THE PURSUIT
After Dusty Star had dropped from his tree to escape the grizzly, his
one thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and
his terrible foe. He ran on and on, listening fearfully for any sounds
which should tell him that the bear was in pursuit. Yet the fear of what
was behind was not all. There was an equally great danger in front lest
he should find himself face to face with the returning Indians who had
gone out to seek the bear. His dread was all the greater because he knew
that it was the same direction in which he was now travelling which they
had taken on leaving the camp, and that it was extremely probable that,
not having come upon the grizzly, they would now be on the homeward
trail. At the slightest sound, he would stop, and listen, nervously
scanning the trees ahead lest he should catch sight of a red-skin figure
standing motionless in the shade. And behind, he would listen for the
pad, pad of great bear feet, or the rustling of leaves in the pursuit.
Yet in spite of all alarms, the sun was sloping a long way to the west
when Dusty Star found himself still undiscovered and working his way
along the side of a great hill many miles to the northward of the camp.
He continued to travel swiftly, yet still with the utmost silence.
Although he saw little of any wild creatures, he was aware of their
presence, though most of them kept well out of sight as they crouched in
hiding, or drifted soundlessly as driven smoke along the ancient
deer-paths that had been worn by the feet of the wilderness, age after
countless age.
As the day wore on, it grew darker under the trees, and presently he
noted the on-coming of that swift northern twilight which so soon
deepens into night. So far, he had not struck any trail which could
cause him uneasiness; and although a few moons earlier he might have
stood in fear of some of the larger and fiercer of the forest beasts,
his intimacy with Kiopo had taught him many things which kept the fear
at bay. And yet, as he glided softly along, stepping as warily as one of
the deer themselves, his fear of the greater beasts seemed to have
passed into an awe of the forest itself. Often and often, in the deep
stillness there had come to him a sense of something behind the beasts,
elder to the oldest of them, more wise than the most cunning, which ran
when they ran, stalked you with their stalking, and watched you with
their eyes; something which, in the old darkness of the world, had spilt
itself into fur and feathers, and moved with wings or feet. It was
perhaps not exactly a comfortable thought; yet for all that, it need not
necessarily be a bad Thing. On the contrary, it might even do you good,
if you could get close enough to it, and learn not to be afraid.
Darker and darker under the trees! At last, so dark that you could not
tell them by their shape. Yet to Dusty Star the shape did not matter,
since he could feel them by their smell. Now it was hemlock; now balsam
fir. And now he caught black poplar; and again the scent was birch. And
so he went his way less by sight than feeling,--_seeing_ things by their
smell.
At length he came to a part of the forest so thick with undergrowth and
creepers, that further progress in that direction was impossible in the
dark. He decided to camp here for the night. So when he had found a
suitable spot in which to make his couch, he lay down and almost
immediately fell fast asleep.
When he awoke, dawn had already began to break, and he could distinguish
the shapes of the trees. He sat up and looked about him. He felt that
none of his enemies would track him here. Only keen noses of beasts
might scent him, and they, as likely as not, would give him a wide
berth. He lay quiet in the intense morning stillness, feeling full of
thankfulness that he was once more free. If only he could make his way
home in safety, and find Kiopo there to meet him, happiness would come
to him again. He could not believe that Kiopo had been killed. He
remembered what Kitsomax had said. If the wolf had met his death as well
as the Indian, surely she would have mentioned both? The recollection
comforted him, as he got up and once more started on his way.
Though the country he was passing through was utterly strange to him, he
knew that the river must be somewhere to the north-east, and that if he
wished to strike the shores of the great lake, he must keep to the
neighbourhood of the river for a guide. He pushed on rapidly, and, when
the sun was half-way towards noon, saw with relief the light on the
water between the trees. But now, owing to the swampy nature of the
ground, the going was not so good, and he found it necessary to go back
continually into the woods in order to travel on firmer ground. Evening
was already drawing on before he heard the roar of the rapids in the
distance, and knew that the lake was not far off. But he also knew that
it was necessary now to travel with extreme caution, owing to the fact
that there had been plenty of time for his enemies to have learnt of his
escape, and have sent out a party to re-capture him. In spite of all his
efforts, it was night before he reached the rapids, and could see in the
darkness the glimmer of the foam.
