HOW DUSTY STAR DANCED WITH THE WOLVES
After Lone Chief had left him in order to carry his refusal back to the
tribe, Dusty Star was not happy in his mind. Wherever he went, whatever
he did, the vague unhappiness went with him. The forest was the same;
the creatures were the same, and yet, somehow nothing was quite as it
had been before. Even Carboona, that colossal Sameness, seemed to hold
something uneasy sitting in its heart. In vain he went and sat on his
favorite look-out places above the runways, and secretly observed the
coming and going of stealthy feet. Equally in vain was the long
conversation he had with Goshmeelee, who gave him her views about the
increasing difficulty of finding grubs in the cedar swamp, and the other
important matters.
And the growing unhappiness of the boy was shared by the wolf, who now
ceased to make long expeditions and did his hunting nearer camp.
When once Dusty Star had convinced himself that he had done wrong in
refusing to help his people, he did not waste any time in making up his
mind. He would go back. He would follow Lone Chief along the vast
distances that lay out there to the east. But he would not go alone.
Where he went, Kiopo should go too. They would carry the medicine
between them that should bring deliverance to his tribe. But first he
must say good-bye to his friends, whom he might not see for a very long
time, if indeed he ever saw them again. Out there in the east many
things might happen. And Baltook and Goshmeelee would not be there to
understand.
It was with a heavy heart that he climbed up to the den of the Silver
Fox. To his great disappointment, he found that Baltook was not at home.
Boola was, however, and the family. Without saying a word to her, he
made Boola understand. She gazed at him with a look in her eyes which
said as plainly as any expression could: "Don't do it!"
Dusty Star stroked her glossy fur affectionately, and felt the heaviness
sit heavier in his heart. And then, because the shadows were
lengthening, he went slowly down the hill. And far above him, in the
golden silences, Boola lifted her voice and howled.
With Goshmeele the case was different. _She_ did not content herself
with merely looking. She told him very plainly that he was a fool to go.
Even if grubs were scarce, she said, there were fat frogs by the stream
borders, and the berries were not yet over, if you were energetic enough
to search for them, and knew where to look. Dusty Star explained that it
was not a question of food, but of feeling. To which Goshmeelee replied
that food _was_ feeling, and that a stomach without plenty of berries in
it was a feeling that could keep you from going to sleep. She either
couldn't or wouldn't understand that there was such a thing as duty. But
she _did_ understand that what Dusty Star had in his mind meant a deal
of exercise; and that a lot of walking walked the meat clean off your
bones. "Stay here and get fat," was her unalterable opinion as to the
best thing to do. And when she found that Dusty Star was obstinate, she
growled at him in affectionate remonstrance, and let him dig his hands
into the deep places of her fur. And the good healthy smell of her warm
bearishness tickled his nose, and made him feel at home, and inclined to
keep hidden in Carboona from all the worry and tongue-wagging of the
stormy Indian world.
But then the memory of Lone Chief, and of the strong things he had said,
came to him, and teased his brain even more than the smell of Goshmeelee
tickled his nose.
So, without any more argument with her, he got up, and ran away quickly
till he was hidden among the trees. And after he was gone, Goshmeelee
watched the way he had disappeared, and then began solemnly to lick the
places where he had disarranged her fur.
After leaving her, Dusty Star did not return to camp. Once he had
started to say good-bye, meant with him that the departure had already
begun. There was no need to go back for Kiopo. Before leaving he had
made the wolf clearly understand that they were going upon a long
journey; also, that although he expected him to remain near at hand, he
did not wish him to be too close while he paid his good-bye visits to
the foxes and the bear. And Kiopo did what was expected of him, and kept
discreetly out of sight.
So now, Dusty Star went on swiftly through the forest, not in the least
doubting that, although Kiopo was out of sight, he was within earshot in
case of need, and that the great pads of his feet carried him softly
along the trail.
When the last glimmer of twilight departed, Dusty Star camped for the
night. The camping was very simple. It only meant finding a sheltered
place among the tree-roots, eating some of the food he had brought with
him, and settling himself for sleep. And as he settled down, he felt
rather than saw the big wolf-shape that stole softly into camp and lay
down within reach of his arm.
