MARCH MARSTON IS PERPLEXED, SO ARE HIS FRIENDS--AN UNLOOKED-FOR
MEETING--TERRIBLE NEWS--THE ATTACK--THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST ONCE AGAIN
RENDERS SIGNAL SERVICE TO THE TRAPPERS--WILD DOINGS IN GENERAL, AND
MARCH MARSTON'S CHAGRIN IN PARTICULAR.
"March Marston," said Bounce--and Bounce was sitting beside the camp
fire, smoking his pipe after supper when he said it--"you may think
ye're a 'cute feller, you may, oncommon 'cute; but if you'll listen to
wot an oldish hunter says, an' take his advice, you'll come to think, in
a feelosophical way, d'ye see? that ye're not quite _so_ 'cute as ye
suppose."
Bounce delivered this oracularly, and followed it up with a succession
of puffs, each of which was so solidly yellow as to suggest to the mind
of Bertram, who chanced to be taking his portrait at that moment, that
the next puff would burst out in pure flame. Gibault and Big Waller
nodded their heads in testimony of their approval of the general scope
of the remark; the latter even went the length of "guessing that it was
a fact," and Redhand smiled. Hawkswing looked, if possible, graver than
usual.
"As," resumed Bounce after a considerable pause, during which March
looked and felt very uncomfortable, "the nat'ral eyes of the old men
becomes more dimmer, d'ye see? their mental eyes, so to speak, becomes
sharper, so as that they can see through no end o' figurative
millstones. That bein' the case when there's no millstone to be seen
through at all, but only a oncommon thin trans--trans--"
"Ollification," suggested Waller modestly.
"Not at all," retorted Bounce with much severity in his tone. "I _wos_
goin' to have said--transparientsy; but I'll not say that now, seein'
it's too feelosophical for the likes o' you; but, as I wos sayin', that
bein' the case, d'ye see? it's quite plain that--"
Here Bounce, having got into depths unusually profound even for his
speculative and philosophical turn of mind, sought refuge in a series of
voluminous puffs, and wound up, finally, with an emphatic assertion that
"there wos somethin' wrong, an' it wos o' no manner o' use to try to
throw dust in _his_ eyes, seein' that his winkin' powers wos sich as to
enable him to keep it out, no matter how thick or fast it should come."
"Ah, that's yer sort! I calc'late you're floored there, March," said
Waller gravely. "The fact is, boy, that it won't do; you've got
somethin' in the background, that Mr Bertram talks sich a heap about.
You ought to be fair an' above-board with comrades, ye ought."
"Oui," added Gibault. "Of course, you have lived somewhere, an'
somehow, all dis time. It am not posseeble for live nowhere on noting."
"Well, I tell you I have lived with a hunter, who treated me very well,
and told me I'd find you here; having learned that, as I understand,
from the Wild Man o' the West himself."
"Very true," said Bounce; "but where does the hunter live?"
"In the mountains," replied March.
"So does the Blackfeet, an' the Peigans, an' the Crows, an' the foxes,
an' wolves, an' grisly bars," retorted Bounce dryly.
"I'll tell ye what it is," cried the exasperated March, "the curiosity
of you fellers beats the squaws out an' out. Now, I'll be open with ye,
an' then ye must hold your tongues. This man that I've been stayin'
with is a very fine fellow, an' a very wonderful fellow, an' his name's
Dick--"
"Dick what?" inquired Bounce.
"Dick nothing," said March.
"Ay! that's a odd name."
"No, I mean he's only called Dick, an' he wouldn't tell me his other
name, if he has one. Well, he said to me I was not to tell where he
lived, as he don't like company, an' so he made me promise, an' I did
promise, d'ye see? so I mean to stick to my promise, and that's all
about it. I would like to tell ye about him, comrades, but you wouldn't
have me break my word, would you?"
"Cer'nly not, by no means," said Bounce. "Does he live all by his
lone?"
"No--eh--ah! Well, I fancy it's not breakin' my word to tell ye that--
no, he's got a little gal, an adopted daughter, livin' with him."
"Is she good-lookin'?" inquired Bounce quickly, with a sharp glance at
the youth.
March looked a little confused, and, in a hesitating manner, admitted
that she was.
"Ah! I thought so," observed Bounce gravely, shaking his head and
looking unutterably profound, while Gibault gave a low whistle and
winked to Big Waller, who returned the mystic signal with the addition
of a knowing nod, all of which movements were observed by poor March,
who became very red in the face and felt very angry and remarkably
uncomfortable, and quite unable to decide whether it were better to
laugh or storm. He was saved from all further perplexity on this point,
however, by the sudden appearance of a horseman on the distant plain,
who seemed to be approaching the valley in which they were encamped. At
first he looked like a black speck or a crow on the horizon, and, in the
uncertain light of the rapidly closing day, it would have been difficult
for any unaccustomed eye to make out what the object was.
