CARBOONA'S CALL
It was a triumphal entry which Dusty Star with Kiopo at his side, made
into the camp. In the absence of the men, the squaws had built large
outside fires partly to celebrate their victorious return, partly for
the purpose of extensive cooking.
As Dusty Star and his wolf came within the circle of the light, a great
shout went up. The entire camp stormed forward to meet them, Spotted
Eagle and the other chiefs forming a guard of honour. Naturally Dusty
Star's father, who had returned at last in safety, and his mother were
the first to greet him. Nikana's delight in having her now famous son
safe and sound once more was unbounded. Running Wolf made little outward
sign of joy; but it was not the blaze of the fires alone which made his
dusky features take that unaccustomed glow, or the light glitter in his
black eyes, as he gazed with pride upon his son.
And though half the camp seemed pressing forward to do him honour, and
the other half to hang back respectfully in awe of his terrible wolf,
Dusty Star's memory did not sleep. There were other scenes, little less
vivid, in which he and Kiopo had played very different parts, and when
the eyes which now gazed upon them with gratitude and awe had watched
them with suspicion and hate. Within him the human mind, and the wolf's
instinct, were fighting; and neither would allow him to forget.
There were two other persons who also had a long memory, and who
remained at the outside of the crowd. Dusty Star's sharp eyes caught
sight of a tall, slightly stooping figure, standing alone in solitary
contemplation, and he immediately made his way towards it.
As he saw the youth approaching him, Lone Chief never moved. Something
that might almost have been taken for a smile flickered in his face.
Dusty Star was the first to speak.
"I said I would not come," he said, and stopped.
Lone Chief understood. He was remembering an occasion when a boy had
come to him with an urgent appeal for help which he had refused; and
which because the boy had brought a strange influence with him, he had
given it after all.
"I also said I would not come," he replied, while the thing that might
have been a smile flickered and went out. "The medicine has strange
ways. Though the words go west, the heart may take the eastern trail."
Dusty Star's mind flashed to Sitting-Alway's sickness, and he also
understood.
They said nothing more, but each felt that, whatever happened in the
future, there was a sympathy between them which would always hold them
friends.
The other person with the backward-reaching memory remained even further
in the background than Lone Chief. As the reflections of the dancing
flames lit up the old yellow-painted face, its sunken eyes glared out
upon the scene with an expression of uneasiness that was almost fear.
"The wolves are bad medicine," the painted mouth muttered. "No good will
come of it, if the wolf stays."
Nikana found her mother crouching in the shadows on her way back to the
tepee, and did her utmost to persuade her to come and join in welcoming
her grandson back; but the old squaw's obstinate refusal was not to be
overcome, and she gave up the attempt.
So, half in shadow, half in flickering light, the old painted mouth went
on muttering from time to time: "Bad medicine! Bad medicine," till at
last Sitting-Always took herself off uneasily to bed.
* * * * *
For three days the feasting and rejoicing were continued. Dusty Star,
was, of course, the central figure. In spite of his extreme youth, the
treatment he received was that of a great chief and famous medicine-man
combined. He was loaded with honours and marks of distinction. Presents
of all kinds were showered upon him. He became rich--as the Indian mind
counts riches--in a day. Even those who had been most hostile to him in
the past, were now the foremost in courting his favour, as the hero of
the hour. Beside him, Spotted Eagle himself took a second place.
Even Sitting-Always changed her behaviour, and seemed to wish to stand
in the good graces of her famous grandson. So that when he visited her
tepee, leaving Kiopo behind, she showed her broken yellow teeth at him
in a smile that was like a wound across her face. And her words were
sweet as sarvis-berries that have been well stewed. Only, as Dusty Star
listened to them, he heard behind their juiciness, the old false, yellow
voice that had cried passionately: "Kill! Kill!"
Yet in spite of all his overwhelming good-fortune, he was not happy. If
Kiopo had shown himself content, it might have been different. But the
honours heaped upon the Little Brother left Kiopo untouched. To all
friendly advances from any person outside the immediate family circle,
he showed an indifference which occasionally gave dangerous signs of
changing into enmity. People became chary of visiting the tepee when it
was observed that the wolf was on guard.... He might be, and doubtless
was, a marvellous animal--a mighty "medicine." But like other great
Powers, his jaws could close with a snap. From the rabble of the
huskies, he naturally held aloof with the utmost scorn. And they in
their turn, hating him whole-heartedly, but, fearing him with equal
measure, gave him the widest possible berth.
Day by day, his dislike and distrust of camp-life became more and more
apparent. Even when his body was still, and he lay motionless as a log,
with his great head laid between his out-stretched paws, his eyes,
turning constantly from Dusty Star to the prairies, and back again to
Dusty Star, had the haunted look of a creature in a trap. And Dusty
Star, reading their expression, felt a heavy foreboding settle upon his
heart. He was not surprised when, on the fourth day after their return,
Kiopo disappeared.
Since the defeat of the Yellow Dogs, nothing had been seen of the White
Wolf and his pack. But by sounds heard at sundown, and during the night,
and by the unusual restlessness of the ponies, it was believed that a
large body of wolves was still hanging about the neighbourhood. If Dusty
Star had not heard the night calls, he could have learnt the truth of
the thing by reading Kiopo's eyes.
