THE MOON WHEN THINGS WALK
By signs that were unmistakable, Dusty Star knew that a new, strange
restlessness had invaded Kiopo's bones. It was not that he watched the
forest borders with suspicion, as before, for an invisible foe. That
uneasiness might be there, but it seemed for the present to be swallowed
up in a deeper restlessness which preyed upon him day and night. After
Dusty Star's return from his Carboona excursion, Kiopo had regarded him
with a reproving eye. It was useless for Dusty Star to pretend that
nothing had happened. Kiopo never met the Lone Wolf; and Goshmeelee
bulging with berries did not blab. Nevertheless, Kiopo knew that the
Little Brother had taken the law into his own hand, and that trouble was
on the way.
Kiopo could not rest. The Fall had come, and, with the Fall, its
wandering impulses. An unquiet itch had got into the skin of things, and
into the heart of things a strange desire. Every wild creature felt it,
each in its own degree. The Cariboo were off on their vague journeyings
that took them half across the world. It was the moon when things
appeared and vanished; the moon when travelling voices came out of the
north, when a thin sleep covered the earth by day, and when things went
out walking at the falling of the night.
Kiopo also walked.
Where he went Dusty Star could not tell. He watched and watched; but
Kiopo always eluded him at the coming-on of dusk. Mere hunting did not
account for it. The kills he made were not numerous. Often he brought
back what barely sufficed for their needs. It was only too clear that
something beyond mere hunting occupied his mind.
What made the thing still more peculiar was that, wherever it was Kiopo
went, there he also howled. Night after night, about an hour after
sundown, Dusty Star would hear the familiar voice raised in melancholy
wailing in the distance, as if it resounded from the sides of a gorge.
And as he lay awake, listening to the woeful sound, he would hear, ever
and anon, dark voices out of the north, that came clanging above the
hollow woods, and making the silence quake. And though he told himself
that it was only the first flights of the geese, he could not get rid of
the feeling that other voices went along the middle sky, and that the
dark was haunted with wings.
At last he determined to discover where it was that Kiopo went to do his
howling, and what happened when he howled. So, one evening, when the
wolf, as was his custom, slunk into the shadow of the woods, Dusty Star,
on noiseless moccasins, disappeared also. He kept Kiopo in sight for
some time without his knowledge. Then, when at last his form became
indistinguishable in the gloom, he followed as best he could the
direction he believed he had taken.
Due south-west from the camp, a high spur of rock jutted from the
mountain at the side of an immense gorge. It struck boldly out like an
ocean promontory; and on nights when the wind was high, it would have
been easy to imagine that the deepening roar which rose from the
straining spruce woods beneath was the welter and crash of a rising sea.
Dusty Star had seen the place several times in the day-time, and it
struck him now that it would be a likely spot for Kiopo to choose for
his nightly performance. The trail thither lay through thick forest and
was not an easy one to follow. But the boy had a strong sense of
direction, and every time he reached an open space between the trees, he
took his bearings from the stars. As he went, he listened intently for
the first notes of Kiopo's singing, and before he had travelled half the
distance, they came. In the deep stillness of the night, the call
sounded comparatively close. There could be little mistake as to its
direction, which was either that of the promontory, or some spot very
near it.
Seven times he heard the cry, each time clearer than before: then there
was a long silence, disturbed by not a single sound. Through the
breathless stillness, Dusty Star continued his secret advance. By the
last howl he guessed that he must be drawing very near to his goal; yet
that very nearness made it necessary for him to use the greatest caution
in order not to give Kiopo the alarm. Soon he saw a huge mass of rocks
loom blackly between him and the rising moon.
He did not dare to attempt to climb its almost perpendicular sides; but,
skirting the base of it, worked his way up the mountain slope so that he
might reach it from above. He arrived at last at the beginning of the
promontory, and, lying flat on his stomach, looked about him. On all
sides, the rocks took strange appearances, like humped beasts, crouched,
and watching. Yet nothing stirred, nothing breathed. Of Kiopo there was
not a sign. In front of him, a large boulder hid the end of the
promontory from sight. Dusty Star worked himself slowly round it, foot
by foot. When he was half-way round, he stopped; for there, at the
extreme end of the rocks, with his back towards him, he saw Kiopo
sitting motionless, as he gazed out into the enormous night. Then, he
saw him throw up his head; and again the long, throbbing howl made the
gorges ring.