In spite of their journey having begun, the travellers lay still within
the edges of Carboona--the strange and lonely land. Voices out of
Carboona travelled to them darkly, at long intervals, like voices of
departing and farewell. There was the far-off bark of a fox, signalling
to its mate; or the dreary hooting of an owl. But Dusty Star slept
soundly, and if the voices reached him, it was only in his dreams. Once
only he woke, and that was not because of a sound, but of a touch. A
cold nose touched his cheek. Instantly he was wide-awake, thinking it
was Kiopo warning him of some danger. But the wolf was sleeping where he
had lain down, and had not stirred. Dusty Star waited expectantly. But
though he kept absolutely still, his mysterious visitor made no other
sign. Once only a twig cracked faintly under the pressure of a stealthy
foot; but the darkness was too dense for Dusty Star to detect the secret
movement of the black robe with the silver tips, as it drifted softly
away. But long, long afterwards, when countless moons had come and gone,
Dusty Star, remembering, was sure that it was Baltook who had brought
his cold nose to him as a token of farewell.
The morning song of little Kilooleet, the white-throated sparrow, was
already trickling through the maple leaves, when the travellers started
again upon their way. As on their first coming into the region, so now,
at their departing, the small grey people in the underground doorways
watched the great shapes furtively, and made disturbed noises at each
other after they were gone. And in the little damp corridors, where the
darkness was twisty because of many roots, the tiny feet pattered
nervously, and the tiny whiskers twitched.
From the summit of a bare-topped hill, up which they had been mounting
slowly from the lower forest levels, Dusty Star paused for the first
time to look back. There, in the distance, with the morning mists lying
in white streaks along its sides, rose the great heights of Carboona
against the autumn sky. Would he ever see it again--or was he gazing at
its shining peaks and precipices for the last time? A dim fear of the
unknown crept into him--of the unseen things that lay in wait behind him
in the world. And Carboona had become, in a strange manner, his
home--his wolf-home, where, with Kiopo, he had learned those forgotten
secrets which are the medicine of the wolves. And now they were looking
at it together perhaps for the last time! As he turned away, to continue
his journey, his eyes were troubled as if they were seeking an
unfamiliar trail.
Between the forest and the prairies lay a tract of broken country full
of ravines and rocky hills. It was a barren, treeless region, where the
water-courses dried up in the summer, or shrank to muddy pools. With the
exception of a few rabbits and prairie dogs, game was scarce. Now and
then a wolf or coyote would wander across its barren buttes, scenting
the hungry air; but usually retreating with stomachs as light as when
they entered it. During the greater part of the year, the larger animals
gave it a wide berth. Indians avoided it also. They called it the Bad
Lands. But in spite of its reputation among the human kind, the beasts
had their uses for it at certain times of the year. It had seen many a
fierce battle when the wolves and coyotes followed the mating call. The
Wild Kin made their marriages there, but mostly settled their breeding
haunts far enough away. It was not a good place to be born in. But
animals hunted to the death, or those whose limbs were stiffened with
old age, knew in some mysterious way that they could crawl there to die.
But a use that was neither for mating nor dying, was one of which even
the Indians knew very little, and the reason for which even the Wild Kin
itself was in the dark.
Hunters crossing the borders of the Bad Lands in the late Summer or the
Fall, would sometimes stop to listen to a sound that rose, and died, and
swelled again, in strange discords that set Indian pulses throbbing in
an uncomfortable way. Sometimes the sound would seem to be a series of
single notes, from a solitary voice. At others, the notes crowded
thickly together as if from a multitude of throats. Indians who were
deeply religious declared that it was the wolves making medicine, when
the Great Spirit walked across the Bad Lands at the falling of the year.
Dusty Star and Kiopo reached this haunted region just at sundown. The
great bare buttes stood up redly in the sunset light. The deep stillness
was unbroken by the slightest sound. As far as the eye could reach there
was not a sign of a living thing. They had travelled steadily all day
since early dawn, and Dusty Star was glad to rest. He still had some
food left over from the previous day, the fruits of Kiopo's hunting, so
he had only to look out for a convenient spot for camping, and settle
down for the night. As soon as he had found one near a small spring,
Kiopo went off. That was nothing extraordinary, Dusty Star watched him
lift his nose to try the air, and then trot quietly down the creek bed
to the south. He knew by his movements that he was off to hunt.
After he had finished his supper, Dusty Star lay down in the place he
had chosen, and dropped instantly to sleep. He seemed to have been
asleep a long time when he woke suddenly to find Kiopo standing over him
in the moonlight. The wolf was plainly uneasy. He was making the
half-whining, half-growling sound which was always a sign that something
unusual was taking place.
Dusty Star sat up, and looked about him. In the intense clearness of the
cloudless night every object was distinctly visible. The buttes stood
out in huge silver masses, washed by the light of the moon. Their
hollows and ravines were deep in shadow; but neither in light nor shadow
was there anything which gave sign of life. Yet Dusty Star felt as if,
in spite of the apparent stillness, sound had lately travelled through
the air. The silence was not empty.
As he listened, he heard a long wolf-howl rise and fall in the distance.
