HOW THE WOLVES CLOSED IN
How the dance came to an end, and what happened when it did, Dusty Star
never fully remembered. All he could recollect was that he found himself
lying on the flat of his back, with Kiopo standing over him licking his
face and hands with his large tongue. His wandering senses came back to
him, and he sat up. All around, the wolves sat or lay with their tongues
hanging out, panting after their exertions. In the centre, the white
wolf sat as before, as if he had never moved. And the moon was there,
and the stars, which also seemed to be panting, only they were too far
off to see what they did with their tongues.
After that, Dusty Star did the only wise thing to do in his state of
exhaustion. He gave himself up to the stillness, and let himself fall
asleep. When he awoke, the moon had set, and dawn had risen over the
buttes. Kiopo lay facing him with his head between his paws, watching
till he should wake. Dusty Star looked for the pack. Not a single wolf
was in sight. They had melted away into the barren gullies of the Bad
Lands, as if they had been a dream. But the Bad Lands remained, and
Kiopo, and an odd feeling in his bones; and Dusty Star knew that now the
great journey must continue that could only end where the prairies were
yellow with the East.
When the sun had lifted himself above the horizon, the travellers had
already reached the last buttes of the Bad Lands, and saw the prairies
stretching at their feet. As Dusty Star's eyes travelled over the
enormous expanse, a sense of trouble came to him. Out there, concealed
in the vast distances that hid it like a buffalo-robe, lay the home of
his people. And he was going to return to them. As sure as the
wolf-trail ran across the heavens, he was going back. But what would
happen then? He would not see them as he had seen them before. The free
life with Kiopo; the friendships with the wild kin that were not of his
blood, yet seemed to be half his heart; the great mountain-world of
Carboona, the mystery-land of the West:--all these had come between him
and his people with their life in the tepees.... And Kiopo?... He
belonged to Kiopo now, as Kiopo to him. He had danced himself into the
wolf-world with the medicine of his feet. His body might remain Indian;
but the wolf-dance was in his veins: his moccasins had touched the
wolf-trail: his mind was half a wolf's.
As they crossed into the prairies, he kept looking out for any signs of
the white wolf's pack; but not a vestige of them was to be seen. Yet
although they were invisible to the eye, there were signs that they had
not left the neighbourhood. Kiopo's manner alone was sufficient to show
that the country was not so empty of life as it appeared. He was
evidently on the alert, keeping on the watch in every direction.
Just before noon he disappeared. When towards the middle of the
afternoon he caught up with Dusty Star, who had continued his journey,
it was certain that he had been running with other wolves.
That night, just before sundown, a great idea flashed upon Dusty Star.
Kiopo must find the white wolf, and bring the packs to camp. When they
were all assembled, Dusty Star would tell his mind to the white wolf,
and he, in his turn, would communicate it to the packs. He made the
message clear to Kiopo, and the wolf immediately departed.
As the twilight fell, Dusty Star became aware that here and there it
seemed to thicken into a wolf-shape, till at last it darkened to a pack.
When the pack finally closed in upon the camp, he knew that he was
imprisoned by a wolf-ring that shut out the world. And when the last
wolf had taken its place, Dusty Star found that the white wolf, with
Kiopo, was by his side.
With the pack about him, Dusty Star sent his mind out to their leader,
and communicated the great idea.
And in words which he did not use, even in the Indian tongue, the Idea
shaped itself thus:
"Far out along the prairies to the sun-rising is the camp of my people.
My people are very many. They outnumber the wolves. As the foxes and
lynxes are enemies to the wolves; so my people have enemies who are
thirsting for their blood. The enemies of my people are now gathering to
attack. They are numerous and very strong. If I do not carry help to my
people, they will be pulled down and killed, as the wolves pull down the
moose when he is yarded for the winter, and food is scarce. By myself I
can do little, though my people say I own the wolf-medicine. But the
wolf-medicine that is in me is only strong enough when I am running with
a wolf. Kiopo and I are very strong together. With you, we should be
stronger still. With the pack, nothing could stand against us. The
medicine then would be on many feet. If you will lead the pack, and
follow us, we shall save my people from their death."