All that night, the roar of a great water mingled with his dreams.
Whatever noises sounded in the forest, they were drowned by the rapids.
If any enemy had crept towards him now, he would have received no
warning. But he trusted to the darkness, and slept soundly.
On leaving the rapids at early dawn, Dusty Star travelled as quickly as
he could along the eastern shore. It was still thickly covered with
mist, which, although it prevented him from seeing what danger might be
ahead, also kept his own movements from being observed. As he went on,
he crossed many trails to the water's edge, but as they were only those
of thirsty animals going down to drink, he knew he had nothing to fear.
Suddenly he heard a sound that made him stop and listen intently. It was
a splashing noise, repeated at irregular intervals, and was not far
ahead. He approached the spot with the utmost care, straining his eyes
in the mist. Suddenly a large shape loomed out directly in front of him.
The creature's fore quarters were humped to a ridge on the powerful
shoulders, covered with thick, glistening hair of a dark shade that was
almost black on the upper parts. The under parts were a tawny yellow.
The ridge along the back sloped to the hind quarters which, compared
with the fore quarters, were small. A little tail with a thin tuft of
hair finished off the animal in that direction. A much smaller animal of
a similar shape was browsing along the lake shore a little distance
away. Dusty Star did not know that this odd-shaped creature was a moose,
but he did know that, whatever the creature was called, she was a cow
with her calf. As he looked, he saw the moose lift one of her large fore
hoofs and paw the water among the water-lily leaves on which she had
evidently been feeding.
He was so intent on watching these animals that he set his foot on a
twig which cracked. It was only a slight sound but it startled the
moose. Instantly she wheeled round in order to face the possible danger
which threatened from the shore. She paused for a moment or two, while
her big ears turned towards every side, and her wide nostrils scented
the air. Then she gave a harsh and peculiar cry, as a summons to her
calf, which immediately came blundering and splashing up to her.
Dusty Star remained absolutely still, not daring to flick an eyelid. He
would not have been afraid of the odd beast if she had been alone; but
he knew that a cow with her calf beside her was a totally different
matter; and that an alarmed and angry mother is one of the most deadly
perils of the wilderness.
For a few seconds, owing to his complete stillness, the cow did not see
him, and neither ears nor nose helped her, partly because the light air
which was blowing did not carry his scent towards her. In spite of this,
the moose suspected that something she had not yet seen was within the
range of her eyes, if only it would betray itself by some motion,
however slight. Giving her calf a push with her long nose to make it get
behind her, she advanced cautiously a step or two in-shore. And still
what she was looking for remained indistinguishable. She stopped, pawed
the water angrily with her hoof and again advanced.
Dusty Star began to feel uncomfortable. He know that if the cow came
within very short range, she might discover him in spite of that
absolute motionlessness which often deceives the eyes of the wild
creatures.
As if she had heard a fresh sound somewhere down the lake, she turned
her head in that direction. Dusty Star unwisely took the opportunity to
step softly back. Instantly the cow swung her head round. Dusty Star
froze to stillness as before. And yet it was as if the movement he had
just made still vibrated about his stillness, like a quivering of the
air. The great eyes of the cow fastened upon him, and she _saw_!
Without a second's hesitation, and snorting with anger and defiance, she
charged.
In the forest things usually happen very quickly or they do not happen
at all. The moose had been so intent in searching for Dusty Star that
she had not perceived a much greater danger stalking her unawares. At
the very moment the boy leaped aside to escape her furious onset, a long
dark body shot itself through the air, and all but landed on her back.
All but, yet not quite!
