It was old Kitsomax, the mother of the Chief, Spotted Calf, who first brought the alarming news which spread terror through the camp.
Among all the inhabitants she was the one person who had showed any kindness towards Dusty Star. His friendlessness and helplessness had appealed to the old woman's heart. A son of hers had died when he was just Dusty Star's age, and in the little lonely captive she fancied she saw a resemblance to her own boy. Only dread of what the tribe might do, if she were discovered, prevented her from contriving his escape. Yet she bided her time. If circumstances should favour her, she knew what she would do.
On the day before the ceremony she had gone down late in the evening to bring water from the stream. As she was dipping her bucket, stooping very low, she heard a twig snap. Looking up quickly she saw an enormous grizzly come out between the alder bushes on the other side of the stream. She was so terrified, she said, that, for the moment, she could not rise, but kept crouching on the bank hoping the bear had not seen her. But when she heard him growl softly and deeply, she knew that he had scented her. Without daring to draw up the bucket, she had sprung to her feet and fled.
That same night, Dusty Star was wakened by a loud breathing sound close to his head, so near that it sounded as if it were in the lodge itself. He was very much frightened, but lay absolutely still. Something seemed to brush the outside of the elk-skin covering of the lodge, and then moved heavily away. Almost directly afterwards, a great clamour arose among the huskies. It continued some time before all was quiet. But as the huskies were continually making disturbances in the night for very little reason, the Indians did not come out.
Next day, unmistakable signs showed that a large bear had visited the camp. Two huskies had been killed, and a third carried off into the woods.
It was plain to Dusty Star that the Indians were very much alarmed. This was partly accounted for (as he gathered from their talk) by the fact that there existed a legend in the tribe of a great medicine grizzly which haunted the lower slopes of the mountains, and which was supposed to be the spirit of Catawa, a famous chief who had been murdered treacherously many moons ago during one of the tribal feasts. The year before, at the same time of the year, a grizzly had visited their camp on the Potamac, and had destroyed one of the tepees. And hunters, coming over the mountains had brought disquieting accounts of a huge grizzly, of ferocious habits, whose range extended from the western slopes of Mount Hunting-Wolf to the northern bank of Potamac. This, they firmly believed, was the dreaded Catawa. And now, Catawa was come again.
Some said that it would be wise to have a special grizzly-bear dance in the festival in order to make a strong medicine that should drive Catawa away; but others were firmly of the opinion, that the bear dance would only infuriate the grizzly, and that it would be wiser to postpone the festival until he had left the neighbourhood.
They were still discussing the question, when Double Runner rushed breathlessly into camp. He said he had gone up the mountains to cut lodge-poles when he had come upon an enormous grizzly feeding among the raspberry bushes on a hill to the northward of the camp. The bear had seen him, and had immediately given chase, and it was only by putting forth his utmost speed that he had been able to escape.
This alarming news settled the disputed matter of the festival; and it was decided that it could not be held until the grizzly had either been killed, or driven far away from the neighbourhood of the camp.
To do this; it would be necessary that all the able-bodied men, young and old, should form themselves into a strong war-party, and go out to attack the grizzly wherever he might be found.
This plan was immediately carried out, and in a very short time, the camp was empty except for the squaws and children and a few of the very oldest men. As usual, Dusty Star was left fastened surely by the deer-skin thong.
The day was very warm, and so he sat just outside the tepee observing the sleepy life of the camp as it went leisurely on through the long passing of the drowsy afternoon. Kitsomax sat a few feet away, busily softening a tanned buckskin, which she worked skilfully with her skinny hands. Several times, Dusty Star noticed that her eyes were upon him instead of the buckskin, and that then her gaze wandered uneasily round the camp, as if to see whether any one were watching her. The air was very still. Apart from the camp, nothing living could be seen, except a pair of buzzards circling high up in the eastern blue.
Suddenly Kitsomax, after a swift glance all round, leant towards him, speaking rapidly.
"They will hold the festival after Catawa is driven away. And then they will kill you, because your wolf killed Little Owl; and because Double Runner says you belong to the wolves. But I, Kitsomax, do not believe you intended to harm us. If they had not followed you, your wolf would not have attacked. If you do as I tell you, you may yet escape before the festival begins. You must ..."
Here the old squaw broke off suddenly, and bent over her work. Turning his head, Dusty Star saw that a woman had come out from a neighbouring tepee, and was looking in their direction.