In a short time he drew near enough to be distinguished clearly, and the
rapid patter of the horse's hoofs on the turf told that the rider was
flying over the ground at an unusual speed. Passing round a clump of
low trees that stretched out from the mouth of the valley into the
plain, he came dashing towards the camp--a wild-looking, dishevelled
creature, seemingly in a state of reckless insanity.
"The Wild Man again, surely," said Bounce, who, with his companions, had
risen to await the coming up of the stranger.
"D'you think so?" cried March Marston eagerly.
"Ye--eh? why, I do b'lieve it's Mr Macgregor," cried the astonished
Bounce as the reckless rider dashed up to the camp fire, and, springing
from his horse with a yell that savoured more of a savage than a
civilised spirit, cried--
"Look out, lads; up with a pile o' rocks an' trees! They'll be on us in
a jiffy! There's five hundred o' the red reptiles if there's one. The
Mountain Fort's burned to cinders--every man and woman dead and
scalped--look alive!"
These words were uttered hastily in broken exclamations, as Macgregor
seized the logs that had been cut for firewood, and began violently to
toss them together in a pile; while the trappers, although much amazed
and horrified at the news, seized their hatchets and began to make
instant preparation to resist an attack, without wasting time in useless
questions. They observed that the commander of the Mountain Fort was
pale as death, that his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes torn, and his
hands and face begrimed with powder and stained with blood.
March Marston worked like a hero at the rude breastwork for some time,
although the effort caused him so much pain that he could not help
showing it on his countenance.
"March," said Bounce, seizing him suddenly by the shoulder, "you're not
fit to work, an' much less fit to fight. I'll tell ye wot to do, lad.
Jump on my horse, an' away to yer friend the trapper, an' bring him here
to help us. One stout arm 'll do us more good this night than ten
battered bodies sich as yours, poor feller."
March felt the truth of this, so without delay turned to obey. Just as
he was about to leave he heard a deep groan, and turning round, saw
Macgregor fall to the ground.
"You're ill," he cried, running to him and kneeling down.
"No--not ill, just a scratch from an arrow," gasped the trader with an
oath. "I believe the head's stickin' in my back."
"Away, March," cried Redhand, "we'll look to this. Waller, out wi' the
fire, man; ye used to be more spry when--ah! too late, there they are,
they've seen us."
"Into the fort, boys!" cried Bounce, alluding to the breastwork, "we
don't need to care; with plenty o' powder and lead, we can keep five
thousand redskins off."
March heard no more. Dashing up the glen at full speed, he disappeared
from the spot, just as the distant yell of the savage host came floating
upon the wings of the night air, apprising the trappers that their fire
had been observed, and that they would have to fight manfully if they
hoped to carry their scalps home with them.
In a few minutes the Indians drew near, and scattering themselves round
the little entrenchment, began to discharge clouds of arrows at it, but,
fortunately, without doing any damage. An inaccessible cliff protected
their rear, and behind a projection of this the trappers' horses were
secured. The breastwork lay immediately in front.
Again and again the savages let fly their shafts, but without drawing
any reply from the trappers, who kept close under cover and reserved
their fire. This tempted their enemies to approach, and, when within
short range, they seemed about to make a rush, supposing, no doubt, that
the party concealed behind the breastwork must be Indians, since they
did not use firearms. Just then Redhand gave a preconcerted signal;
three sheets of flame spouted from their guns, and three of the foremost
Indians fell dead from their horses.
With a terrible yell the others turned to fly, but before they had
retreated a yard three more shots were fired with deadly effect. They
now took shelter behind trees and rocks, and attempted to dislodge the
trappers by discharging arrows into the air at such an angle that they
should drop into their fortress. One or two endeavoured to ascend the
steep cliff, but the instant an arm or a shoulder appeared, a ball from
Redhand's deadly rifle struck it, so the attempt was abandoned.
While this was going on, March Marston galloped to Dick's cave, and
startled poor Mary not a little by the abruptness of his entrance. But,
to his mortification, Dick was not at home. It so chanced that that
wild individual had taken it into his head to remain concealed in the
woods near the spot where he had parted from his late guest, and had not
only witnessed the meeting of March with his friends, but had seen the
arrival of Macgregor, the subsequent departure of March in the direction
of the cave, and the attack made by the Indians. When, therefore, the
youth was speeding towards his cavern, the Wild Man (who was not sorry
to see him go off on such an errand), was busily planning the best mode
of attacking the enemy so as to render effectual aid to the trappers.
Observing that the Indians had clustered together at the foot of a
rugged cliff, apparently for the purpose of holding a council of war,
Dick made his way quickly to the summit of the cliff, and, leaving his
charger on an eminence that sloped down towards the entrance of the
valley, quickly and noiselessly carried several huge stones to the edge
of the precipice, intending to throw them down on the heads of his foes.