On the morning of the fifth day, he was wakened early by the continual
howling of a wolf, which seemed to come from a point not far off in the
prairie. Listening intently, he was sure that Kiopo was calling him, and
that, for some reason or other, he would not enter the camp.
He rose softly from his couch, so as not to disturb his parents, and
went out upon the prairie. He expected every minute to find Kiopo at his
side; but Kiopo's voice, like a will-o-the-wisp, was always on ahead,
leading him further and further away.
At last he came to the foot of Look-out-Bluff and, in the dim light of
the dawn, saw Kiopo standing before him. After a rapid licking of the
Little Brother's hand, Kiopo turned at once and began to ascend the
bluff. Dusty Star followed him without hesitation.
After they had reached the summit, Kiopo sat down and gave three, short
howling barks. They were answered immediately from a spot to the north.
Then there was silence, while he and Dusty Star waited.
Presently, a large white wolf appeared over the top of the bluff. He was
followed by a line of wolves. In the twilight the line appeared endless.
And still they came. It seemed as if, for leagues around, the entire
prairie was giving up its wolves.
Dusty Star and Kiopo stood in the centre, with the White Wolf a little
to one side. Here and there a wolf would sit or lie down, and begin to
lick or scratch his coat, but for the most part the animals remained
standing, their heads turned towards the group in the centre, as if
waiting for some sign.
For a considerable time nothing happened. In the windless air, the deep
stillness of the dawn seemed to surround the bluff with a ring of
silence, cutting it off from the rest of the earth. Within that ring,
Dusty Star felt himself in a world, in which, every moment, the
wolfishness of things grew more enormous, excluding everything besides.
As never before, he felt the soul that was in him answer to the wolves.
He knew not why he was here. The wolves were claiming him. They were
waiting for something which had not yet happened. When it happened, they
would take him with them across the prairies into that tremendous
endlessness of the West; to the places beyond the sunset, where the
black lakes glimmer to the wolf-trail of the stars. And he knew also,
that, if he went, he would not come back; for the moccasins that follow
the wolves far enough, find at last the wolf-trail that is worn across
the heavens, and never more return.
All at once, the White Wolf got up and advanced slowly towards Kiopo.
The two wolves touched noses. The White Wolf then turned towards Dusty
Star, looking him full in the face, as much as to say: "Are you ready?"
After a moment's pause, he trotted away across the bluff and
disappeared. The rest of the pack, followed him in a body. When the last
wolf had disappeared, Dusty Star found himself alone with Kiopo. The
wolf stood straight in front of him, gazing at him intently.
Dusty Star, looking right into his eyes, read the message there, all too
plainly: "It is time for us to go."
And deep, deep in the West, over a thousand leagues of soundless
prairie, he heard Carboona call.
He wanted to go. All the part of him that was wolf cried out to go. Yet
something held him back. If Carboona sent a voice from the West, so also
the camp of his people called him in the East. The human in him, the
deep, loving, human thing, which had been born with him, and which he
could not understand, refused to let him go.
Yet Kiopo! How could he part with Kiopo--the one creature in the world
which he fully understood? He felt that he would give all he
possessed--his new-found honours, his wealth, his power over his
tribe--if only Kiopo would return with him to the camp. Yet he knew it
could not be. It would be asking Kiopo to come back to a life which,
sooner or later, would prove his doom.
Yes; whether he himself went or stayed, he knew Kiopo must go. That wild
heart, faithful as it was, could never more cabin itself in the cramped
circle of an Indian camp. It, too, had heard Carboona's call.
Carboona--the grim foster-mother had summoned it--and the wolf-heart
obeyed.
In Dusty Star's own heart the fight was terrible. It seemed as if the
Wolf and Human, in a final struggle for victory, were rending it apart.
And yet, in spite of the Wolf within him, tearing him to pieces, the old
mystery of of his race, true to its age-long, world-deep roots, held. He
knew, at last, that Kiopo must return _alone_.
* * * * *
In the clear light of the rising sun, there might have been seen, drawn
sharply against the morning sky on the ridge of Look-out-Bluff, the
figures of an Indian and a wolf. Then the wolf's disappeared, and the
human figure was left standing alone. But although, in the long
clearness of the prairies, sound sometimes carries further than sight,
no listening ears caught the despairing cry, "Kiopo! Kiopo!" which
sobbed itself westward into a silence that gave no answering voice.
* * * * *
And now, as to all things, there comes an end, even to the
endless-seeming journeys of the wandering cariboo, so also we have
reached the the end of the history of Dusty Star.
Did he stay with his people always, you ask? Or did he one day disappear
into Carboona to find Kiopo? Or did Kiopo, after long wanderings, return
once more to seek the Little Brother along the eastern trail?
I cannot say. Only in the West, strange things may happen. But this I
know. Of the final parting between the boy and the wolf there was no
witness, beast or human. And exactly what took place then, no white
man's tongue may tell.
The big things happen like that. Out there, in the enormous spaces, the
Great Spirit hides them in the shadow of His robe.
FINIS