After that, Kitsomax did not say any more, and Dusty Star went on staring into the forest, where the shadows looked so cool under the trees. The words the squaw had said kept on running in his head. "They will kill you, because your wolf killed Little Owl." The thing of which the great fear had haunted him since his captivity was true then! The thing Kiopo had done was to be avenged by his own death. He shuddered as he thought of the terrible fate in store for him. He knew that Indian vengeance could be more cruel than the wolves. He longed to ask Kitsomax if she had heard what had happened to the wolf; but whenever he turned to do so, it seemed to him that some one was looking their way.
And the thing she had told him was a terror which grew. And although he looked straight into the forest, he saw it merely as a dense green mass. What he saw was the terror—the thing that should happen when the Indians returned.
But all at once the vacancy of his gaze vanished. From the shadow of the trees, he saw a large form slowly detach itself. It made a few paces towards the camp, and then turned back into the forest.
He looked round the camp. No one else seemed to have noticed. The squaws continued their occupations just as before. Dusty Star kept his eyes continually moving along the line of trees, always returning to the spot where the thing had disappeared. And although he saw nothing more, he was convinced he had not been mistaken. The shape had been that of a bear.
A long time had passed when one of the squaws suddenly screamed. Looking in the direction of the cry, Dusty Star saw an enormous grizzly walking slowly towards the tepees.
Instantly the whole camp was in wild confusion. Squaws ran in every direction, snatching up their babies, and screaming at the tops of their voices. Several of the more courageous old men advanced towards the grizzly, waving their arms and trying to frighten him back; but when, growling fiercely, he broke into a run towards them, they turned and joined the women in their flight. It was in vain that the huskies circled round him in a snarling, furious ring. He broke the neck of one which had rashly ventured within the range of his deadly fore paw, and wounded another. As he charged the pack, it broke before his murderous onset and fled yelling into the woods.
Dusty Star ran quickly into the tepee and began feverishly to try to unfasten the thong which bound him, while the screaming of the women, and the yelping of the huskies continued. Presently, a sharp, rending noise told him that the grizzly had attacked either a tepee, or one of the parfleches in it. The tearing noise continued for some time and then ceased. After that there was silence in the camp, the inhabitants having by this time taken refuge in the woods. And still the thong resisted his utmost efforts to unfasten it. Then, just as he was about to peep out to see what was happening, he heard something approaching.
Instantly he crawled under a buffalo robe, and lay there, shaking from head to foot. Something entered the tepee. Dusty Star did not dare to look. He felt the thong that bound him violently tugged: he heard, or thought he heard, a muffled growl. The next moment, the robe was snatched from his head, and he saw—not the grizzly—but old Kitsomax with a hunting knife in her hand.
"Quick! Quick!" she cried. "I have cut the thong. He is coming! He is coming!"
Dusty Star leaped from the couch. As he did so, Kitsomax gave a scream.
The entrance of the tepee was filled by a huge form. The little red eyes of the grizzly were glaring at them in fury.
For a moment the bear seemed to hesitate. Then he turned towards Kitsomax. Instantly Dusty Star stepped forward, and gave a short bark like a coyote. The grizzly turned savagely in his direction. With a marvelous quickness in one so old, Kitsomax darted out of the tepee.
In thus turning the bear's attention from the old squaw to himself he was well aware that he had risked his own life. Yet he felt he could not have done otherwise, since she had willingly taken the same risk in coming to set him free, instead of escaping with the other squaws while there was yet time.
Seeing itself balked of one prey, the bear now concentrated his rage upon the other. He made a furious rush.
If Dusty Star had been a fraction of a second too late, the delay would have cost him his life; but even as the furry Terror hurled itself upon him, he made one of his swift wolf-leaps to the other side of a pile of skins. The grizzly turned like a flash. It was amazing that so huge a body could move with such terrible ease and quickness. But quick though the bear was, the boy was quicker. He knew that death was hard upon him. A false, or undecided movement, and nothing could save him from those murderous claws. All the muscles of his lithe body were contracted in preparation for the final rush for life. Before the grizzly could cut him off, Dusty Star seemed not so much to run, as toshoothimself out from the lodge.