The panther had calculated his spring to a nicety, but he had not
forseen the sudden leap with which the moose swerved as the danger
launched itself upon her. Swift though her movement was, she did not
receive the warning soon enough to jump entirely clear; and although the
panther had not succeeded in landing on her neck as he had intended, he
caught her shoulder with a raking sweep of his paw. Two long gashes,
from which the blood sprang freely, showed the track of those murderous
claws. Yet the blow was not a disabling one, and only served to rouse
the moose to fury. Rearing on her hind legs, she brought her
hatchet-edged fore hoofs down with all her force. Where she aimed, she
struck--the panther's neck. The blow from these terrible weapons, of
which every wild animal stands rightly in awe, with all the force of her
great weight behind them, was tremendous. With a howl of pain the
panther went down; but as he sank, he buried his fangs deep in the cow's
neck. His weight pulled her to one side. She lost her footing, and
plunged into the lake.
Dusty Star saw a fountain of spray and a welter of bloody foam. Then,
out of the seething whirlpool, the panther's dark body emerged and
staggered to the bank. The cow meantime had struggled to her feet, and
gave a defiant bellow of rage. Dusty Star fully expected to see the
battle begin again. But the panther, evidently not relishing the sight
of the Mother Fury, thought better of it, and slunk off into the bushes.
Dusty Star followed his example, and while the moose was busy in nosing
her terrified calf to assure herself that it had come to no harm, he
made quickly off into the woods, so that when the cow once more turned
her blazing eyes to the shore in search of her enemies, Dusty Star, like
the panther, was lost among the trees.
After his adventure with the moose, nothing disturbed the still monotony
of the sultry day. The mist had lifted now, and a grey haze veiled the
distance. He travelled as rapidly as possible, avoiding the swampy
ground. Every time he reached a point where he could look back along the
lake, he gazed anxiously for the shape of a canoe. Yet nothing broke the
glimmering levels of its vast expanse. For all that, he grew more and
more uneasy as the day wore on. He could not rid himself of the sense of
a danger already on its way. The fact that it gave no outward sign of
its approach only served to increase his anxiety. He went on steadily,
hoping that every fresh point he reached would show the end of the lake.
At length, from a narrow spit of sand (the very same in which Kiopo had
recovered himself) he saw it. Beyond in a dusky background, the forest
lay for leagues; and after the forest, the valley: and--in the
valley--home! He turned to look behind him, down the lake. As he did so,
his heart bounded. Far away in the hazy distance, he saw the shadowy
outline of a canoe.
They were coming then! The warning had spoken truly. He had not been
deceived. Without an instant's delay, he darted from the sand-spit and
plunged into the woods.
Owing to the extent and thickness of the willow swamps, it was some time
before he reached the head of the lake. Beyond that, as he knew, the
forest was more open, and he would be able to travel much more rapidly.
But what would be good for him, would also help his pursuers. All he
could hope was that he would be able to get a long enough start of them
to keep well ahead--till he could find a sufficiently safe hiding-place.
He found an old deer-path, and followed it for a long distance, though
it trended rather too much to the south. Behind him he heard the harsh
calling of a couple of jays, and now and then he came across a chipmunk
which chattered indignantly at his presence. Otherwise he neither saw
nor heard anything to cause him alarm. As the time went on, he began to
hope that he had out-distanced his pursuers. And yet he could not rid
himself of the feeling that he was being followed.
In front of him the forest climbed the slope of a small hill. Here and
there the trees gave way to rocky spaces where enormous rocks towered
between them. At a glance, Dusty Star could see that it would be a good
place to hide in. He stood for a moment or two and looked carefully
along the back trail. He saw only the endless tree-trunks, grey-green in
the shadows. Nothing stirred.... Ah, what was that? His eyes fastened on
the spot where for the fraction of a second something seemed to have
flickered. He could not say that he had _seen_ an Indian flit from one
tree-trunk to another. Yet the sense that something was there made him
almost sure. If he had obeyed his first instinct to continue his flight
he would, most probably, have fallen at once into his enemies' hands.
Instead, he climbed quickly up among the rocks.