Just as he was about to do so, he observed an overhanging mass of rock,
many tons in weight, which the frosts of winter had detached from the
precipice. Placing his feet against this, and leaning his back against
the solid rock, he exerted himself with all his might, like a second
Samson. No human power could have moved such a rock, had it not been
almost overbalanced; but, being so, Dick's effort moved it. Again he
strained, until the great veins seemed about to burst through the skin
of his neck and forehead. Gradually the rock toppled and fell, and the
Wild Man fell along with it.
In the agony of that moment he uttered a cry so terrible that it might
well have been supposed to have come from the throat of a supernatural
being. The Indians had not time to evade the danger. The ponderous
mass in its descent hit a projecting crag, and burst into smaller
fragments, which fell in a rattling shower, killing two men, and
wounding others. Those of the group who escaped, as well as those who
chanced to be beyond the danger, saw, by the dim moonlight, the Wild Man
of the West descending, as it were, like a furious demon in the midst of
the dire confusion of dust and rocks. They knew him well. It wanted
but this to fill them to overflow with superstitious dread. They turned
and fled. The trappers, although amazed beyond measure, and half
suspecting who it was that had thus suddenly come to their aid, mounted
their horses, and, leaping over their barricade, rushed down the valley
in pursuit, firing a volley at starting, and loading as they rode at
full speed. In his descent Dick made what might well be termed a
miraculous escape. Near the foot of the cliff he went crashing through
a thick bush, which broke his fall. Still he retained impetus
sufficient to have seriously injured if not killed him, had he not
alighted in the midst of another bush, which saved him so completely
that he was not even hurt.
Dick could scarcely believe his own senses; but he was not a man given
to indulge much wandering thought in times of action. Giving himself
one shake, to make sure of his being actually sound in wind and limb, he
bounded away up the precipice by a path with which he was well
acquainted, reached his horse, flew by a short cut to the mouth of the
valley, and, wheeling suddenly round, met the horrified Indians in the
very teeth!
The roar with which he met them was compound in its nature, and
altogether hideous! His mind was in a mingled condition of amazement
and satisfaction at his escape, triumph at the success of his plan, and
indignation at the cowardly wickedness of the savages. A rollicking
species of mad pugnacity took possession of him, and the consequence
was, that the sounds which issued from his leathern throat were
positively inhuman.
The rushing mass of terror-stricken men, thus caught, as it were,
between two fires, divided, in order to escape him. Dick was not sorry
to observe this. He felt that the day was gained without further
bloodshed. He knew that the superstitious dread in which he was held
was a guarantee that the savages would not return; so, instead of
turning with the trappers to join in the pursuit, he favoured them with
a concluding and a peculiarly monstrous howl, and then rode quietly away
by a circuitous route to his own cavern.
Thus he avoided March Marston, who, on finding that his friend Dick was
out, had returned at full speed to aid his comrades, and arrived just in
time to meet them returning, triumphant and panting, from their pursuit
of the foe!
"Are they gone?" cried March in amazement.
"Ay, right slick away into the middle o' nowhar," replied Big Waller,
laughing heartily. "Did ye iver hear such a roarer, comrades?"
"Have you licked 'em out an' out?" continued the incredulous March, "Ay,
out an' out, an' no mistake," replied Bounce, dismounting.
"Well, that _is_ lucky," said March; "for my friend Dick I found was
not--"
"Ah! we not have need him," interrupted Gibault, wiping the perspiration
from his forehead, "de Wild Man of de West hims come, an'--oh! you
should see what hims have bin do!"
"The Wild Man again!" exclaimed March in dismay--"an' me absent!"
Gibault nodded and laughed.
At that moment an exclamation from Redhand attracted the attention of
the whole party. He was kneeling beside Macgregor, who had dismounted
and lain down.
"I believe they've done for me," said the fur trader faintly. "That
arrow must have gone deeper than I thought."
"You'd better let me see the wound, sir," said Redhand; "your shirt is
covered with blood."
"No, no," said the wounded man savagely; "let me rest--see, I'm better
now. You will find a flask in the bag at my saddle-bow. Bring it
here."
"I know that Dick--the hunter--is a good hand at doctoring," said March.
"What a pity he is not here! We might carry you there, sir."
"Carry me," laughed the fur trader fiercely; "no, I'll never be carried
till I'm carried to my grave. How far off is his place? Where stays
he?"
"Four miles from this. I'll take you if you can ride," said March.
"Ay, that I can, bravely," cried the trader, who, having taken a deep
draught of spirits, seemed to be imbued with new life. "Come, young
sir, mount."
The trappers endeavoured to dissuade the violent man from the attempt,
but he could not be controlled; so March, hastily observing that he
would see him safe to the hunter's abode and return without delay,
mounted his horse and rode away, followed by the wounded man.