The big paw missed its mark by a hair's breath—no more. Only one of the frightful hooked claws touched with its tip the spot where Dusty Star's buckskin shirt bulged slightly from his back. It rent it as clean as the slash of a tomahawk, but failed to reach the skin. Dusty Star felt the slash, and bounded for his life. He could see Kitsomax's stooping form already half-way towards the forest.
If he had made a straight run now, it was probable that the bear would have caught him, owing to the extraordinary speed with which a bear can move over the ground, but as Dusty Star took a zig-zag course all across the camp, doubling right and left as he darted round the tepees, the grizzly lost ground.
From the last tepee to the edge of the forest was less than a dozen yards. Dusty Star took them at a wild run, hearing the snarling growl of the grizzly as it came wheeling furiously round the last tepee. He swung himself desperately into the nearest tree. With a roar of disappointed rage, the grizzly flung himself against it, tearing savagely at the bark, and stripping it into splinters. Then, clasping the trunk with his mighty fore-arms, he hugged it with all his might, wrenching it this way and that in an attempt to break it down.
Dusty Star, on his perch, felt the whole tree shiver beneath him. A tree of smaller growth must have given way at last to the enormous strain, whereas a sapling would have yielded like matchwood.
As Dusty Star was aware, a full-grown grizzly rarely climbs. Still, in the present enraged condition of the brute's feelings, there was no telling what he might not attempt to do. So, when he saw that the bear, finding he could not break the tree down by main force, was beginning to climb it, he was more alarmed than surprised. Yet even then, as he felt the tree vibrate to the movement of the great body as it came slowly up, he kept his presence of mind. He threw a quick look round him that took in all the details at a glance. In an instant he knew what he must do. When the bear was a third of the way up the trunk, Dusty Star climbed out along a branch and dropped quickly to the ground. By the time the grizzly had laboriously climbed down backwards, Dusty Star was out of sight among the trees.
When the Indians returned that evening, they found the camp a total wreck; for the bear, disappointed in his attempt to seize Dusty Star, had turned back to vent his rage upon the tepees. Here, one was completely torn down; there, another showed wide rents between its lodge-poles. And where one had apparently escaped, it was found, when entered, to have its contents torn and thrown about in all directions.
Of Dusty Star himself, they could not see a sign. And the only person who could have thrown a light upon his disappearance, took the wise course of holding her tongue. Even the thong which had bound him had likewise disappeared. For when the terrified squaws had crept back one by one to the ruined camp, Kitsomax had taken the precaution to bury it under a bush.
When Kiopo had leaped upon the Indian, and had fallen with him over the precipice edge, he had, like his foe, crashed down to almost certain death. The Indian, indeed, had been killed instantly, with a broken neck; but the wolf, instead of falling straight upon the boulders at the bottom of the gorge, had turned a somersault in mid-air, and had landed in a thick clump of junipers growing on a slope some thirty feet above the creek bed.
Probably it was the passionate instinct of self-preservation, when all hope seemed gone, which had made him give his body that violent contortion. Apart from that, he owed his life to a miracle which must always remain a mystery unexplained.
In spite of the break in his fall, he lay half-stunned among the bushes for some time. And when at length his senses came to him again, he felt sore in every limb.
There is an unfailing law among the wild peoples that, when an individual is injured, it creeps into the most secret place it can find, and there rests till it recovers sufficiently to face the world. Kiopo had no need to look for a place more secret than the one he had fallen into, so he stayed where he was, and let nature do the rest. For fully two days, he remained in hiding. On the third, he crawled out into the open; on the fourth, was sufficiently recovered to make a kill in the shape of a fat buck rabbit; and, on the evening of the fifth, made his way back to camp.
Instantly he returned, he knew that something was wrong. He ran anxiously this way and that, scenting and looking. Eyes and nose told him the same story. Dusty Star had gone, and he had not gone alone. Kiopo soon found the trail, and immediately started off. The scent was getting a little stale, but, faint though it was, it was sufficient for the wolf's unerring nose. It was the well known Indian smell that he had learned to distrust, and as he ran, his hackles rose. He ran on swiftly, growing angrier as he ran, and eating up the distance with his long, loping stride. Here the scent was a little fainter, there a little stronger; but always the trail kept going on in the same direction to the south. Kiopo knew that he was getting beyond his usual range. He had never penetrated so far into the southern forest country before. He was uneasy, as well as angry. There was a bad smell in the trail. It meant mischief. And mischief towards his beloved little brother was the thing in all the world which Kiopo would not stand.