It had scarcely died away when it was followed by another, and then
another. Then a whole chorus of howls filled the night with a loud and
desolate clamour. At once he knew what he was listening to. It was the
singing of the Wolves.
He listened for some time, shivering a little in spite of himself. He
was not afraid. But he was deeply stirred. Something in him answered to
the wolf voices. Kiopo's uneasiness had communicated itself to him also.
He could not explain it. He felt as if he were inside Kiopo's mind;
rather, that they shared one mind, and that the soul of the wolf-world
was calling to it.
With one accord, they set off in the direction of the cries.
The sound came from the eastward. But, owing to the broken nature of the
country, it seemed sometimes to come from every side at once. In that
hollow land, full of echoes, the ears were not always the safest guides.
But Kiopo did not travel by ear alone. His nose quested the distances.
It met the things that went walking in the wind. And surer even than his
nose was the Wisdom of the Wild Things, which was an extra sense to him,
and which mankind has put to sleep with its making of machines. So he
trotted steadily east without being bewildered by the echoes, and Dusty
Star followed, confident in his lead.
They came at last to the foot of a big butte, which Kiopo immediately
began to ascend. The cries were very clear now. The moonlit air was
filled with a chorus of high-pitched, vibrating sounds. As they climbed,
Dusty Star noticed that they did not mount alone. He counted no fewer
than four other wolves, besides Kiopo, moving swiftly up the hill. If he
saw them, Kiopo paid no attention. Even when one of them drew a little
closer than the others, he did not attempt to drive it off. And the low
growl that rumbled in his throat seemed a recognition rather than a
threat.
At the top of the hill, they came upon a wide, open space. Dusty Star
saw to his wonder that it was crowded with wolves. They formed a wide,
irregular circle, composed of single animals, and of little groups of
five or six. In the centre of the circle sat a large wolf by himself.
The remarkable thing about him was not his size, but his colour, which
was pure white. With the moonlight full upon him, it almost seemed as if
his coat itself gave out light.
As soon as Dusty Star and Kiopo joined the circle, the howling suddenly
ceased. The wolves were uneasy. It was plain that they regarded the
newcomers with suspicion, if not with enmity. Kiopo would have passed
muster, but his companion was certainly anything but a wolf. One or two
of the nearer wolves raised their hackles and growled. The rest
maintained a grim silence. And the silence was not re-assuring. Dusty
Star had the uncomfortable feeling that the pack were merely waiting for
some signal, which, whenever it was given, would be an order to attack.
In such a case he knew he must leave Kiopo to take whatever course was
wisest. They were in the wolf-world now. The law of the man-world did
not hold. The part that was so strangely wolf within him, knew that it
must submit to the law of the pack, or pay the penalty of death. He
watched Kiopo anxiously. Whatever Kiopo did within the next few moments
would decide their fate. The silence grew terrible in its stillness.
After their first restless movements the wolves were motionless, waiting
for the sign.
It was then that Kiopo acted on the sudden impulse of an instinct that
told him what to do. Very slowly and deliberately he made his way
through the ring of wolves towards the place where the white wolf sat.
As his great body detached itself from the ring, and emerged to full
view into the open space, the waiting wolves realized at once that they
had before them a born leader, one of the Great Ones of the packs.
Hitherto, the big white wolf had had no rival. His sway was recognized
over a range of wide extent to the north-west. None had ever dared to
dispute his overlordship. Far and near his fame had travelled as the
white wolf-king of the north.
Yet here was an animal, who, in point of mere size stood even higher at
the shoulders than the white giant. A hundred pairs of gleaming eyes
glared at the intruder with a hostile light.
With his own eyes shining, and every hair on his body bristling, so as
to make him seem even larger than he was, Kiopo advanced steadily
towards the leader. The White wolf rose from his haunches, growling low.
He, too, bristled, as if in resentment at the intrusion. With a common
impulse, the pack edged nearer, waiting expectantly for the coming
fight.
Dusty Star, meanwhile, remained where he was on the outer circle of the
ring, motionless as a stone, for he had received a sign from Kiopo,
warning him to stay behind.
Fear clutched at his heart, and made his pulses throb, but it was not
fear for himself. The dread was for Kiopo, lest he should do something
rash. In single combat he was not afraid of the result, even with the
white wolf for an adversary. But with the pack in their present temper,
Dusty Star knew that a single fight would not long be possible. With the
fine sense that felt the wolfish mind about him, he knew that, at the
first smell of blood, all control would vanish, and that even though
Kiopo was the most magnificent fighter in the world, his fate would be
sealed.
Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the two wolves draw closer in the
centre of the ring. Now they were within a few feet of each other.
He prepared himself for the sudden leap, the lightning slash, the jagged
rip, the manoeuvering for the deadly ham-stringing which meant the
beginning of the end.
