberless cascades. Beyond all, the dark-blue giant masses of the
Rocky Mountains towered up and up, hill upon hill, pile upon pile, mass
on mass, till they terminated in distant peaks, so little darker than
the sky that they seemed scarcely more solid than the clouds with which
they mingled and blended their everlasting snows.
"An't it beautiful?" cried March, riding forward with a bounding
sensation of inexpressible delight.
Bertram followed him, but did not answer. He was too deeply absorbed in
the simple act of intently gazing and drinking in the scene to listen or
to reply.
At the precise moment in which March made the above remark, his quick
eye observed a spear head which one of the savages, hid among the bushes
there, had not taken sufficient pains to conceal.
March Marston was a young hunter, and, as yet an inexperienced warrior;
but from childhood he had been trained, as if it were in spirit, by the
anecdotes and tales of the many hunters who had visited Pine Point
settlement. His natural powers of self-control were very great, but he
had to tax all these powers to the uttermost to maintain his look of
animated delight in the scenery unchanged, after making the above
startling discovery. But March did it! His first severe trial in the
perils of backwoods life had come--without warning or time for
preparation; and he passed through it like a true hero.
That a spear handle must necessarily support a spear head; that an
Indian probably grasped the former; that, in the present position of
affairs, there were certainly more Indians than one in ambush; and that,
in all probability, there were at that moment two or three dozen arrows
resting on their respective bows, and pointed towards his and his
comrade's hearts, ready to take flight the instant they should come
within sure and deadly range, were ideas which did not follow each other
in rapid succession through his brain, but darted upon the young
hunter's quick perceptions instantaneously, and caused his heart to beat
on his ribs like a sledge-hammer, and the blood to fly violently to his
face.
Luckily March's face was deeply browned, and did not show the crimson
tide. With a sudden, mighty effort he checked the natural look and
exclamation of surprise. That was the moment of danger past. To
continue his praise of the lovely scene in gay delighted tones was
comparatively easy.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, turning his face full towards the
ambushed savages, gazing over their place of concealment with an
unconscious joyous air, and sweeping his hand towards the mountains, as
if to draw the attention of his companion to them. March's only weapon
at that moment was the small hatchet he was wont to carry in his girdle.
This implement chanced to be in his hand. Placing it carelessly in his
belt, as though nothing was further from his mind than the idea of
requiring to use it at that time, he cried--
"See, yonder is a mound from which we may get a better view," and
trotted to the summit of the spot alluded to. In doing so, he placed
himself still nearer to the Indians. This was a bold stroke, though a
dangerous one, meant to deceive the enemy. After gazing a few seconds
from this spot, he wheeled round and walked his horse quietly towards
the entrance to the pass. Arrived there, he turned, and pretending that
he saw something in the far distance, he shaded his eyes with his hand
and gazed for a short time intently, then calling to Bertram, who still
remained in his original position all unconscious of his danger, said--
"I say, come here; look at yonder splendid lake, it's worth
seeing--_well_ worth seeing; and if you don't see it with that _curious
light_ on it, you'll not care to see it at all."
March did not dare, by energy of voice, to force his friend's attention,
therefore the first part of this speech was unheeded; but the reference
to a "curious light" had the desired effect. Bertram turned, and rode
to join his companion. Getting Bertram into such a position that his
own person partially screened him from the Indians, he made the
following remarkable speech, from beginning to end, in the gay tones of
one who discourses eloquently on the beauties of nature; pointing here
and there as he rattled on.
"An't it beautiful? eh? I say, just look at it now!--listen to me,
Bertram--attentively, but gaze admiringly at the scene--_at the scene_--
oh! man, _do_ what I bid ye--your life hangs on it. _Pretend_ to admire
it--we're in great danger--but--"
"Eh? what? where?" exclaimed the artist in a tone of intense excitement,
at the same time laying his hand on one of his pistols and gazing
anxiously all round him.
Alas! poor Bertram. It needed not the acute apprehension of a redskin
to understand that you had been told of present danger. Neither did it
require much acuteness on the part of March to divine what was to
follow.
Scarcely had the symptoms of alarm been exhibited, when four arrows
whizzed through the air and passed close to the persons of the two
friends, who instantly turned and made a dash for the entrance of the
pass. At the same time the savages uttered a yell and darted after
them.
"We'll never be able to escape by the pass," exclaimed March, looking
behind him hurriedly, as they approached the rocky gorge, "and, I
declare, there's only four o' them on foot. Come, Bertram, let's make a
bold stroke for it. We'll easy break through 'em."
He reined up so suddenly as almost to throw the horse on its haunches,
and, wheeling round, darted towards the savages. Bertram followed
almost mechanically.
The Indians offered no opposition, but at that moment another yell rose
from the hushes, and about thirty mounted Indians, who had been
concealed behind a projecting cliff, sprang forward and closed up the
only place of escape with a formidable array of spears. From their not
using their arrows it was evident that they wished to capture the white
men alive, for the purpose, no doubt, of taking them home to their
wigwams, there to put them to death by slow torture with the assistance
of their squaws.