Under the solemn shadow of the trees the great wolf sped on soundless pads that carried his body like a phantom through the silence of the woods. Now and then he would come to a cross trail, where some other animal had lately passed, or the trail itself would be obscured. But Kiopo had far too serious a business on hand to waste time upon the cross trails, and when the double trail divided, he followed the fainter, and the human one, as before. Of other hunters who, like himself, were abroad in the woods, he saw little, for his eyes rarely wandered from the ground under his nose. And those of the forest-dwellers who caught sight of the great grey shape that went floating through the trees, gave it a wide berth, with that curious forest etiquette which is deeper than politeness, and is close in touch with death.
When he emerged from the forest into the open country, Kiopo paused to reconnoitre. His eyes became of the utmost importance now, because the world was widening. In the forest you could only see where the trees permitted, but now its place was taken by long grassy swells that rippled under the wind. Into it, Kiopo swung his nose. It came in a series of soft surges from the south. Many faint odours were travelling down it now; scents that were the body of the wilderness lifted into the air. They were subtly mixed, it would take the very finest nose to disentangle them. With his eyes narrowed, and his head raised, Kiopo searched the wind. His sensitive nostrils gave little quivers and rapid twists that were like a play of fingers that dabbled delicately in the air. The scents that came were chiefly those of the growing things, grass, flowers and trees. But running through them, in fine streams of odours, there were other scents that were like the flowing souls of birds and beasts, spilt, in spite of themselves, into the wandering world.
Was some tiny drop of Dusty Star's body-scent mixed among them—sending out its wordless message through the enormous space? For all the keen searching of Kiopo's nostrils, the drop, if it were there, escaped them. But if the trails of the air were lost in the wilderness of the wind, the trails of the earth remained, and still the one he had hitherto followed went plainly through the grass. Once again Kiopo took it up, following it steadily till at length he came to the spot where the Indians had taken to the canoe. In the marshy ground under the willows, he lost it completely. It was as if it was sucked into the marsh. In vain he searched the whole neighbourhood, and ran backwards and forwards in a desperate effort to find some vestige of the broken trail, always returning with the same result to the roots of the willows among the black ooze.
Now Kiopo's faultless wood-craft taught him, without the slightest uncertainty, that there had been no back trail. If, therefore, the trail ended at the water, those who had made it must have gonethroughthe water. There was no other way. Once he had made up his mind, Kiopo did not hesitate. He plunged into the lake.
When once in the water, Kiopo, like all wolves, was a powerful swimmer; but he had never before had any experience of such an immense expanse of it. The further he went out, the wider it seemed to become. He swam on and on. As he swam, the shores receded further and further on either side. He found himself out in that whispering vastness, alone in a world of waters, with no sign of any human being, nor the faintest trace of a trail. After a while, he grew disheartened. The great water gave him a sense of loneliness and fear which he had never felt before. In the dark silences of the woods, you could smell the good smells of the travelling folk, hunting or being hunted, which you could not even see. But here there was no hunting, nor good smells; only a wet, uneasy movement, and a watery smell which his growing fear made hateful to his nose. And the sound of its wetness beat unceasingly on his ears like a din of unintelligible voices bewildering his brain. The only living things that he could see were two fish-hawks sailing overhead. In their annoyance at his appearance, they gave piercing cries of disapproval; for they knew well that no fish was likely to come to the surface while this great hulk of wolfishness went churning up the water in that unwieldy way. And if they had only dared, they would have swooped down to strike at him savagely with the terrible talons which made their feet such formidable weapons.
At last Kiopo grew tired of battling against that vast wetness, with its loneliness, and voices that rang against his head; and so he turned and swam straight towards the shore.
The distance was much further than he expected. He found himself swimming more and more slowly. In spite of all his efforts the shore seemed still very far away, while always that great weight of water seemed to push itself continually in between him and the trees, as if it were a living thing which had determined that he should never land. His strength and power of endurance were enormous, even after they had been weakened by his recent injuries; yet for the most powerful wild creature there is a limit to its strength. And now Kiopo knew that his capacity was being taxed to the utmost. Gradually, but surely, his great strength was ebbing. But he also knew that, unless he could reach the shore before his force gave out, all hope of once more joining the little brother would be for ever lost. His strong fore paws worked valiantly, beating down the water which seemed rising and rising in spite of all his efforts. The trees were nearer now. He could see that, even though his eyes were dimmed by the splashing of the ripples. And yet they seemed so terribly far away for the effort he knew he must put forth, if he were to reach them before his strength was done. He swam more and more slowly, his breath coming in short gasping sobs that quivered through him from head to tail. The fish-hawks, circling above him, came sloping down, with triumph in their shining eyes. They needed no explanation of the tragedy that was taking place beneath them. They knew that the hated intruder was slowly but surely being dragged down to a watery death, and their wild hawk-hearts approved.