There was no time to lose in searching for the best hiding-place; yet he
stumbled by chance upon one which might have been made for the very
purpose. It was a narrow opening that led into a passage running into
the very centre of a pile of flat-topped rocks which enclosed it on all
sides, and which was so curiously formed that they looked exactly as if
deliberately placed one on top of another in the form of a building. To
all appearances, the passage had only one entrance, and it was not until
Dusty Star had crept to the extreme end that he found another opening so
thickly covered with ferns and brambles that it could not be seen by any
one on the outer side. He parted the undergrowth with the utmost care
and looked out. Almost immediately afterwards he saw what made his heart
beat with renewed fear. He saw an Indian leave the cover of the trees
and advance quickly towards the rocks. He was followed by another, and
yet another. Dusty Star counted five in all. Before he could tell
exactly what part of the rocks they were making for, they disappeared.
After that, he lay perfectly still trembling at the lightest sound.
All at once he was conscious of a shadow which darkened the passage. He
looked up and saw, through the fern, an Indian apparently gazing
straight down at him.
Dusty Star knew only too well what an Indian's eye can see, in spite of
leafy coverings; and because he could observe every detail of the tall
figure towering above him in the light, it seemed almost impossible that
he himself could escape detection. He lay stiff with fear, scarcely
daring to take breath, while those moments of terrible suspense passed
slowly one by one and he dreaded that the next would bring his doom.
He closed his eyes, lest even the flicker of an eyelid should betray
him, and waited helplessly for the worst. When at length he found
courage to open them again, the Indian had gone.
The shadow of the wilderness had saved him; the ancient darkness that is
darker than men's cunning in a shadow-casting land.
For a long time he did not dare to move. When at last he crept from his
hiding-place, the afternoon was well advanced. He moved from point to
point with the utmost caution, but could see no trace of his enemies.
That, however, as he well knew, did not mean that they were gone. That
things were out of sight only too often meant that they were very close
at hand. Yet, in spite of the danger of continuing his flight, Dusty
Star decided to take the risk, in case the Indians should return and
make a more thorough search among the rocks. He travelled on as swiftly
as he dared, keeping his eyes to the utmost on the alert.
It was only the merest motion of a fir-branch well to the right, such as
might have been caused by the weight of a perching bird, or the movement
of the breeze; but Dusty Star saw it and took the alarm. When, an
instant later, an Indian broke cover and came bounding towards him like
a buck, Dusty Star was already on the run.
One swift glance behind, showed him that his foe was coming at full
speed. As he came, he uttered a shrill whoop as a signal to his
companions that their quarry was in sight. The cry sent a thrill of
terror through the boy's veins. From the start, he felt that unless he
put forth his utmost strength, he was doomed.
And now he fled between the trees as if his moccasins were wings. His
running power was marvellous. The prairies and the wolves between them,
had given him that. If the antelopes went like the wind, Dusty Star went
like the antelopes. Even his pursuers, as relentless and almost as
tireless as the wolves themselves, and who passed their lives among
winged and footed swiftnesses, were astonished at such running, the like
of which they had never seen. To their amazed eyes he seemed less to be
running than _floating_ out of their sight. There was "medicine" in his
feet!
What his own running looked like, Dusty Star did not know. But he knew
what the forest looked like. It ceased to stand still. The trees raced
to meet him, in a hurry to be past! And as they came, he seemed to cast
them behind him, tree by breathless tree; hemlock and fir, sycamore and
maple--it was as if he flung the whole rushing forest in the teeth of
the pursuit!
After the first terrified glances to measure the distance, he did not
dare to look behind. All his sight was needed for the ground immediately
ahead. To fall--even to stumble--might cost him his life. Yet he knew
that, so far, he was keeping ahead. The knowledge gave him courage. If
only his strength would hold out! The pace was killing. He knew he could
not keep it up for very much longer. Even now he fancied he was running
less quickly. He was beginning to realize that he got his breath with
more and more effort. And to lose his breath was the beginning of the
end. For a considerable distance, his greater speed would enable him to
out-distance all pursuit; but in a long race, it is endurance which
counts; and while his pursuers were full-grown men, he was, after all,
only yet a boy. Yet with breath going, and courage failing, Dusty Star
fled on.