To get all this meaning into the white wolf's mind, took some time. But
the white wolf's mind was like his jaws. Once it took firm hold, it tore
the meaning of an idea like meat from off a bone. And when he had
snatched the idea and swallowed it, he brought it up again for
distribution, as a mother-wolf does for her cubs, in the form of
pre-digested meat.
So the white wolf, having carefully digested the idea, disgorged it for
the pack's benefit, and fed them bit by bit. And when the pack had
swallowed it again, they liked the taste of it, and were ready for
anything in the way of a fight. Long after the night had settled down,
Dusty Star's excitement kept him awake planning the carrying out of the
great idea.
On the evening of the third day, a Scout belonging to the Yellow Dogs
took a strange tale back to the tribe. Out on the prairies to the west,
he said, he had come upon a great pack of wolves. They were led by a
white wolf of enormous size, and were travelling eastwards. As he was
uncertain what such a large body of wolves might do, he had not waited
to watch their further movements, and had given them a wide berth. The
Yellow Dogs did not treat the news seriously. At this time of the year,
the wolves, even in large numbers, were not dangerous. Now that hunting
was good, they would not attack human beings. It was only in winter,
when the moose yarded and game grew scarce, that men watched the gaunt
grey bodies that hung about the thickets, and listened uneasily to the
eerie cry far off over the frozen levels, as it rang from the throats of
a famished pack which had found a promising trail. Besides, the Yellow
Dogs had more important matters to consider. Now or never the attack
upon Dusty Star's people must be made. The moon was favourable now. She
did not rise until a sufficiently long time after sunset to enable them
to approach the enemy's camp under cover of the dark, so as to be able
to deliver the long-planned attack in the growing light of her beams.
Without waiting for any further delay, small scouting parties were
ordered to go on ahead; and the advance began.
But there were other scouts abroad, of which neither the Yellow Dogs nor
their intended victims were aware. Every thicket, and matted tangle of
prairie grass, seemed to conceal one. There was hardly a hollow that did
not harbour some crouching form; and the prairie buttes had eyes. As the
great Yellow Dog war party moved stealthily forwards, it was shadowed by
another company more numerous and more stealthy still. This second
company was roughly divided into three main bodies, with small
intermediate bands which seemed to move independently, but which were in
reality in touch with one or other of the larger groups.
The night was windless and very still, the few vagrant wafts of air
which occasionally stirred the prairie grasses, flowing softly from the
west. The older and more experienced of the Yellow Dog warriors could
not understand the night. From time to time they seemed to catch a faint
wolf smell from the west. And the stillness seemed full of some
invisible motion as if the very prairies moved. Moreover it was very
plain that the ponies were unusually restless. Now one, now another,
would snort and whinney, or shy at some vague shadow which melted into
the dark.
In the Comanache camp, things were much as they had been for many days
past. A careful watch was still kept towards the north. But the general
opinion was that the Yellow Dogs had delayed their threatened attack so
long that they had at length given up the intention. Spotted Eagle was
in his tepee consulting with one or two other chiefs, when suddenly the
door flap was raised, and Dusty Star stood before them.
The suddenness of his arrival, and the change wrought in his appearance
during his long absence, prevented Spotted Eagle from recognizing in the
tall, imposing-looking youth who now stood before him, the wild boy with
the wolfish ways who had disappeared mysteriously many moons ago.
There was a pause of typical Indian silence, while the piercing eyes in
the tepee looked him through and through, before Spotted Eagle asked him
his business.
"I am Dusty Star," the boy said quietly.
If the Thunder-bird itself had pronounced the words under cover of its
deafening wings, they could not have produced a more startling effect.
Spotted Eagle and his companions rose instantly to their feet. Although
the old chief's face did not betray his feelings, his action, together
with that of his followers showed how deeply he was moved.
"You have come?" he asked incredulously. "Lone Chief brought us your
message that you would not come."
"Lone Chief spoke truly," Dusty Star answered, "but there was something
within me which was stronger than my words. I have come to help my
people against the Yellow Dogs."
The old chief bowed his head as an expression of gratitude, but said
nothing.
"The Yellow Dogs are even now approaching," Dusty Star continued. "Yet
the camp is unguarded. I came in from the south. No one challenged me."