Slowly, and still more slowly! Kiopo felt now as if the heavy wetness of the water had developed long tentacles that seized him and sucked him down. His head was becoming too heavy to hold above the water. There were moments of terror when it swirled about his nose, and when the fish-hawks, screaming with excitement, would hover, as if about to swoop. And then, once again, the big head would force itself up and, choking, spluttering, gasping, the struggle would continue.
When at length, Kiopo, beating his last desperate strokes, felt his feet touch ground, he could scarcely stand. Fortunately for him, a sandy spit of land at this very point thrust itself out for some distance into the lake. The sensation of ground under his feet gave him courage. With a last supreme effort, he dragged himself above the water-line, and sank exhausted on the sand.
If any watchful enemy had attacked him now, the big wolf would have offered an all but resistless prey. Even the fish-hawks, in their exultation might have safely swooped upon him and threatened his eyes; but now that the detested intruder had shown sufficient strength to drag himself out of the lake, they became more wary, and as they knew that a wolf ashore was a far more formidable foe than a wolf afloat, they thought better of their rashness, and once more climbed up the steep afternoon to sit again in the wind.
Other eyes besides the fish-hawks' noted the dark shape that lay on the sand-spit, motionless as a log. Log-like though it appeared, there was something about its dusky bulk that, to their wary gaze, looked remarkably like a wolf asleep, or possibly even dead. But even a dead wolf is not beloved by the wilderness folk; and a buck who had pushed his way warily through the willow shoots to drink, when he saw the sinister form on the sand-spit, stopped, threw up his head suspiciously, and blew his breath angrily from his nostrils. The wolf never stirred. The buck looked longingly at the water, looked again at the shape on the sand-spit, drew back softly into the shelter of the willows, and went to quench his thirst elsewhere.
The buck had scarcely disappeared, when a fox, also thirsty, came down the trail, placing his slender feet delicately one after the other so as not to disturb the slumber of the afternoon. When he caught sight of the sand-spit, he stopped instantly, and wrinkled his nose to feel the wind. As the wind did not help him, he advanced a few steps further with extreme caution, ready at the slightest warning to leap back upon his trail. He observed that the great body was stretched out flat as if lifeless; the head resting between the paws. But there is flatnessandflatness. The fox noted with disapproval that this particular flatnessbreathed! Drawing back his lips, he disclosed his teeth in a low snarl of hatred against the hereditary foe of his tribe. Then he doubled his flexible body till his nose nearly touched his brush, and slunk back into the woods.
Totally unconscious of all these happenings, Kiopo took his rest. The forest-folk might come and go as they pleased. Hour after hour he slept that heavy sleep of sheer exhaustion through which no messages pass from the outer world. The sun blazed down upon the sand-spit, drying his coat; and sleep, that marvellous medicine to which all the wild things turn, brought his strength slowly back to him in the waning afternoon.
When at length he opened his eyes, the sun had sunk below the hills. He rose slowly to his feet. He was so stiff that, when he stretched and shook himself, he gave a little yelp of pain. Then he sat down on his haunches and considered. On three sides of him stretched the lake; on the fourth, the forest, darkening in the evening gloom. Somewhere far out in the lake, a fish leaped with a splash. Kiopo turned his head uneasily towards the sound. It seemed to make the immense water more vast and lovely than before. He dreaded the lake now: it was a horror he would never forget. And because he sat there, still surrounded by the horror, and because the loneliness and longing that was in his heart for the little brother, swept over him all at once, he suddenly lifted his nose to the sky, and poured forth a wild, despairing howl, followed by another, and yet another.