If there is a Good Spirit which carries its mysterious warning to the
children of the wilderness when danger threatens, it would seem
sometimes as if there were an evil one which lures them to their doom.
Else why should Dusty Star swerve suddenly to the right along a new
trail, and in doing so turn to look behind? The next moment, he had
caught his foot against a projecting root, and was down.
He was on his feet in an instant; but the fall had lessened his
breathing power, and when he started to run again, it was plain that he
was losing ground.
With savage whoops of triumph, his pursuers came bounding on.
With a feeling of wild despair. Dusty Star gathered himself together for
a final effort. As he made it, he cried aloud. It was a strange sort of
bark, half-human, half-wolf. If any wolf-ear happened to catch it, the
hearer would recognize it as a call for help. But although Dusty Star
threw all his voice into that last despairing cry, it seemed to be
muffled by the forest till it died in the throat of its glooms.
The Indians were very close upon him now. Only the humming of the blood
in his ears deadened the soft padding sound of their moccasins as they
ran.
But now, at the very last, there swims into Dusty Star's sight a
confused vision. It comes at a tremendous pace. Its running is that of a
wolf at full speed, the body low along the ground. The strong,
deeply-padded feet spurn the ground from under them with bounds that are
like blows. The eyes burn like green fires. There is a wild glare in
them, of rage goaded to madness. All the fury of the forest is in that
grey running with the eyes that burn.
Dusty Star, dazed with exhaustion did not immediately realize what the
creature was, until it leaped upon him, and he fell.
The Indians saw a huge grey wolf which seemed to be pulling their prey
down before they could reach it. They gave tongue to a savage yell, and
bore down upon the wolf.
However terrifying an Indian war-whoop is to human ears, it produced a
contrary effect on the animal mounting guard over Dusty Star. Before the
foremost red-skin was within half-a-dozen yards of the spot, the
crouching, snarling Fury unbent like mighty springs of its hind
quarters. Like a battering-ram, all the 150-lb weight of Kiopo's body
drove against the Indian's chest. He went down with a cry. The Indian
immediately behind him, realizing the danger when too late, sprang
aside. But Kiopo was too quick for him. There was a leap, a flash of
fangs, and he shared the fate of the leader.
What followed took place almost more quickly than it can be described.
The Indians, finding themselves attacked by so dangerous an enemy,
separated at once, but not before another of their number had gone down
before the terrific onslaught of the wolf. One or two hurled their
tomahawks, but Kiopo's movements were so bafflingly swift that it was
like trying to wound the wind.
All round Dusty Star's body, the Madness that was Kiopo swept a magic
circle which no Indian dared to cross. Those who had rashly attempted to
do so payed dearly for their rashness. The wolf's fangs were splashed
with blood. His eyeballs glittered with that ominous green light, which
seemed the very glare of madness.
It was indeed a question whether Kiopo was not really partly mad. His
passionate attachment to Dusty Star, his grief in losing him, his fury
against his captors, his joy at recovering him and fear of losing him
again--all united to turn him into this wolfish Terror against which
nothing could stand. The Indians grew more and more alarmed. The manner
in which Kiopo kept them at bay while avoiding any injury which they
tried to inflict, impressed their superstitious minds with the belief
that this was no ordinary wolf. And if, as they began to believe, he
were a "medicine-wolf," an animal gifted with supernatural powers, then
it was only inviting death to provoke him. It was plain to them now that
this boy they were trying to kill was under the protection of the
beasts. And the medicine of the beasts was very strong. The Great Spirit
ran with the beasts. There were times when it was better not to hunt,
lest you should hunt the Great Spirit and be destroyed.
It was this feeling of uncertainty, and growing awe, which weakened
their attack and made them waver. And Kiopo, realizing that his enemies
were giving way, became more daring. Not content with continuing to keep
them at bay, he passed suddenly from defence to attack. Nothing could
withstand the fury of his onset. The great body hurled itself on all
sides; the deadly fangs never missed their mark; the wolf launched
himself terrifically, like a thunderbolt with teeth!