Dusty Star had heard howling many times before. Since his earliest
infancy, the throats of wolf, fox and coyote had haunted his ears like
nursery song-books with ancient, terrible tunes. But to-night, the tune
seemed to gather a new terror, and made his pulses throb. His first
impulse was to call to Kiopo so that he might not do it again. Only this
was one of those times when, in spite of the intimate comradeship which
bound them together, he stood a little in awe of that mysterious
wolf-mind which was in Kiopo, and which seemed to understand the stars.
In the breathless stillness which followed the cry, Dusty Star listened
to the quickened beating of his own heart.
Once again, Kiopo howled. This time, he was answered. From the hollow
gloom of the forest below there came a deep-toned "woof" that was half a
roar.
Dusty Star saw Kiopo immediately stiffen into attention, as he turned
his head in the direction of the threatening sound. Owing to his
position he could not see what the wolf saw, but Kiopo's attitude told
him that he was watching something that had come into sight from among
the trees. His whole body was tingling with excitement. He cast all
further secrecy aside, and ran towards Kiopo. The wolf turned quickly,
and growled. As Dusty Star fully understood, the growl was one of
disapproval, not of anger. It said plainly: "You are not wanted. You are
very much in the way."
Dusty Star knew, when too late, that this was true. Yet he was glad he
had come. Kiopo could not keep _this_ thing secret, as he had kept
others. He would see what was to be seen: whatever the danger was, Kiopo
and he would meet it together.
Again Kiopo lifted his voice; but this time it was no weary howl, making
melancholy echoes: it was a short, deep bark, like an explosion.
Another "woof," rather higher pitched than the first, rose angrily from
below. The enemy had accepted Kiopo's challenge for the fight. A few
minutes afterwards, a great, grey timber wolf came stalking down the
promontory with the battle-light in his eyes.
As soon as he appeared, Dusty Star realized in a flash that they had met
before, and that he was once again face to face with the giant wolf from
whose murderous attack Goshmeelee had rescued him. For the Terror of the
Carboona, Goshmeelee had been more than a match. But Kiopo, mighty
fighter as he was, was not Goshmeelee. As he watched, an awful dread
began to creep into Dusty Star's heart.
And now Kiopo prepared for what he knew must come. The first thing he
did was to give Dusty Star a butt with his head, which said clearly
enough: "Get well out of the way."
Dusty Star was not so foolish as to disobey, knowing well that he could
be of little use to Kiopo as soon as the fight began. So he scrambled
hastily to the top of a high rock where he could watch what happened
without being in danger.
On came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly
from side to side. As he advanced, he growled deeply. Kiopo awaited him
without moving, every muscle tense, while he measured his enemy's points
and probable strength. The Lone Wolf came to a stand, and for a few
moments the wolves stood facing each other at the distance of a spring.
[Illustration: ON CAME THE BIG GREY STRANGER, WALKING STIFFLY, HIS TAIL
WAVING SLOWLY FROM SIDE TO SIDE]
Both animals were splendid specimens of their class. What Kiopo wanted
in height, little though that was, he made up for in breadth and depth
of shoulder and chest. An onlooker would have said that in actual
fighting powers, the creatures were almost equally matched, though the
chances lay on the side of the stranger. It would be only a close
observer of beasts who would have marked not merely the depth of Kiopo's
chest, but the greater width of his skull between the eyes.
It was plain that Lone Wolf was in an ugly mood. The hairs along his
back stood stiffly, and his eyes gleamed like smouldering brands. In
Kiopo he saw the hated rival whose hunting lay so close to the borders
of his own range, and whose howling was a nightly challenge to the
lordship of Carboona. He was well aware that Kiopo was not a foe to be
slighted; but his repeated victories had made him insolent, and in the
present instance he was confident of success.
Kiopo too, was in a rage; partly because his right to exist had been
challenged by a powerful foe, partly because of the presence of Dusty
Star. The mere idea that any harm threatened the Little Brother was more
than enough to rouse him to a fury of fighting pitch. Rather than that a
hair of the Little Brother should be injured, he would fight to the
death. Yet in spite of his anger, he was wary. He had not fought
Stickchi in vain. His strong limbs gathered well beneath him, he bided
his time.
Suddenly, the Lone Wolf sprang.
Dusty Star caught his breath, and gripped his rock more tightly. The
fight had begun!
Kiopo was not caught napping. In a flash he jerked his body sideways, so
that Lone Wolf, instead of bearing him down as he had intended, and so
gaining the advantage, landed close on his left flank. And although his
fangs raked Kiopo's ribs, Kiopo replied at the same instant by a counter
slash that ripped his antagonist's shoulder.