Those desolate notes sent a message and a thrill far through the neighbourhood, till they died among the whispering reeds on the furthest shore. In the secret gloom of the forest, the startled creatures paused upon the trails. If Kiopo had wanted a good hunting, it was the worst mistake he could have made; for now every lesser animal within earshot would have warning of his presence, and know that a strange wolf was in a dangerous condition of unhappiness in the neighbourhood of the lake. Those who had intended feeding there, moved uneasily to safer pasture, and those who were hunters sought out more distant trails. So it happened that when, at last, Kiopo had finished his sorrow-making, and had entered the forest, he found it, to all appearances, emptied of its life.
He walked a little stiffly at first, but, by degrees, as his muscles worked, his body regained its suppleness, and very soon he was moving with the free swing which is particularly a wolf's.
The thought still uppermost in his mind was that of Dusty Star; but now he was utterly at a loss to know in which direction the Little Brother had gone. His long swim in those cold waters where he had so nearly met his death, seemed to have confused his wits. He roamed up and down, now along the lake shore, now back into the woods with a vague hope that somewhere or other he would come upon something that should set him on the trail. Yet although his nose worked incessantly, he smelt nothing but the darkness filled with vague scents of invisible things, and the old smell of the trees. As he wandered about, his forces came slowly back to him, and, with his strength, his anger. If he had now recovered the trail of those who had stolen the Little Brother from him, he would have followed it furiously to the death. The anger that was in him burned like a dull fire. It needed only a very small thing to fan it to a blaze.
Nosing the ground as he went, he came suddenly upon a plain scent. It was one which he detested. It roused old memories, and an old slumbering hate. The trail led on below the spruces, and was fresh enough to be easily followed. And now Kiopo's whole being seemed to change. He no longer slouched along with a sulky and dejected air. His body stiffened and became alive. He carried himself as if on compressed springs. His eyes glowed with a dangerous fire. As he went on, the scent freshened with the odour he detested. The hair between his shoulders rose like a threat.
By the side of a big hemlock, the trail bent sharply to the right, leading over some rocky ground at the foot of a small hill. Upon the granite boulders covered with grey and orange lichen, the reflected light from the sunset sky lingered in a warm glow, as if they themselves were luminous. Kiopo moved with the utmost caution. He hardly seemed to walk so much as toslideover the uneven surface, with his belly close to the ground. Instinct, as much as sense, told him that the object of his hatred was now extremely near. In another moment, his eyes saw what hitherto he had only gathered with his nose.
Not twenty yards away lay the dead body of a deer; and, busily at work upon the carcass, crouched the form of a big, hunched-up animal with sharp, tufted ears. Those humped hind quarters, those hair-tufted ears surmounting the round, short-nosed head were familiar enough to Kiopo to tell him, apart even from the scent, that the humped ferocity before him was one of those ancient enemies of wolf and fox—the lynx.
The creature was so deeply engrossed in its occupation of feeding on the deer that at first it was totally unconscious of the wolf's presence. Tearing and biting at the freshly-killed and still-warm meat, it was enjoying its horrible feast without any fear of interruption. Kiopo drew his long body noiselessly nearer, foot by foot. He had almost reached a leaping distance, and was gathering his hind legs under him for a spring, when the lynx suddenly turned its head.
In an instant the great cat had realized the approaching danger and had snatched his whole body round so as to face the foe.
A more violent image of hate and defiance could not possibly be imagined. Its round, widely-spaced green eyes shone with a cold glitter that was terrifying in its unwinking glare. The tufted ears, laid back close along the head, gave the face an extraordinary evil look. Its entire body clung to the carcass of the deer, as if to proclaim its ownership of the kill, while the upper lip, curled back, uncovered the long fangs, clear white in the furry dusk of its face.
As the lynx crouched defiant on its prey, measuring its foe with its furious eyes, it gave a harsh, rasping snarl. But if the sound was intended to frighten Kiopo, it failed completely. Instead, this rasping challenge merely served to exasperate him still further. Without an instant's warning, his eyes blazing with fury, he leaped.
This swift attack took the big cat utterly by surprise. It set at defiance all lynx etiquette of warfare, which consisted in a good deal of growling, snarling, and hissing, coupled with stealthy crouchings and crawlings, and appalling stillness during which you glared at your enemy with bottled fury in your green eyes. But to observe none of these niceties of passion, and begin a fight without even a spit, was a thing utterly abominable to every well-bred cat.