"The Yellow Dogs do not come from the south," Spotted Eagle answered.
"Their camp is far to the north. We watch the north. Also our scouts
have been out to the east and west. Only a wolf could steal upon us from
the south."
Dusty Star was not slow to catch the double meaning of the old chief's
remark. His eyes flashed as he answered quickly.
"Your only help comes with the wolf."
"It is you who must help us," the Chief replied earnestly. "You will
lead our braves, as if you were my own son. See, I will order them to
get ready. If the Yellow Dogs are indeed approaching we must surprise
them by an attack."
He was about to give the order, when Dusty Star interrupted him.
"You must not go out to attack," he said hurriedly. "See that the braves
are fully prepared, but do not allow them to leave the camp. If I am to
help you, you must do as I say. I have made my plans. Do not attack
until you have heard the signal of the wolves."
Then, without another word, he lifted the door flap, and was gone.
The news that the Yellow Dogs were upon them, threw the camp into a
state of terrible fear. Even the news of Dusty Star's miraculous
reappearance was not sufficient to reassure them. Their nerves were
over-strained with the watching of long days and nights. And now, when
they had believed the danger to be past, its sudden revival filled them
with an unreasoning dread. It was in vain that Spotted Eagle did his
utmost to inspire them with confidence, by quoting Dusty Star's words.
What did his speeches mean, they asked. What signal was that which would
come for them from the wolves? The camp was in confusion, some advising
one thing, some another. It was only Spotted Eagle's express orders
which prevented a large party going out to meet the enemy and offering
battle.
The time went on, and nothing happened. There was no sign of the enemy.
Spotted Eagle, listening anxiously, caught no sound that might be the
signal of which Dusty Star had spoken. He grew more and more uneasy as
the time passed.
* * * * *
On leaving the chief's tepee, Dusty Star had left the camp immediately,
not even waiting to show himself to his parents. He dared not risk any
delay, realizing that upon him and his wolves their fates, as well as
that of the whole tribe, rested.
Over the dark surface of the prairie he passed with a swift step,
knowing where his waiting wolves were to be found. In a very short time
he was among them. A third of the pack--that upon the west--was about
him. He knew that Kiopo, and the wolves under his charge would be lying
somewhere to the east. To the north, dogging the heels of the advancing
Yellow Dogs, the White Wolf and his company closed stealthily in.
Totally unprepared for the fate awaiting them, the Yellow Dogs came on.
When they were about half-a-mile from the camp, they stopped; for it was
understood that the attack was not to be delivered until the moon had
risen.
In the north-east, an increasing brightness showed that her appearance
was very near. About them the prairies began to take on a pallid
glimmer, in which objects wore mysterious shapes. As the light
increased, the ponies became more and more restless. Their riders
dreaded lest the sounds of their growing uneasiness should be carried to
some sharply-listening ear in the camp which they were waiting to
surprise. They began to be certain that animals of some sort, wolves, or
bison, must be somewhere in the locality. The nervousness of the ponies
communicated itself to their masters. A whisper ran that it would be
better to move at once, without waiting for the moon. Only that their
chiefs remained firm, they would have advanced to the attack.
At length, the edge of the moon's disc rose into sight above the eastern
hills. Instantly there was a movement of expectation in the Indian's
ranks. They only waited now for the signal from their leader to launch
the long-delayed attack. But before that signal came, another was heard.
The moon had barely raised herself clear of the hills when a deep,
long-drawn howl broke the intense stillness to the west. The waiting
Indians recognized it as the mustering call of the hunting wolf when he
summons the pack. The note carried for an infinite distance. Hardly had
it died away, when it was answered from the east. Then, silence as
before. And the moon began to cast long shadows--shadows that seemed to
move!
Out from the thickets, up from the hollows, down the dark slopes of the
bluffs, the shadows crept.
The wolves were closing in!
* * * * *
In the camp, Spotted Eagle stood uncertain what to do. He had distinctly
heard the wolf-calls, but could not be sure whether they were signals
from Dusty Star or not. The camp, hushed with suspense, was very still.
A subdued murmur, rising here and there at intervals, was all that could
be heard. Now and then a woman's figure would step softly from one tepee
to another, or a husky would slink across a moonlit space. There was no
other movement.