March Marston's spirit rose with the occasion. He uttered a furious
cry, flourished his hatchet above his head, and dashed at full gallop
towards the line. Seeing this, one of the Indians levelled his spear
and rode out to meet him. Bertram's nerves recovered at that moment.
He fired both pistols at the advancing savage, but without effect. In
despair he hurled one of them violently at the head of the Indian. The
missile went true to the mark and felled him. On beholding this the
whole body of savages rushed upon the two white men.
One powerful Indian seized March by the throat. Before either could use
his weapon the horses separated and both fell violently to the ground.
Bertram leaped off his horse and sprang to the rescue, but he was
instantly surrounded, and for a few seconds defended himself with the
butt of his large cavalry pistol with an amount of energy and activity
that would have filled those who knew him best with amazement. At that
moment there was a clatter of hoofs in the gorge, and a roar or bellow
was heard above the din of the fight. All eyes were turned towards the
pass, and next moment a solitary horseman leaped over the broken rocks
and bounded over the turf towards the combatants.
The aspect of this newcomer was something terrible to behold. Both he
and his horse were gigantic in size. The man was dressed in the costume
of an Indian, but his hair and beard were those of a white man. The
mane and tail of his huge horse were of enormous length, and as he swept
over the little plain, which seemed to tremble beneath his heavy tread,
the wind blew out these and the tags and scalp-locks of his coat and
leggings as well as his own beard and hair in such a confused and
commingled way as to make the man and horse appear like one monstrous
creature.
The Indians turned to flee, but, seeing only one enemy, they hesitated.
In another moment the wild horseman was upon them. He carried a round
shield on his left arm and a long double-edged sword in his right hand.
Two Indians lowered their spears to receive him. The point of one he
turned aside with his shield, and the shock of his heavy warhorse hurled
horse and man upon the plain. The other he cut the iron head off with a
sweep of his sword, and, with a continuation of the same cut, he cleft
his opponent to the chin. Turning rapidly, he bounded into the very
midst of the savages, uttering another of his tremendous roars of
indignation. The suddenness of this act prevented the Indians from
using their bows and arrows effectively. Before they could fit an arrow
to the string two more of their number lay in the agonies of death on
the ground. Several arrows were discharged, but the perturbation of
those who discharged them, and their close proximity to their mark,
caused them to shoot wide. Most of the shafts missed him. Two quivered
in his shield, and one pierced the sleeve of his coat. Turning again to
renew his rapid attacks he observed one of the Indians--probably a
chief--leap to one side, and, turning round, fit an arrow with calm
deliberation to his bow. The furious horseman, although delivering his
sweeping blows right and left with indiscriminate recklessness, seemed
during the _melee_ to have an intuitive perception of where the greatest
danger lay. The savages at that moment were whirling round him and
darting at him in all directions, but he singled out this chief at once
and bore down upon him like a thunderbolt. The chief was a brave man.
He did not wince, but, drawing the arrow to its head as the other
approached, let it fly full at his breast. The white man dropped on the
neck of his steed as if he had been struck with lightning; the arrow
passed close over his back and found its mark in the breast of one of
the savages, whose death yell mingled with that of the chief as, a
moment later, the gigantic warrior ran him with a straight point through
the body.
The Indians were scattered now. The rapid dash of that tumultuous
fight, although of but a few seconds' duration, had swept the combatants
to the extreme edge of the woods, leaving Bertram standing in the midst
of dead and dying men gazing with a bewildered, helpless look at the
terrible scene. March Marston lay close by his side, apparently dead,
in the grip of the savage who had first attacked him, and whose throat
his own hand grasped with the tenacity and force of a vice.
Most of the Indians leaped over the bushes and sought the shelter of the
thick underwood, as the tremendous horseman, whom doubtless they now
deemed invulnerable, came thundering down upon them again; but about
twenty of the bravest stood their ground. At that moment a loud shout
and a fierce "hurrah!" rang out and echoed hither and thither among the
rocks; and, next instant, Big Waller, followed by Bounce and his
friends, as well as by Macgregor and his whole party, sprang from the
Wild-Cat Pass, and rushed furiously upon the savages, who had already
turned and fled towards the wood for shelter. The whole band crossed
the battlefield like a whirlwind, leaped over or burst through the
bushes, and were gone--the crashing tread of their footsteps and an
occasional shout alone remaining to assure the bewildered artist, who
was still transfixed immovable to the ground, that the whole scene was
not a dream.
But Bertram was not left alone on that bloody field. On the first sound
of the approach of the white men to the rescue, the strange horseman--
who, from the moment of his bursting so opportunely on the scene, had
seemed the very impersonation of activity and colossal might--pulled up
his fiery steed; and he now sat, gazing calmly into the forest in the
direction in which the Indians and traders had disappeared.
Stupefied though he was, Bertram could not avoid being impressed and
surprised by the sudden and total change which had come over this
remarkable hunter. After gazing into the woods, as we have said, for
some minutes, he quietly dismounted, and plucking a tuft of grass from
the plain, wiped his bloody sword, and sheathed it. Not a trace of his
late ferocity was visible. His mind seemed to be filled with sadness,
for he sighed slightly, and shook his head with a look of deep sorrow,
as his eyes rested on the dead men. There was a mild gravity in his
countenance that seemed to Bertram incompatible with the fiend-like fury
of his attack, and a slow heaviness in his motions that amounted almost
to laziness, and seemed equally inconsistent with the vigour he had so
recently displayed, which was almost cat-like, if we may apply such a
term to the actions of so huge a pair as this man and his horse were.