Taken off its guard, the lynx sprang half a second too late. He gave a savage sweep with wicked claws, which scored Kiopo's flank; but the force of the wolf's spring, with 150 lbs of sheer weight behind it, fairly knocked him off his feet; while, at the very instant that he struck, the merciless steel trap that was Kiopo's jaw closed upon his neck. It was then that Kiopo showed his wisdom. If he had attempted to hold his enemy down, as he easily might have done by his weight alone, the lynx would have been able to bring into play his formidable hind feet, armed with their fearful claws, and have inflicted an awful punishment upon the wolf's stomach. It would have been like trying to subdue a furry mass of springs that spat, tore, slashed and bit in a humped bundle of madness. So, instead of running such a risk, Kiopo, exerted all the strength of his powerful neck, shoulders and jaws, and shook the lynx as the latter might have shaken a raccoon, and then flung him violently backwards.
The force of the jerk was so tremendous that the big cat was wrenched from his hold upon the deer, and turned upside down in the air; but he had barely touched the ground when, using the strong springs of his hind quarters, he rebounded like a ball. His object was to descend, cat-like, on the wolfs neck, and to claw out his eyes. But, swift as sight, Kiopo leaped again. Once more the trap snapped-to, and the lynx felt the wolf's teeth buried in his neck; while, as before, the skirmish ended in his being tossed violently backwards into the air.
The lynx was bewildered. He had fought wolves before, and with success, leaving the marks of his claws deep in their torn and bleeding flesh; but Kiopo's tactics were something fresh in his experience. Not only was there more cunning, but the strength and ferocity of half-a-dozen wolves seemed to unite in his foe's mighty frame.
On his second descent to earth, the lynx again made use of his strong hind-quarter springs. The only difference was that on this occasion he took care to re-bound into the airawayfrom his antagonist instead ofuponhim! A clear five feet he bounded from the ground, landing on the side of a granite boulder. He was not allowed to remain. With a snarl that was more like a roar, Kiopo hurled himself at the rock.
As the lynx pulled himself up the boulder, the wolf reached his right flank, and inflicted a ripping wound. Screeching in rage and terror, the defeated lynx sprang over the boulder and disappeared into the trees.
And now Kiopo, triumphant, but by no means pacified, was able to glut his hunger upon the deer. It was the first full meal he had enjoyed for a long time, and he was not slow to make the most of it. Usually, after such a meal, he would have been inclined to settle himself down for a long sleep; but in his present enraged state of mind, sleep was impossible.
All the evening, and through the night, he traveled maddened, and raging, devoured with the lust to kill. Woe to any living creature that should fall across his path! Fortunately for themselves, the forest dwellers seemed to receive mysterious signals that madness was abroad. That night, the Spirit of the Wild Creatures did much business on the trails. East, west, south and north, the warnings travelled. Along the lake shore, through the decaying silence of the cedar swamps, into the whispering glooms of the spruce woods, the voiceless tidings went.
Hunting was understood—the plain, pitiless killing for food. It meant death, and terror, but at least it followed the ancient law of the wilderness that one killed in order to live. But this other thing that recognized no law, and hounded to death merely because of the madness in its heart—this nameless Terror that seemed, in the haunted darkness, to be everywhere at once—thisthey shrank from, trembling, as from something more deadly than even death itself. And so, realizing that it was Madness and not Hunger that went hunting down the trails, the forest-folk took heed to the tidings, and slunk into their lairs.
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,—seeingthings 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 shesaw!
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 hadseenan 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 thanfloatingout 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!
In the inmost heart of the Carboona, among a wilderness of boulders, old pine stumps, and dense thickets of juniper and thorn there was a spot to which all wise Carboona dwellers gave a wide berth. Apart from its bareness and lack of pasture, the place bore an ill name. Its evil reputation came from very ancient times. It was shunned equally by catamount, fox, bear, wolf and moose. And the lesser creatures, which haunted the neighbouring thickets, kept well within their shelter and rarely ventured out. Even the Cariboo, with the travelling restlessness strong within them, turned aside after much uneasy pawing of the ground, and suspicious blasts of breath, and fetched a semi-circle to the north or south. Yet not one of these suspicious folk could have given any plain reason for their avoidance of the spot. It was enough for them that the wisdom of the ages informed them it was bad.
But now, in addition to the vague influence of the place, its evil reputation had been strengthened by an added terror which was by no means vague: it was known as the lair of a new resident—the Great Lone Wolf.