It was one of those great moments in which anything might happen, and
when the merest accident might decide. Dusty Star was fully aware that
the lives of Kiopo and himself hung trembling in the balance.
Bristling with excitement, the wolves drew nearer in. And still, rigid
and motionless, Kiopo and the White Wolf faced each other with defiance
in their eyes.
Suddenly there was a sound, half-howl, half-cry, and in the tense moment
something seemed to snap. Partly running, partly leaping, with his body
crouched, Dusty Star, as he gave tongue, flung himself into the centre
of the ring.
The White Wolf bared his teeth and snarled with his eyes upon him. Kiopo
also started in astonishment. Was the Little Brother gone mad?
If what followed was madness, it was the most amazing madness the wolves
had ever seen. Leaping, bending, running, turning his body in every
direction, Dusty Star danced a wolf-dance the like of which the Bad
Lands had never known. What mysterious impulse at the very last moment,
and in the nick of time, had suddenly come upon him, and taught him what
to do, he could have told no more than the wild creatures themselves.
And as he danced, he barked short sharp wolf-notes that stabbed the air
like knives.
They watched him. He wanted them to watch. They had never seen a human
being dance the wolf-dance before; nor were they likely to again. It was
the wolf-dance, and yet it was not the wolf-dance. It was something
more. What the something more was, Dusty Star himself could not have
explained. But he knew that the power that was secretly hidden within
him was coming out. It was that strange thing which had been with him as
a child, and which, during the long days and nights in the Carboona, had
grown stronger moon by moon.
He danced now, as he had danced once before in his grandmother's tepee
when she had been ill. There were the same wild antics; the same cunning
movements of his feet and hands. Only then he had danced as a splendid
joke. Now, he did it seriously, as a thing that mattered enormously: he
danced with his very soul.
And as he danced, apparently oblivious of everything except his own
movements, he felt the wolf-mind surge towards him, like waters under
the wind.
They were coming! They were coming! The wolf-tide was rising within him,
without him. The moon drew it, the dance, the wild notes that sobbed and
gasped in his throat! They could not help themselves any more than he
could help himself. They were driven by a power stronger than
themselves. As he danced he saw the great ring of dusky bodies, and
glimmering eyes--the white wolf and Kiopo in the centre--saw them as one
sees things in a dream.
The wolves watched him as if spellbound. Then one on the outside of the
circle threw back his head and howled. Another answered him from the
opposite side. A third took up the call. Soon the whole pack was giving
tongue; and one of the big wolf choruses went thundering out for leagues
along the hollow land.
But to give tongue was not enough. The madness that was in Dusty Star's
body seemed to bite into the bodies of the wolves. Some strange power
moved them. The mysterious restlessness that had stirred the
wolf-kindred since the beginning of the world came upon them now with an
irresistible force. First one, and then another, began to run about and
bark. The movement spread. It was not long before the entire pack was in
violent motion, running and leaping in continuous circles, narrower and
wider as the impulse came.
It was like a storm of wolf bodies, the centre of which was Kiopo and
the White Wolf.
All this time neither Kiopo nor the White Wolf had moved. But upon them
also the mysterious power grew. All at once, as if by a swift agreement,
they sprang into the air, and joined Dusty Star in his Dance.
And now, as if a barrier had been suddenly withdrawn, like surging
waters breaking over a dam, the wolves poured from all sides into the
ring.
There was no thought now of attacking either Dusty Star or his wolf. The
boy's sudden action had certainly saved their lives; for the wolves had
recognized in him a mysterious power which, unfamiliar as it was,
claimed kinship with the pack.
If any human eyes had been watching from a neighbouring butte they would
have seen an unaccountable sight. In the haunted stillness of the Bad
Lands, beneath the white glare of an enormous prairie moon, the wolves
danced a stormy movement about the young Indian brother who made
medicine with his feet.
Circling about him, leaping over him, chasing each other in bewildering
circles, snarling, snapping, barking, howling, the united packs swept
round the plateau in a roaring, rushing storm.
In that tumultuous sea of wolf-bodies, Dusty Star was engulfed. He
scarcely knew what was happening. He had been in a dream before. Now he
was swept far out of himself into an even wilder dream--into places
where the moon herself danced the wolf-dance and the stars yelped at her
heels.
How long the dance continued he did not know. He saw the writhing
wolf-forms on every hand. He was dimly conscious that Kiopo was
continually at his side. What he knew was, that now, at last, he had
entered the great mystery; he was making the medicine of the wolves.
And so, in the white moon-glare, among the lonely buttes, the fierce
wild creatures gave their leaping bodies to the dance that had been seen
by no man since the beginning of the world.