In utter panic, the Indians broke and fled. Those who were fortunate
enough to escape the raging madness at their heels, scattered far into
the woods, and sought refuge at last by climbing into the trees.
It was not till the last Indian had disappeared, that Kiopo, glutted
with vengeance, returned to the spot where he had left Dusty Star. The
boy had risen to his feet, and was looking round fearfully lest one or
other of his enemies might take advantage of Kiopo's absence to return
to the attack; but when he saw the wolf come bounding back through the
trees, he knew that he was safe. He was overcome with joy at Kiopo's
reappearance. As for Kiopo himself, he was utterly at a loss how to
express his wild delight; but though he gave vent to it in strange
wolfish ways, Dusty Star understood. And when they each had expressed
their happiness after their own fashion, they turned their faces
westward, and took the homeward trail.
It was sunset when they reached the valley. As the familiar landmarks
rose to view, Dusty Star felt a great joy surge up in his heart. Once
more back out of the world! Once more to be hidden out of sight and mind
in the vast shadowy silences that were older than the beasts; older even
than the ancient footways of the cariboo, which, as everybody knows,
began before geography, because the Cariboo have gone on walking since
the beginning of the world.
After this wonderful re-union the two settled down again to the old life
in the valley, and the moons went quickly by. Summer passed into Fall,
Fall into Winter, and Dusty Star for the first time learned the real
meaning of cold. If it had not been for Kiopo and Kiopo's constant
activities, he must surely have perished. But Kiopo was food and warmth
and protection rolled into one. It was a great hunting which Kiopo had
in the nights when even the moon seemed to break her way through a
frozen sky, and the trees cracked in the black frost. But though the
hunting was great, the game was often small; and as the season advanced,
the wild kin took the trails with less and less flesh upon its bones.
With the last geese and the first snow, Dusty Star piled fresh branches
round the tepee, so that it swelled visibly to double its outer size.
And for reasons of warmth, the doorway became nothing but a hole in and
out of which he, like Kiopo, went on all fours. When the snow came and
buried them, Kiopo dug themselves out. And in the blizzard that lasted
three days and nights, Kiopo's body was a central-heating arrangement
that kept the Little Brother from freezing to death.
In the snow darkness, and snow silence, Dusty Star listened to the
muffled roar of a giant wind that wrenched the forest till it seemed as
if not a tree would be left to stand. And he wondered How Baltook and
Boola did, and wished he could have persuaded Goshmeelee to take up her
winter quarters with them in the snowed-up tepee. But Goshmeelee was
extremely occupied--that is, she was extremely busy with being fast
asleep, and she wasn't going to wake up for anybody till it was time to
be Spring.
And so the winter passed, and Dusty Star followed Kiopo's example in
learning to be lean. Very lean and scraggy they both were when the snow
melted and the geese took a thought to go North. But the scragginess did
not injure their health, and as the grass grew, and the hunting
improved, the meat began to come once more upon their bones.
And so the moon of roses came once more, followed by the Thunder Moon,
and the Moon-when-the-leaves-turn-yellow; and there was not a sign of a
Yellow Dog, or of any other enemy to trouble their peace. And Winter
came again; as before. And when the spring came for the second time, it
seemed almost as if Carboona had always been their home. And nothing
seemed to change except that Baltook and Boola got a new litter of cubs
each year, and that after Goshmeelee had licked one or two babies into
cleanliness one season, it was the same tongue, but a new Baby, the
next! As for Mr. Goshmeelee, he was so very shy and retiring that it was
only once in a blue moon that you ever saw him at all. And as Goshmeelee
didn't bother to mention him, Dusty Star didn't like to press her with
questions, and pretended he wasn't there.
But the one real change was just the one about which Dusty Star knew the
least and did not fuss himself about at all. For the winter and the
summer, and the heat and the cold, and the meat coming on his bones, and
going off again, and the great life he lived with Kiopo beyond Human
ken, were slowly but surely working upon him.
_He was growing up!_