A profusion of light-brown hair hung in heavy masses over his herculean
shoulders, and a bushy moustache and beard of the same colour covered
the lower part of his deeply browned face, which was handsome and mild,
but eminently masculine, in expression.
Remounting his horse, which seemed now to be as quiet and peaceable as
himself, this singular being turned and rode towards that part of the
wood that lay nearest to the wild rocky masses that formed the outlet
from the pass. On gaining the verge of the plain he turned his head
full round, and fixed his clear blue eyes on the wondering artist. A
quiet smile played on his bronzed features for an instant as he bestowed
upon him a cheerful nod of farewell. Then, urging his steed forward, he
entered the woods at a slow walk, and disappeared.
The heavy tramp of his horse's hoofs among the broken stones of the
rugged path had scarcely died away when the distant tread of the
returning fur-traders broke on Bertram's ear. This aroused him from the
state of half-sceptical horror in which he gazed upon the scene of blood
and death in the midst of which he stood. Presently his eye fell, for
the first time, upon the motionless form of March Marston. The sight
effectually restored him. With a slight cry of alarm, he sprang to his
friend's side, and, kneeling down, endeavoured to loosen the death-like
grasp with which he still held the throat of his foe. The horror of the
poor artist may be imagined, when he observed that the skull of the
Indian was battered in, and that his young comrade's face was
bespattered with blood and brains.
Just then several of the trappers and fur-traders galloped upon the
scene of the late skirmish.
"Hallo! Mr Bertram, here you are; guess we've polished 'em off this
time a few. Hey! wot's this?" cried Big Waller, as he and some of the
others leaped to the ground and surrounded Bertram. "Not _dead_, is
he?"
The tone in which the Yankee trapper said this betrayed as much rage as
regret. The bare idea of his young comrade having been killed by the
savages caused him to gnash his teeth with suppressed passion.
"Out o' the way, lads; let me see him," cried Bounce, who galloped up at
that moment, flung himself off his horse, pushed the others aside, and
kneeling at his side, laid his hand on March Marston's heart.
"All right," he said, raising the youth's head, "he's only stunned.
Run, Gibault, fetch a drop o' water. The horse that brained this here
redskin, by good luck, only stunned March."
"Ah! mon pauvre enfant!" cried Gibault as he ran to obey.
The water quickly restored March, and in a few minutes he was able to
sit up and call to remembrance what had passed. Ere his scattered
faculties were quite recovered, the fur-traders returned, with Macgregor
at their head.
"Well done, the Wild Man of the West!" cried McLeod, as he dismounted.
"Not badly hurt, young man, I trust."
"Oh! nothing to speak of. Only a thump on the head from a horse's
hoof," said March; "I'll be all right in a little time. Did you say
anything about the Wild Man of the West?" he added earnestly.
"To be sure I did; but for him you and Mr Bertram would have been dead
men, I fear. Did you not see him?"
"See him? no," replied March, much excited. "I heard a tremendous roar,
but just then I fell to the ground, and remember nothing more that
happened."
"Was that quiet, grave-looking man the Wild Man of the West?" inquired
Bertram, with a mingled feeling of interest and surprise.
This speech was received with a loud burst of laughter from all who
heard it.
"Well, I've never seed the Wild Man till to-day," said one, "though I've
often heer'd of him, but I must say the little glimpse I got didn't show
much that was mild or grave."
"I guess your head's bin in a swum, stranger," said another. "I've only
seed him this once, but I don't hope to see him agin. He ain't to be
trusted, he ain't, that feller."
"And I've seen him five or six times," added McLeod, "and all I can say
is, that twice out o' the five he was like an incarnate fiend, and the
other three times--when he came to the Mountain Fort for ammunition--he
was as gruff and sulky as a bear with the measles."
"Well, gentlemen," said Bertram with more emphasis in his tone than he
was wont to employ, "I have seen this man only once, but I've seen him
under two aspects to-day, and all that I can say is, that if that was
really the Wild Man of the West, he's not quite so wild as he gets
credit for."
On hearing this, March Marston rose and shook himself. He felt ill at
ease in body and mind. The idea of the Wild Man of the West having
actually saved his life, and he had not seen him, was a heavy
disappointment, and the confused and conflicting accounts of those who
had seen him, combined with the racking pains that shot through his own
brain, rendered him incapable of forming or expressing any opinion on
the subject whatever; so he said abruptly--
"It's of no use talking here all night, friends. My head's splittin',
so I think we'd better encamp."
March's suggestion was adopted at once. Provisions had been carried
with them from the fort. The dead bodies of the Indians were buried; a
spot at some distance from the scene of the fight was chosen. The fires
were lighted, supper was devoured and a watch set, and soon March
Marston was dreaming wildly in that savage place about the Wild Man of
the West!