Suddenly, a dull sound like distant thunder came from the north. It grew
louder moment by moment. As all listening ears knew well, it was the
beat of galloping hoofs. A series of savage shouts now broke into
it--the mingled war-cries of the Yellow Dogs, and their Allies.
There was no time now to wait for the promised signal from Dusty Star.
In an instant, Spotted Eagle's heart was black with rage and fear. There
would be no sign from the wolves. The wolf-boy had betrayed them. His
promise, like his name, was a puff-ball after all!
The Chief was just about to give the order to advance, when another
sound caught his ear. It was a chorus of sharp barks mingled with howls
that seemed to come from all sides at once. It swelled onward in a
deafening clamour that filled the prairies to the horizon. It was a
sound to which all old Indian hunters responded with a thrill--that last
terrible rallying cry of wolves when their chase is ended, and the prey
about to be pulled down; the pitiless summons, "Close in!"
Instantly, Spotted Eagle gave the command, and lifting their shrill
war-cry, the Comanaches rushed out to meet their foes.
They were hardly clear of the camp, when they stopped, bewildered by the
extraordinary sight before them.
In the clear light of the now fully risen moon, they saw a dense mass of
Indians in violent commotion, with their ponies rearing and kicking in
the wildest confusion. On the outskirts of the mass, and completely
encircling it, was an enormous pack of wolves, which leaped and dashed
against its edges like the waves of a living sea.
Here and there a small company of Indians would thrust itself from the
main body, forcing their assailants to give way. But before they could
gain sufficient headway to get through, and make their escape, it seemed
as if a rising tide of wolves overwhelmed them and drove them back.
Again and again the Indians made a desperate effort to break through;
and each time the waves of the billowing pack surged over them, broke,
and surged again.
Amid all the bewildering confusion of the struggle, two objects showed
themselves distinctly again and again. One was a huge white wolf whose
body, gleaming in the moon, was continually hurling itself against the
Indians in the thickest of the fight and goading the packs on. It was in
ceaseless movement, first on one side, then on the other. Now it would
be lost to view among the dark bodies of its mates; now it would flash
into sight at some other point, like a beam of leaping light.
The other object was the figure of a tall Indian boy, who was also
perpetually changing his position as he mingled with the wolves, and
which the thunderstruck Comanaches realized could be no other than that
of Dusty Star himself.
Like the white wolf, his efforts seemed directed to urging the wolves
forward at any point where they were in danger of giving way. Now and
again as he flung up his arms, he would utter a wild cry, half-human,
half-wolf, which, piercing the general uproar, rang like a note of doom.
At length, the Yellow Dogs, driven to a frenzy of desperation, forced a
passage through the ring of wolves at a point where it had grown thin.
As they burst forth towards the open prairie, it was plain that they had
abandoned all intention of attacking the camp, and that their one idea
was that of escape.
And now Dusty Star's figure was seen to break away from the wolves and
to come running towards his people. As he ran, he shouted loudly, waving
his arms excitedly in the direction of their fleeing foes.
Without a moment's further delay, Spotted Eagle gave the signal, and the
Comanaches leaped to their ponies.
Out upon the moonlit prairie the pursuit swept with savage cries, Dusty
Star leading it upon the pony Spotted Eagle had hastily given him.
Never before in the longest Indian memory, had there been such a flight,
or such a pursuit. As it swept tumultuously northwards, men and beasts
mingled strangely under the pale glare of the moon. Across the quiet
spaces of the night it sped on its ghastly way, till the thunder of the
beating hoofs roused the echoes in the hills.
Dusty Star, galloping onward, with Kiopo running by his side, was filled
with a wild feeling of exultation. The wolves had conquered. The enemy
was in the full flight of utmost panic. Never again could any one doubt
the power that had been given to him through Kiopo--the Medicine of the
Wolves. Never again could it be urged by those who hated them both that,
when his people were in danger of destruction, he had refused to help
them in their need. And as the last overtaken Yellow Dog was struck
down, with the exception of the small number who managed to escape their
merciless pursuers, he knew that his work was ended, and that Kiopo need
fear his enemies no longer.