The fight had started now in real earnest. It was a wolfish whirlwind of
motion. The two enraged animals bounded, slashed, gripped together, tore
themselves apart, in a series of movements so lightning-swift as to
baffle the eyes. When locked together, sometimes one would be on top,
sometimes the other; but their immense strength, and amazing agility,
made it impossible for either of them to hold the other down for any
length of time. And Lone Wolf soon learnt that, when Kiopo was on his
back, his methods were even more to be feared than when he was on his
feet; for it was then that his hind quarters came most successfully into
play. Those powerful quarters, fully armed with claws, were formidable
engines of war when directed against Lone Wolf's stomach. More than once
Lone Wolf was forced to loosen his grip upon his foe and tear himself
away with a yelp of pain. And each time, like a relentless fury, Kiopo
had leaped upon him in a fresh onslaught. Soon, both animals were
streaming with blood; yet their many wounds, far from lessening their
rage, seemed to make them more madly determined to fight on to the
death.
Perched upon his rock, Dusty Star watched the appalling struggle going
on immediately below him, with an excitement and a dread that passed all
bounds. His close intimacy with wild animals, had taught him that a
fight of this sort could only be ended by the death of one or other of
the fighters, and his terror naturally was lest Kiopo should not be able
to hold his own. He had never known him to fail before; but then never
before had he encountered a foe so nearly matched with him in strength.
So far, it would not have been possible to say that either wolf had
gained any decided advantage over the other, but now Dusty Star observed
something which filled him with a new fear. Either by chance or design,
the wolves were very much nearer to the edge of the precipice than at
the beginning of the fight. Surely, he thought, Kiopo, the always wary
one, must have realized _that_? In his frantic anxiety to make sure that
he realized, Dusty Star clapped his hands and shouted.
Whether Kiopo understood the warning or not, the sound of Dusty Star's
voice seemed to goad him to fresh efforts. The Little Brother had cried.
He was fighting for the Little Brother as much as for himself. For a
while it seemed as if the Lone Wolf must succumb to the fresh fury of
his onslaught. In spite of this, Dusty Star saw with horror that the
fight had rolled closer than ever to the edge.
And now it seemed that Kiopo had begun to lose his temporary advantage.
Soon it became all too plain that he was steadily losing ground, and was
being pushed nearer and nearer to the fatal edge. At last he reached it.
In the final struggle for mastery, the wolves, still tearing furiously
at each other, seemed poised on the very brink. In another moment, one
or other, if not both, must surely be dashed to destruction. Again, in a
fever of suspense, Dusty Star held his breath.
And then the thing happened-the amazing thing which, to the latest day
of his life, he would never forget!
Just as Kiopo appeared to be pushed to his last foothold, with his hind
quarters doubled under him beneath the fatal pressure of his all-but
victorious foe, he gathered himself together for a last supreme effort,
and the powerful sinews of those compressed hind legs did the work he
relied on them to do.
In spite of appearances to the contrary, he had deliberately allowed
himself to be pushed to the precipice. There was cunning in him, as well
as courage. The breadth between the eyes was beginning to tell. If Dusty
Star had been able to guess this, he might have been spared some, at
least, of the terror of the last few eventful moments. What he actually
saw was _this_--a violent movement throughout the whole of Kiopo's body;
a mighty upward urge that lifted his enemy clean off his feet; then, a
swift sideways wrench of his powerful neck and shoulders; and the heave
of a dark body over the precipice edge.
With a thrill of unutterable relief, Dusty Star realized that the body
which went crashing to its doom was not Kiopo's!
He sprang down from his rock, wild with exultant joy, Kiopo was safe!
Kiopo had won! The great fight was over, and Kiopo was the victor.
He rushed to the wolf, but in the very moment of throwing his arms about
him, stopped. For, in spite of his overwhelming delight, his wilderness
wisdom did not forsake him. He realized that Kiopo was too badly wounded
to be touched.
The wolf lay on his side, bleeding from a dozen wounds. He took his
breath in panting gasps that were almost sobs. It went to the boy's
heart to hear the struggle for air, for life itself; yet for the moment
he was helpless. If he had had a wound himself, he possessed sufficient
Indian medical knowledge to treat it with healing herbs and bind it up.
But with the wolf it was altogether different. Kiopo could not have
borne bandages, even if Dusty Star had had them to apply. The only
remedies possible were three: rest, Nature, and his own wolfish tongue.