Where the Lone Wolf had come from, nobody could tell. One Fall, when the air was full of the honking of the geese, he had arrived mysteriously with the first cold, and seemed to bring the winter with him. And from that day, the soundless word went throughout Carboona's inmost recesses: "Beware of the Terror of the eastern thickets. Beware of the Lone Wolf." And those who were foolish enough to disregard the warning, escaped a hard winter by falling to prey to the wolf.
One morning, Lone Wolf slept later than was his habit. During his sleep he did not dream; yet warm scents, drifting in the shimmering tide of the heat, lapped against his nose in ripples so fine that they did not disturb his brain.
When at length he awoke, he yawned. The yawn was like a huge gash in his lower face. After the yawn, he rose, and shook himself. Then he sat down on his haunches and looked abroad into the world. He had slept well, and was not aware of being hungry; so there was no need to bother himself about hunting. For all that, he was not contented. He wanted something, but he didn't know what. He felt he might find it, if he went for a walk. So he walked. When he came to the angle of a certain stone, he stopped dead, sniffed, set his hair bristling between his shoulders, and growled in the very black places of his throat.
He had found a rival's mark!
The sudden change in Lone Wolf was remarkable. From being an apparently lazy hump of dark grey wolfishness with an air of nothing to do, he turned into an alert, cunning Ferocity whose every nerve and faculty were tightened up for the performance of something very particular indeed. As he moved over the sun-scorched surface of the rocky ground, his body carried low on the great springs of his legs, he seemed to gather all the ancient floating evil of the locality to himself and give it a wolf's shape.
If the Carboona peoples had known that the Terror was once more upon the prowl, a thrill of fear would have shot along the mountain, like an electric current. But at this drowsy hour of the day, most of them were resting from their hunting of the previous night and early morning, and were sleeping in their lairs. Boola and her family were curled up in the cool chamber at the end of the hole. Baltook was taking a light nap in a shady spot he knew of among a cluster of shumacks a quarter of a mile from the den. Goshmeelee sat in huge contentment in the edges of the swamp—sitting up commodiously on the well-cushioned and very wide sitting-down part of her, and rocking herself slowly to and fro with a pleasant sense of the damp and slimy cosiness to be had in the swampy parts of the world. While the squirrels, chipmunks, and blue jays, and all other small watchers and warners of danger coming, or to come, perched on shady look-out points, and blinked their eyes a little in the drowsy warmth.
As soon as Lone Wolf left the open mountain side and entered the out-lying edges of the spruce woods, he was fully aware that he was being watched by many pairs of eyes. And he had not gone very far before he had annoying proof of this in the defiant chatter of a chipmunk which was taking noon-tide observation on a hollow log. Above all things, Lone Wolf wanted to go secretly. As he passed the log, he shot a murderous look at its occupier out of his cruel grey-green eyes; but he knew better than to waste his energy by making a leap at that alert bundle of fur-covered springs, and so went softly on his way, while the chipmunk sent its angry warning out to all forest-folks within earshot that murder was on the trail.
He had reached a spot about a mile from the camp when he came to an abrupt stand. There not fifty paces away, he saw a big wolf, with another creature beside it which was certainly not a wolf. Both were travelling quickly eastward. He remained motionless till they had disappeared and then took up the fresh trail. Its mingled beast and human smell disturbed him. He had met Red men before, and detested them. He still carried the mark and the memory of an Indian tomahawk which had slashed him in the neck, when, running one hard winter with a desperately hungry pack, he had attacked a solitary Indian travelling across the frost-bound levels of the lakes. Now, as the mixed smell of the wolf-breed, and hated man-breed, rose to his nostrils, the old enmity slumbering within him leaped again to life.
For the rest of that day, he dogged the footsteps of the pair; and when they separated at twilight, Kiopo going to hunt, and Dusty Star returning to camp, it was the boy he followed, not the wolf. And little did Dusty Star suspect, as he went alone through the darkening woods, that every step of his homeward way was shadowed by the Terror of the Carboona on delicately-stepping feet.
Over and over again the wolf wanted to leap upon the boy and destroy him then and there, yet the vague fear of the human being, which disturbs wild animals, haunted his nerves, and he could not throw it off before Dusty Star reached the camp.
All that night, he watched in the edges of the forest, roaming to and fro uneasily, and did not finally leave the neighbourhood till just before dawn.