This Dusty Star knew quite well. All he dared to do was to kneel on the
ground beside Kiopo while he gazed into his eyes, and made a murmuring
medicine-talk with his mouth. And it needed no explanation to tell the
wolf that all the love in the Little Brother's heart was flooding out
through his eyes and mouth. He could not have borne the Little Brother's
hand just then, tender though its touch would have been. But he was
grateful for the medicine-talk of the Little Brother's Mouth; and the
Little Brother's eyes comforted him: they seemed to lick him like
soothing tongues.
For the rest of that night, and far into the next morning Kiopo lay
where he was, licking his wounds. When the sun began to beat down upon
the promontory, he dragged himself painfully into the shadows of the
rocks, and remained there for the rest of the day. Dusty Star went in
search of water and found a spring half-way down the gorge. By making a
cup of a broad leaf of skunk cabbage, he was able to carry back a little
water, which Kiopo eagerly drank. He had to make the journey many times,
because no matter how cunningly he twisted the leaf, the pitcher would
find a way of leaking; and although he always started with it as full as
it would hold, it was more than half empty by the time it reached
Kiopo's parched tongue.
There was another thing which Dusty Star found besides the spring. Down
at the precipice foot, not far from the spot where the skunk cabbage
grew, he came upon a large grey body which had broken its neck upon the
rocks. And he knew for a certainty that the Terror of the Carboona would
hunt on his range no more.
Nature, the great Mother of Healing, did her work. With her help, two
nights and a day of rest and licking, and the cool water the Little
Brother brought, enabled Kiopo gradually to regain his strength. Great
was Dusty Star's joy, when, on the second morning after the fight, he
saw Kiopo struggle to his feet and move slowly towards the forest.
They travelled slowly, but, in spite of that, reached home before
sundown, while high over their heads, the tall tops of the spruces
loitered in the golden light. Never had the valley looked more peaceful
than on this still evening of early Fall. The restlessness which had
waxed with the waxing of the moon, seemed to have departed from it on
furtive feet beyond Carboona to the great Shuswap lake where the heavy
waters rest. Yet the valley was not so deserted as it looked. For just
as they came in sight of the camp, a large body was seen to move slowly
away. Kiopo saw it, but did not growl. He recognized it as that of the
old she-bear.
When Goshmeelee became aware of the travellers, she did not quicken her
steps. Why should she? She never hurried unless folks worried her. She
made a special point of living very slowly. It suited her digestion, and
she usually had a great deal to digest. So instead of departing in a
fluster, she sat down heavily in order to contemplate them at her ease.
"Been fighting," she said to herself, as soon as she had taken note of
Kiopo, but she was too polite, or too lazy, to put it into speech.
Kiopo observed her out of the corner of his eye, walking past with great
dignity, as much as to say that she needn't pity _him_. She was a very
feminine bear, and he was a very masculine wolf. She took up more room
in the world than he did, and had a wider way when she sat down. If it
had not been for the Little Brother, he could do without her in a world
where the bear-folk and the wolf-folk do not mix. But the Little Brother
carried confusion with him. He seemed brother to half the forest. He
made acquaintances right and left. If you made a kill, you could never
be sure that the Little Brother would not make a fuss because you had
killed one of his folk!
If the Little Brother's way got general, all the world would become
brothers, and there would be nothing left to kill.
Dusty Star went up to the old bear joyfully, and gave her a playful
push.
"We've come back," he said.
Goshmeelee grunted, as much as to say that she had already perceived the
fact.
"Say you're glad!" Dusty Star said, shaking her thick coat.
Goshmeelee gave a second grunt, which might mean anything, or nothing.
She did not feel she had any cause for special thankfulness. But she
looked at her tormentor with such a grave expression that he felt
uncomfortable. Goshmeelee's way was to make you feel she had things to
say before she said them.
"I am very glad to be back," Dusty Star said, pretending he hadn't
noticed anything odd in Goshmeelee's manner.
There was a pause. Then Goshmeelee asked him suddenly:
"Will you be glad to go?"
"Go? But we have only just come back!" he exclaimed.
"In Carboona there are many comings and goings," Goshmeelee said
vaguely. "One does not always remain."
"But why should I go?" Dusty Star asked earnestly; for his curiosity was
now fully roused.
Goshmeelee swayed a little, and grunted, which meant that the _reason_
for his going was hidden from _her_.
"But we have come back to stay always," Dusty Star said uneasily. "Has
anything happened since we have been away?"
"Strange feet are walking," the bear replied darkly. "In the forest
there is a new trail."
What the trail told, where, by whom made, Goshmeelee would not say. All
Dusty Star's utmost efforts were useless to induce her to throw any
further light on her mysterious remarks. When she had stared at him for
a little longer, in an aggravating dumbness, she dropped down on her
front feet, and lumbered gently away.